Husband is 37 I am 26
It was always the same ending. I would ready myself, on my back legs open wide, upper body supported by my shoulders and a pillow he put behind my head.
The sameness was comforting, the sweet pungent smell of his body tired and weary from his long day at work. His clothes and boots were on a pile at the foot of the bed giving odd their sweet acrid odor and filling the room. The tv was humming low, ignored and this big hulking mass of a man was standing before me.
His veiny forearms were tinted red from the sun, slightly darker than the rest of his body save his face and legs. His back was red too, but not from the sun. No they were scratches put there by me in lust just moments before when he was on top of me.