Back in 2004, my husband and I had only been together a few months, and we’d probably fucked around 250 times (really) in those short 90 days. (There was even one day, his birthday, that we fucked 6 times. Boy, I was sore.) Neither of us had much experience prior to getting together, but our encounters were intense and exploratory, sometimes short and sometimes hours’ long, and we were learning from each other. In the dorms, we usually woke up every morning, gently spoon-fucking, just to feel each other, and he’d unload into me after a few minutes of us trying not to wake up my roommate and her bf.
We’d only been apart a few days for Thanksgiving break, but when we came to my mom’s house, early the morning after Thanksgiving, I greeted him in one of his shirts and, after an awkward greeting from my mom, we proceeded to my room for a vigorous, but quiet “welcome back” quickie.
That afternoon the hubby and I went to my sister’s townhouse, as we were all going out drinking later that night. My sister went upstairs to shower, leaving me and the boy-toy downstairs, pretty much daring us to fuck somewhere in the living room, but I’d already decided on the breakfast nook.