His hand stills. It’s going to take me too long, and he’s falling asleep anyway. He’s been working hard all day, he says plaintively. I do hope he’s going to be tactful enough to take back the implication that having sex with me is hard work, but no chance: fucking me takes it out of a person, apparently. I move his hand from my pussy to my breast, and tell him to go to sleep. He’ll wake me up in a couple of hours, he promises, but we both end up sleeping like the dead for the next ten hours (ten! I know! So not sex-bloggerlike. I’m forced to conclude that it’s been hard work fucking him too).
I mean to say, in the time between him falling asleep and me falling asleep, that this is what I missed most when I walked out on my life of sex and drugs and Guinness. I missed the sex for a bit, and the drugs for more than a bit, and carried on with the Guinness, but what I really missed was the warm security of a body at my back, and a hand wrapped round my tits.
April 24, 2008 at 9:32 pm
Oh and what a wonderful sensation it is to fall asleep in that position with an arm wrapped around the body of a loved one, holding them close, the warmth between the two bodies comforting for once rather than simply arousing.
A sensation I miss for far too much of the time but revel in when it’s available.
April 25, 2008 at 3:45 pm
Oh yes. That feeling is priceless.
I can’t imagine that fucking you is really very hard work.
April 25, 2008 at 8:03 pm
Marianne: It is hard work, but someone’s got to do it.
April 25, 2008 at 8:54 pm
Ro, yes, it is the icing on the cake.
Marianne, you wouldn’t think so would you? And yet…
Anonymous: quite.
April 29, 2008 at 10:19 pm
Who really wants to be known as ‘easy’? And, yes, I miss that vulnerable closeness more than anything.
May 13, 2008 at 7:36 pm
Cake, I’m resigned to being known as both easy AND hard work