A thank you

Thanks for the nice comments on my farewell post. It seems like a few more people liked this blog more than I previously knew. So I've talked with River and decided to post the previously unpublished entirety of A fucking amazing date from last year. You might want to read Prologue first. Enjoy.

Thanks again,
Reed (and River)

I gotta give this up

I gotta give this up.

In my FAQ it says: Are you going to stop? I’ve been hoping I would just stop some day but it hasn’t happened yet. I’ve thought about stopping on and off for the past year. And today I was thinking and coming to the conclusion that this may be some weird obsessive-compulsive thing I’ve got going on. I have written about every single time River and I have had sex since January 2009. We fuck and it just rattles around in my head and wants to spill out in gorgeous sex scenes that give some insight into what things are like on my side of the action. Hopefully I’ll be ok leaving it all there in my head.

This has been a fun blog. I’ve really enjoyed doing the writing. A lot more than I thought I would. I've worn out many words. I’ve learned a lot about myself. Quite often River and I ended up discussing something that originally surfaced here, whether she knew it or not. And often talking with River would be even better than sex with River. I also learned about writing. I call myself a writer now. How strange.

I’ve enjoyed giving a full frontal view of the sex life of a monogamous hetero couple with kids. Maybe I've inspired people. Maybe I've upset people. Maybe it seems like I’ve created a fictional Reed and River, but I haven’t. We’re real people. We have real sex. Everything I’ve written is true. The quotes are actual quotes. Our relationship is as good as I hope you think it is. We were made for each other, and often marvel at how we ended up together against some pretty long odds.

If I'm guilty of anything, it is not telling the whole truth. I've glossed over many things including my own emotional and physical issues. But this is a blog about fucking, and I tried to stay true to that. Many times I thought I should start another blog, Reed and River are Not Fucking. But it wouldn't be something I'd want a historical record of. I revisit things on this blog periodically. I'm my biggest fan.

I’ve met a few people on the other side of the ether who I’d like to call friends. And I’ve made one serious real-life friend doing this blog. I’ve told her a couple times that maybe the reason I did this blog in the first place was to meet her. It seems entirely possible. Even likely. I would be sad to stop blogging without having fulfilled that (unintentional?) goal.

I’m proud of this blog and will keep it online, probably even filling in the gap from 2009 to 2010 which I’ve written but haven’t posted. My email address will remain viable. Feel free to use it.

I’m proud that River is my sweetie, and that I’m her sweetie.

I thank everybody who left comments. Here are a few of my favorites:

• you just made me so fucking wet, my bf is down stairs, i’m going to get him and make him fuck me hard
  — anonymous. Whether this one is legit or not, who knows. If they had a good fuck, I'm glad I could help.
• I can’t get over “mingling in the crucible of her cunt.” Fantastic.
  — Margot la Ravaudeuse, my high priestess of erotica.
• At last sex how it should be how refreshing!
  — Cleo x. That's me. Refreshing. Even River agrees.
• You write it and I can totally imagine the scene. I love that you share your conversations with us. I can tell how much you love River.
  — My real-life friend, Anisa
• You two are very cute.
  — Natasha. Blush.

And finally, I’m always talking about how hot River is. Her sporty body. Her compact tits. Her cute face. She’s consented for me to post this, her perfect ass:

I tell River about the last line of this post: “I feel strangely free.”

A kiss and a thought

My morning erection draws my attention. I open my eyes and glance over at River, asleep on her back. Dreaming. At my touch, she rolls onto her side. Perfect. I spoon onto her, slipping my erection under the fuzz between her legs.

I imagine her spooning me. Like she did when we fell asleep last night. Imagine her with an erection throbbing between my legs. So near to its evolutionary goal. I have a good imagination. But what can’t I imagine? Not scooping it into me with a wiggle. Not pressing back against it. Not letting it spread me and fill me. Not fucking it and making it come inside me. I can’t imagine not doing that.

River gets up to pee. I’m still hard when she returns. Her soft warmth has become a silky cool. My erection returns to its resting place between her legs. It perks to the occasional scratch of her muff. I swallow. Something I do when I think what I’m thinking now. Thoughts of fucking making my mouth water. Has River ever noticed? My mind drifts back into sleep. My erection subsides.

I leave to pee. And return. Straddle River. Her under the covers. Me above them. I kiss her. Feel her body supporting mine. She kisses back. We kiss. My cock stirs. This is how it’s supposed to work. I rest, my head beside hers, and breathe. We’re not on until Monday. But we know we won’t make it. The pressure in my cock rises as my thoughts focus. A kiss and a thought. I’m fully erect. Forget Monday. There’s a moment to seize.

I pull the covers off her smooth body. My eyes linger on the suppleness of my favorite small tits. I slip my left leg between hers the way I do so often. She unfolds for me. She knows our dance. My right leg enters the gap. My cock rides up her vulva, my shaft finding her clit. Her hips move in counterpoint to mine as our parts rub together, tilting upwards as my glans slides down her labia and nears her pussy opening. Is she begging for it? I can hope. I tease. Push back up to her clit. Back down to her opening. Make her beg.

(I’m skipping the somewhat embarrassing part where I go for the no-hands stick-in and don’t realize I’ve missed until River says “try more towards the front.” “Where was it?” “In a comfy pocket between my butthole and the sheet. It must have felt nice.” “It did.” Every now and then I think this blog should have outtakes. This would definitely be one of them.)

I push into her pussy. Into her juice. Lots of juice. Maybe too much. I prefer her frictiony slippery. Good thing I’m on top.

I cross my legs in missionary. The two-speed stroke I learned from River, with the firm push at the end. River’s feet pull my ass in encouragingly. I’m expecting cervix but not finding it. Back to default. Reduce the depth. Increase the speed. Brush the tip of my tongue across a nipple. It firms up, defying my probing tongue. And begging for it. I put my lips on her tit, pull the nipple into my mouth, rub my tongue along the tip while I suck it. And maintain the rhythm of fuck. I should be getting dangerously close to the edge, the good part of the good part, but my latest “problem” has turned me into a fucking machine.

I suck her other nipple into my mouth. Feel it slip in and out between my lips. Feel it harden against my tongue. And feel my orgasm.

This one has my old wind-up. My old friend. I savor it. Let the pressure of the electric lemons build until it collapses and shoots my jizz into her with the familiar forceful pulses. One. Two. Three. Four. River feels it. Five. My breath shudders with each one and I squeeze further into her to sustain it.

We stay connected, her legs in the air before me, together, her vulva peering slyly through them, my cock still penetrating into the gap.

“I had to seize the moment.”

“We made a wet spot.” That’s unusual for us. I like it. She was juicy today. Almost too juicy.