Teasing

“Were you expecting something?” I wasn't quick enough on the draw when River bent over to get the washcloth from the floor of the shower. “Yes.” Nice. Except that’s more of a reflection on me. Expecting me to grope. Or something. “Were you expecting, or hoping?” “Yes.” She is Mona Lisa overdrive this morning. I try to resist her teasing ambiguity. It’s not possible. “Were you hoping?” “Yes.” Now I’m hooked. “What were you hoping for?” “Some of this.” She bends over. Wiggles her ass against me. I should be getting harder but the shower is no longer a good place for me. At least she's impressed when she turns around.

We’re not on until next Monday. Looks like we’ve got a bit of a tease going on again. It worked out pretty well last time. “By next Monday you’re going to be begging for it.” (That’s me saying that.) Neither of us thinks we’ll make it to Monday though.

Into the bedroom. River puts on some panties and knocks me back on the bed. Is this a replay of two days ago? She sits up and grinds me. “Are we teasing? Or fucking?” “Teasing.” I can live with that. She sproings off. “Who’s going to be begging for it by Monday?” “Both of us.”

Near miss

The dice have been extremely insistent that we fuck. I find myself siding with River. They don’t control us.

They say we’re on for tonight. After being on twice yesterday, which worked out to one and a half times. Ok, maybe we’re on. Or maybe we’ll move it out a day. They don’t control us.

We go for a walk. “I have an experiment to try.” She’s so scientific. I’ll bring a lab notebook to record the results. See if we can get them replicated, peer reviewed, and published. “We should get out the magic wand and see if I can have one at all.” She's on the same med as I am. She's been having problems lately. Just when her libido might be picking up.

But wow. The magic wand hasn’t been out for over a year. That thing fucking works. Too well. It’s like taking a sightseeing tour of the Grand Canyon in an F-18. From north to south. It’s over before you even know it started. And the magic wand makes nearby TVs flake out so all the neighbors know you’re using it.

But really, it’s a worthwhile experiment. And brave. With the exception of the “doorgasm”, in which I got her off manually in under a minute while we were standing against a door, it usually takes her quite a while. And she doesn’t always succeed. But when she does, look out. I can’t remember the last time I gave her one. Close, yes. But I always end up letting her take over. I’ve got no ego issues. I want her to enjoy things as much as I do.

So there we are, talking about trampolines and extension cords. Even if we’re not on the same page, we’re at least reading the same book.

I let her study alone until it's about time.

“I’m tired. I just want to go to sleep.” She has closed the book. While I’m still inside it. That hurts. She knows what’s going to happen. It’s happened a thousand times, I hate to say. It doesn’t help that earlier today it was how not to tell me something. Summary: Why does she leave this stuff to the ass-end of the day when she’s often too tired. It’s a matter of scheduling and priority. It hurts being prioritized below random things that happen during the day. This is the year of seize-the-moment, we should have done it when we had the chance. Blah blah blah.

And it turns out she was completely on board with the plan for her experiment until she failed studying because of the stress of her new quarter starting. And maybe some irrational stuff thrown in. I can’t read her mind. She’s never been this stressed about school. She’s confident. And competent. I had no idea. All she said was the usual “I’m too tired”. Suddenly things are different. I’m in “how can I help” mode. “By not making things harder.” Now I’m sorry. But I'm glad I pulled out of my dive. That was a near miss.

This quarter's going to be the toughest yet. But I'm there for her.

The dice have spoken

It was quite a romp on this appointed Thursday morning. Afterward we roll the dice for next time. I roll ⚃. River rolls ⚃. We look at each other. Somewhat disbelieving. But the dice have spoken. We're on again for this evening. We've intentionally allowed the possibility of a morning and evening on the same day. At least it was intentional on my part. And it's something we do from time to time. But this is the first time we've rolled it. "Maybe." "Maybe."

What it's really like

River declined to get on it yesterday. Although she did get naked and rub her parts on my hard cock. I hope that’s just part of the tease. This morning we’re in the shower. “You may have missed the last one ever.” “I can live with that.” “Why do I even bother.” “One wonders.” Is she serious? Am I serious?

You get what you get

"What? You opened the balcony door and I'm not even dressed yet!" "You don't care." "You're right. Anybody looking in the door deserves what they get. Unless they get you. They don't deserve that."

Movie review

Last night River and I finally watched The Opening of Misty Beethoven together. I’d watched this when she was pregnant with Brook and I had a subscription to a place that was like the netflix of porn. Not because I didn't think her funny shape was extremely beautiful and sexy. It was. She was on bedrest. Which in retrospect may not have been necessary. Oh well. But given a choice between fucking and having a baby girl, baby girl wins. And presumably I'd already had some fucking or I wouldn't be in that situation. So I watched a lot of golden-age stuff and this was one of my favorites. It’s based on Pygmalion by George Bernard Shaw.

We’re not scheduled again until Thursday. River has been taking advantage of the situation to tease me. And she likes it. And I like it. It’s like living with her sister full-time. Sort of. More on this later.

So we fire up the movie. We’re watching it now because we’d just been talking about dark movie theaters a few days ago. And this one opens with a dark movie theater.

It’s a bit slow. Porn had a plot back in the golden age. And they are on-location in Rome and a couple other places. And back then the girls used to have some serious thatch. Not as much as the guys. I don’t like hairy guys all that much. Myself, I trim. I’ve tried shaving and waxing but it’s too irritating. My balls shave up nicely, but River prefers them with some fuzz.

Thatch. Yeah. I like it. No bush, no girl I’ve said.

There are an awful lot of blowjobs in this movie. I can’t say that watching blowjobs does a whole lot for me. I can watch a good hand job, but the hand jobs are for the most part not so good. River does much better ones. They’re just jerking the guy’s cock at about 100 miles an hour. “They’re not even paying attention,” says River. Admittedly it’s probably hard to pay attention when you’re doing three guys at once. Two hands and a blow. It’s hard enough for me to pay attention in 69.

And there is thatch. I like it. You get some girl-on-girl bush-licking. Some of it is of the silly porn tongue-flicking type. River critiques the technique: “She’s not even finding her clit.” But there’s a lot of diving right in, getting the face and nose buried in muff like it should be.

And yes, there is thatch. The best scenes involve a nice thatchy snatch descending onto a freshly inserted cock and fucking away. I hate it when they edit out the initial stick-in. This movie has good editing, but there are not enough stick-ins.

At various times throughout I’m reaching over for River, rubbing her tits and nipples, trying to find her clit through her pants, finally just sticking my hand down them and sliding my fingers across her lovely bush until I reach my target. She doesn’t seem to mind, but I’m not getting much of a response out of her. I don’t mind so much though. We’re not on until Thursday.

She has an interesting observation. “I don’t think you’re supposed to watch this whole movie. I think you’re supposed to start fucking sometime.” Never mind that this movie was made for theaters, before home video. “Is that a hint?” “I think I need some viagra.” That can be arranged.

Dice for two

I have a new idea for the dice. Plural this time. One for each of us. Seemingly more fair and equitable that way, since we roll at the same time and we're simultaneously responsible for the outcome. And way cuter. I'm all about cute.

For each morning or evening, we each roll one die. If they come up the same, we’re on. If we’re rolling for a morning and they add up to 7, we roll again.

The odds are the same as the previous scheme. But trusting me too much could be dangerous. Work it out for yourself. River did.

We tried it just now. It’s pretty cute. On our third roll we both came up ones. How cool is that.

Me and you and you and me
No matter how they toss the dice, it has to be
The only one for me is you, and you for me
So happy together

A walk

We’re out for a walk. Holding hands. “You’re cute.” “We’re cute.” “So cute that just thinking about it is giving me a reaction.” “Good thing.” “Why don’t we do it in the road?” It’s not like there’s anybody driving on it. I don’t think I’d mind if somebody were doing it in the road. Even if I were trying to drive on it. People do worse things and society tolerates it. “Oh. It would have to be comfortable. I could be on my back.” I get a surprisingly serious answer. “The best position would probably be, I don’t know what to call it, doggy standing up. Maybe braced against somebody’s bumper.” “Or on a hood. But it would have to be a white car on a sunny day like today.” I look around. No white cars. Damn.

So we walk. “There’s a table over there.” In the trees beside the road. “That bench is asking for it. But I’m not that uninhibited yet.” “I might be. Should we find out?”

And we walk. A long, sweet sunny spot kiss. A good one. “That car’s engine is running.” “And it’s white. I think somebody left it there for us.” There is no reason whatsoever to park where that car is parked. Well maybe one reason. “Maybe they’re using it.” “There’s no one in it.” Or on it. “Maybe they’ve found a spot.” And they were in such a hurry they forgot to turn the engine off. “We can ask when they come back.”

The problem

“I have to be honest.” Honest is good. “I don’t really like your problem.” River goes on to say that with neither of us having an orgasm it seems kind of pointless and mechanical. Even when she doesn’t come herself, she enjoys my orgasms vicariously and gets satisfaction and closure. Maybe that’s why she’s always so amenable to finishing later when I don’t come. It’s good for her, too.

This gives her more insight into why it bothers me that she doesn’t orgasm very often lately. I don’t get to enjoy her orgasm if she doesn’t have one. And I do enjoy them.

I explain that my take on the problem is entirely different. Last night felt really equitable with neither of us coming. It often bothers me that I get to bang away and hold off and prolong the action and then when I come that’s pretty much the end. Except for the afterfuck. She doesn’t get much say on when we finish. I get a nice orgasm and she gets to drip. Although she does get the vicarious enjoyment.

And now that I’ve been on her side of the fence I totally understand the point she’s often made that she doesn’t have to orgasm to enjoy it. Neither do I. We agree that it’s still intimate and bonding.

But I’m worried. Sex being pointless without orgasms is reminding me of her saying that foreplay-type activities are pointless without fucking. That’s part of what precipitated our long dry spell, a year and a half of no sex, and me hardly looking at River’s hot body. Even though I loved her the whole time.

So I talk to her about it. I always do now. I’ve learned my lessons. At least some of them. And she assures me we’ll have a great sex life even while the problem persists. Even without orgasms. And I tell her I want to give her the most amazingly endless fuck in the orgasm she’s ever had.

Wanna come home with me?

“What are you doing?” “I could do it like this.” I tug on the front of her shirt. “No, you can’t see it!” Of course I can, what’s she talking about. “It’s beige.” Oh. She unhooks it and pulls it out the sleeve of her shirt. “I was wearing a white shirt so I wore beige.” I don’t get it. What’s the point of wearing a bra if you don’t want people to see it? And what’s the point of having nipples if you don’t want people to see them? The first shopping we ever did together was when I took her out to buy some bras that weren’t beige. Or white either. She’s not even supposed to own beige bras. Much less wear them. But I let her. I must love her.

Now she’s braless under her white girly t-shirt. A picture of Beck on her chest. “Now I have to play Beck. And dance.” Fair enough. She spins up her Beck station on Pandora. And dances. I smile and watch. Wishing, as I have before, that I had a video camera in my tooth. And I dance with her. She’s got the sexy moves. I’ve got . . . I don’t know. We look at each other. Her eyes smolder in my direction. She sexies. We move closer. Looking. Anticipating. Pulling together. Her leg against my crotch. My hand on her ass. “Wanna come home with me?” “Sure.”

We're on for Monday morning

By mutual agreement, and in light of our two recent unscheduled activity sessions, we’ve called off tonight’s date. The six-sided die says we’re on for Monday morning. I’m looking forward to that. I can’t remember when we last put a Monday morning to good use. But I’ve been wanting to ever since hearing, on NPR or something, that a reasonably large fraction of people do.

This is going to be hard

I get home. Go upstairs to find River. She’s studying. She looks nice, with her brown hair and her smile and her eyes twinkling. We hug. My hand moves to her ass. “I feel something I like. I like you.” She’s braless. “You know it bums me out when you’re braless when I’m not even here to enjoy it.” “I took it off when you came home. You can still see the marks.” She lifts her shirt. Her nipple peeks out. “Let me check around front.” “They’ll be more in back.” “You’re so on-topic.”

I stand behind her. My hands start at her waist and slide up to her tits. They fit right into my hands. Her nipples are hard. Protruding. My fingers slip over them. Hard, yet soft. “Isn’t it nice being able to do this with no danger?” She wiggles her ass against the bulge in my jeans. “No-strings backrub for whoever is in bed first?” “I can’t answer that right now. I need to recover.” I move her hand to my hardening cock.

It’s the third day. This is going to be hard. But I think it will also be good for us.

A random idea

At the beginning of the year I said we’d be fucking on River’s schedule, after doing the past two years on my schedule. Well, not really my schedule. I think I’d be pretty happy fucking about twice as often. But it’s been a rough two and a half years for River, having to put out so much for my benefit.

We didn’t last long on River’s schedule. She doesn’t even know what her schedule might be. She thinks every three days on average, at most. Which is somewhat less than we’ve been doing. Maybe considerably less. We can try it, but I don’t want it to be exactly every three days, or always a day off afterwards, or whatever.

So we came up with an idea. Some time after we do it, we roll a die to figure when we do it next. To average out to every three days, every morning and evening has a 1/6 chance. Except River nixes doing it again the morning after, despite my morning-after hornies. So the morning probability is adjusted to 1/5, but never after the preceding evening. We roll for each following morning or evening until the die comes up “1”. Then it’s a date.

So we roll. Eight times the die comes up with something other than one. Maybe this isn’t such a good idea. The ninth time is a one. Saturday evening. Four days out. Six days from our last fuck. “But we haven’t done it for two nights already. We should move it up two days to Thursday.” “You roll the dice and you get what you get.” I hope she remembers that on her period. “But those were ovulation days.” “I can live with that.” What kind of girl doesn’t want to do it when she’s ovulating? I guess she’s not a complete biological failure. We do have kids.

“But what about spontaneity?” “If we get an evening, we can do an afternoon instead.” “Is that enough spontaneity?” I have to think about that. I’m not sure what I’d do if River came on to me. Well, ok, I’m sure. But I’m not sure what I’d do afterwards. Just throw a freebie into the plan and stick with our next date? Roll again afterwards? I don’t know.

And I wonder if I’ll be less affectionate and flirty and attentive on the days when I know we’re not fucking. Or will I still be me, hoping River will be spontaneous? This will be interesting. I wonder if we’ll stick with it.

I wonder if I can hold out until Saturday.

So close

River comes home. “My neck and shoulders are really sore.” I recognize the hint she doesn't think she's given. She goes upstairs to lie down. I’m there shortly afterwards. Grabbing the oil. “I didn’t expect this.” “It was a hint.” “I mean the instant gratification.” Try to keep me away.

Her shirt comes off. She lies down on the bed. Her ass is ensconced in its favorite pair of comfy jeans. I could get hard just looking at it, much less lingering on the thoughts it provokes. I sit on her and rub her back. Then I sit at her head, a better angle to do her neck. Spend a lot of time with my thumbs in places she directs me to. Fingers up the sides of her neck. And down her neck. I love doing this.

If I were in her position, and she were in my position, I’d be thinking about eating her pussy. Maybe more than thinking. But she doesn't think that way. She rolls over onto her back. More oil for her breasts and nipples. “These sure are fascinating. My favorites.” She dresses. Sits in front of me. Leans in for a kiss. “Your knee is rubbing my ball.” She rubs it some more. “It’s working for me.” Her fingers wiggle over my balls. It works even more. “I’m trying to figure out where your anatomy is in there.” She’s found my cock. “I hate to fondle and run, but . . . ” “You can fondle some more.” She does.

“I have to go down to the laundry room and check on a few wet things.” “I’d like to go down and check on wet things with you.” She goes first. I’m walking down the stairs. “It stinks down here.” “Just when I was thinking that I couldn’t possibly do a better warmup for the laundry room than that.” And she’s just spent hours in a dark movie theater watching Johnny Depp. “This is the least sexy room in the house.” “Not when you’re in it.” “It’s dirty.” Not too long ago it was spotless, but that didn’t seem to make a difference. “If you do it with me, maybe it will shut me up.” She sorts laundry. “Maybe I’m just satiated after doing it last night and this morning. Although we didn’t finish this morning.” Her satiation point is too low. And isn’t this the girl who was telling me how the movie would get her all excited, and giving me ideas about finishing tonight after I said we didn’t have to? “This is the year of sieze the moment.” “Who’s moment?” I have what I hope is my most seductive voice on. “Our moment.” She pulls in for a kiss. A full-contact, sunny-spot style smooch. I push my hardening cock against her. It’s going to happen. I can feel it. She can, too.

And we hear the door open. Brook comes down the stairs and into the laundry room. That’s closer than I’ve ever gotten. I really can’t imagine a better warmup.

We're on for tonight

River is in the bath after work. I can’t resist coming in and sitting with her and admiring the scenery. She’s planning her afternoon. I’m planning our evening. “I’ll pull weeds with you if you’ll have sex with me tonight.” It’s a deal.

I dry her off. She spreads her legs while I kneel behind her with her towel. “I just do this because I like the view.” Her lips hanging in the space below her ass. Gaping open slightly over her pussy opening. She bends over and the gap widens. I want to fill it with my tongue. “Is that a hint?” “Yes.” For tonight.

River air drys in the bedroom. Trims her bush. Pulls on some fun stripey panties. And looks hot. “I need my camera. Can you hold that pose?” She does. I take a few shots. “I didn’t know I looked that good.” I almost fall over. “If you don’t know that by now then I haven’t been doing something right.”

What is my plan? Restraints. Blindfolds. Whatever comes next. We don’t really have a bed, per se. Just a mattress and box springs sitting right on the floor. It suits us somehow. But there is nothing to tie to. So under our mattress is what I call “the restraints”. Climbing webbing, two sections each running side to side and top to bottom. It works for me.

But I don’t usually follow my plans. They just get me horny.

River goes for a run. We hug when she gets back. A nice sweaty River hug. “You smell clean.” “Clean sweat.” I could fuck her right there. She bends over to stretch. All the way. Hands flat on the ground. “Can you do that tonight?” “Yes.” She’s been taking me up on more of my requests than I would have thought possible a few years ago. Maybe that’s what happens when we’ve more-or-less agreed that I’m in charge of the sex in our relationship. And that that’s a good thing. “I think my plan is changing.”

A delicate balance

“You sure know how to hurt a guy.” I was looking at River with what I hope was a meaningful look. And she turned out the light. She knows how much I like to watch her strip and reveal what’s been giving her clothing its shape all day. A rare shape. A shape I like. Her shape. And I know she doesn’t like to peel when all the shades are up. Which they are. Even though it’s part of the turn-on. My sweetie casts aside her hangups about a potential audience and shows off. For me. Who doesn't mind a potential audience. Even secretly hopes there is one. So it’s a delicate balance. I can’t always get what I like at River’s expense.

She turns the light back on. There are the small tits that have been poking bralessly through her shirt. She did that for me, and now I want more? Am I that ungrateful? Her shorts and panties slide down over the gentle curves of her ass. Her bush turns towards me. I feel loved. She turns the light off, and I’m happy. I hope she is, too.

I was right

In bed River spontaneously offers this up: “I enjoyed myself last night. I enjoyed you.” Which gets my typical response: “I enjoyed yourself, too.” Followed by, “What are you doing thinking about things like that?” And then, “I’d just been thinking the same thing. There's hope for you yet.”

Conversations and showers

River and I had a nice day yesterday. Took a lunch break together at our usual spot. Today I’m a little sensitive about bothering River for sex. There are times when she’s not bothered, and times when I can be too much. We’ve decided it’s usually better if I err on the side of too much. But not too too much. And how can I know where the line is at any given time unless I cross it?

So I bother a little bit, even though I know River well enough (in part because in some ways she’s a little like me, or how I used to be, about other people’s ideas) to know it’s not going to happen this afternoon. Unless she surprises me, which happens sometimes. My surprising sweetie, I call her. I have to be myself, and she knows that. If I’m retreating too far, I’m not being myself and that’s a bad path to go down. And I know I have to let her be herself, too. I don’t want to ruin her. We’re damn near perfect together.

She’s in bed before ten. Doesn’t have to get up until seven thirty. We had a nice day. She had a productive week. She knows what I’m thinking. But she didn’t get a good sleep last night and I respect her efforts to catch up. Even though she’s told me her mom recommended a nice orgasm as a sleep aid. Her mom was an inspiration to me, in more ways than that.

She snuggles on me. “You never get tired of snuggling. You’ll snuggle every night. We just snuggled this morning. But doing it . . . there’s a line somewhere in between.” For me, holding hands, hug, kiss, snuggle, fuck, there’s no line, it all comes from the same place. If I want to hold hands, or hug, or kiss, or snuggle, and I do want all of those things, I want to fuck, too. We can’t always fuck when we’re hugging and kissing and our parts are responding while we’re out for a walk (well, we could), but here we are in bed. “It’s the line of a girl who doesn’t want to get sick of sex.” She doesn’t get sick of snuggling. So what’s different about sex? “It takes energy and creativity. And time. I drip all day afterwards.” I know she just threw that in to be humorous. It’s one of my things: I get to have a nice orgasm, she gets to drip all day. “For years I’ve used the line ‘I’ll do all the work’. You can leave the creativity to me. We can use condoms or pull out for drippage. Time is a matter of priorities and scheduling.” Our usual situation: her with reasons why not, me trying to find ways to make it work. She can make so many other things work. She’s amazing that way. “I guess there’s only one logical explanation: you get more out of it than I do.” “You get more out of food than I do, but I eat every day.” I may get more out of snuggling than she does, too, but she doesn’t get tired of that. She even initiates. A lot.

That’s enough talk. It’s a nice conversation. It should stay a nice conversation. For me, sometimes talking is as good as doing it, and River knows that. Another way to connect and be intimate. We’ve always talked. If we didn’t, how would we ever know each other? Talking and fucking at the same time, well that’s the ultimate.

---

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In the morning I snuggle on her while she slowly wakes up. Both hands on her hip. My cock barely touching her. It starts to stiffen of its own volition. Ok, I help a little bit. Thinking thoughts. Moving against her. Squeezing my legs together. River never minds me enjoying myself on her like this. Even dry humping in spoons with my cock on her vulva. But now isn’t the time. I mostly keep my erection to myself this morning.

“Good morning.” “Good morning.” She gets up and goes to the shower. I’m still hard. Not as hard as I used to get. But hard enough. By the time I’ve followed her down the hall to the bathroom my erection has flagged a bit but it’s still pretty apparent. Get in the shower with her. As usual. And it’s not unusual for me to join her semi-erect. Before the ED set in, it wouldn’t take much to get me fully erect in the shower with River. I could even jack off in the anti-slippery of the water. This time I’ve got a bit more in mind.

River watches while I stroke my cock, pulling outwards from the base, my thumb on top. Still just about ninety degrees of erection. “If you’ve got one, you might as well play with it.” “I think that’s a quote.” “From where?” “Something I said.”

Can I wash my hair with one hand? I picture myself squeezing the shampoo right onto my head while I jack off with the other hand. I think of asking River to help while my hands are busy. But I let go while I quickly wash and rinse my hair.

When I’m finished I haven’t lost that much ground. I jack some more while I watch River wash herself. I’ve said it all before. Trim body. Compact tits. Silly mohawk of a bush. Perfect ass. Cute face. Happy face. She must not have slept too badly. I jack faster, just the head. The continuous stimulation works better. “Water is the opposite of slippery.” “What can we do about that?” She said “we”. Soap is right out. I discovered at a young age that it can make my slit burn for hours afterwards. And she wouldn’t want it inside her, either. “The silicone stuff doesn’t seem to wash off.” But it makes me feel like an industrial appliance. “Oil maybe.” We’ve even talked about leaving some in the shower. But all the lube is in the bedroom. There used to be astroglide in the bathroom cabinet but it wasn’t there last time I needed it. And it washes off.

“Maybe some of my natural lubrication.” She leans forward and I reach under her ass, feel her flaps, feel her lips spread apart, feel the wet opening of her pussy, fit my cock to it, push. But water is the opposite of slippery, and my cock isn’t the opposite of hard but it’s a bit spongy. River bends over further, puts a hand on the front wall, reaches underneath for my cock, does whatever it is she does to help, and with a bit of effort we get it in halfway. Enough to get harder. Enough to spread her juice around. Enough to fuck.

“Nice sounds.” Glorious wet sploshy sounds with every thrust, the water streaming down her back, accumulating in her crack, and being forcefully ejected onto her ass as I bang into her. “Can you feel the splash?” “Yes.”

This is just what I needed. A morning shower fuck with River. As always the view from behind is breathtaking. I worry that the water will wash her juice away, especially with so much right where the action is, but there’s no sign of that. I pull out to her lips, feel the warm water flow over my cock, feel myself push back in through her improbable spot. As always, I don’t want to stop. “How long can you stay like that?” “Not too long.” “We don’t have to finish.” Even though I could. I feel an orgasm not too far off. If I let it. “You won’t have to drip all day.” “There are always panty liners.” A few more easy thrusts, a few more happy thoughts, then I reach around for River’s tits and stand her up against me.

Just before I pull out, the bathroom door opens. It’s Brook. The offspring most likely to walk in on us. Although we usually have more warning. She’s in for her morning pee. Probably doesn’t notice anything through the mostly clear plastic shower curtain. Just mom and dad showering, as usual. But I pull out and hide my erection behind River. “Good timing.” I wonder what it’s going to be like for clothing-agnostic Brook when she realizes that not everybody walks around their house naked occasionally, and moms and dads don’t always shower together, or even like each other as much as River and I do. I hope we’re being positive role models. Hope she doesn’t look back on things one day and think OMFG. But River and I have a great relationship. How could we not be good role models?

I join River in our rooom after we’re dry. “I could have come. But I wanted to save it for a more meaningful time.” “That’s sweet.” I wonder if that’s a clue about how River feels about sex? She’d rather save it for the more meaningful times? I’ll have to ask.

Then I feel the characteristic tickle at the opening of my urethra. When I reach into my pants the tip of my cock is slippery. “I’m the one who’s going to be dripping all day.”

Whatever doesn’t kill us, makes us stronger

This is supposed to be a blog about fucking. But sometimes it's about not fucking. That’s how it goes today.

We take a trip out of town. We’re going to drive, but River asks me to check the train schedule. Neither of us is looking forward to the long drive there and back. And the train schedule works out. But I was looking forward to hours of talking together without an audience. And another thing. “I was going to try to convince you to pull off the road for a while.”

We have a nice trip to our destination. It’s River’s trip. I’m proud to be with her. We had a nice fashion show, picking out what she was going to wear. And now we’re having an adventure together. On the way we’re nice and snuggly, each of us getting to be in a world of our own for a while, and getting to be in our world together. Lots of sweet kissing. In sunny spots. In tunnels. Whenever the mood hits one of us. And it hits often.

As always, she’s irresistible. It’s her curse. Or my curse. I see what I can get away with, feeling her through her skirt, my hand hiddden by her book. Not much, and she doesn’t help. I’m always asking River if she wants company when she uses the bathroom. I’m not entirely serious. But I am probing her comfort zone. And she’s feeling some pressure I certainly don’t intend. “I will not have sex in a train bathroom.” I can’t blame her. “Where would you?” “The back of the car.” She’s turned that down numerous times. But she sounds serious. I cleaned the car a few days ago, and that’s one of her issues.

The train arrives at our destination with its invariable lateness. We have no time for lunch before we have to do what we came to do. We get on the bus. It’s empty. The only people with a reason to get on this bus are train passengers taking it into town. We are the only two. It’s not leaving for ten minutes, and the driver has gone into the station. “Would you do it on a bus?” She gives it serious consideration. Looking around the bus. Looking out the windows. Noticing a big flat seat cushion. And it’s a clean bus. “You can turn around and keep a lookout through the window, while I . . .” Can I do it? I kneel on the seat beside her, unzip, and pull my cock out. I wish it were hard. A limp dick just isn’t exciting. To me, anyway. The erectile dysfunction at work. “You flashed me on a public bus.” That may be the first time I’ve seriously flashed her. “I think you’ve done it before. But not for a long time.” I put it away, the driver comes back, and the bus pulls out. When I notice the many security camera domes on the ceiling I give them a friendly wave.

We do what we came for. I’m proud as all get-out. River is sweet.

On the trip home I’m more subdued. I’ve made more flirty men’s room advances in town. And women’s. I think she knows that by now it’s just a running gag, and she’s even joked back, but I know my suggestions can get irritating, and she’s practically promised herself in the back of the car and I don’t want to go overboard and ruin the opportunity. It would be a sweet and adventurous end to a sweet and adventurous day together. The car is clean. It’s been three days, River’s preferred interval. We left the car in a titilating spot by the road. The stars are aligning for it. I leave the matter in her hands, where it belongs.

Again the train arrives late. But only twenty minutes this time. We walk to our car, parked on the road outside the station parking lot. We get in. “The back of the car?” Has she forgotten? Was she serious? Did she mean today? But she doesn’t tease me like that. “Too cold.” “The car has a heater.” She’s already started the car and we’re pulling away. “We’re late. The friend watching the kids has school in the morning.” As seems to happen so often when the stars are aligning, River has a list of reasons why not. I’m more interested in finding ways to make it work. Like using the heater. But the opportunity evaporates. I have left it in her hands and it has slipped through my fingers.

She was serious about the back of the car. She even agrees it was parked in an excellent spot. She apologizes. “I wonder how I can make it up to you.” I already have some suggestions. But moments like that can’t be manufactured. And I’m not a scorekeeper. “You already have.”

But then. “On a scale of 1 to 10 for fun, you’re about a 3. On a good day.” I can’t believe I said that. That’s no way to negotiate. It’s pure backlash. We get a bit argumentative and rehash some issues I’m still trying to heal from and come to terms with. River thinks I should have let go of them by now. I would if I knew how. None of my coping strategies seems to work out. Trying to have adventurous sex is one of them. Experience tells us it will be a few days before we’ve worked things out and have the right comfort level to be sexually intimate again. Naked bedtime snuggles, yes. Shower together, yes. Sex, not yet.

I even suggest post-confrontational sex, but neither of us thinks that’s a good idea. Not a good dynamic. Not our way.

I thank River for helping me get my feelings somewhat more sorted. Again. At her expense. Again. “And how can I help you?” “I don’t know. But I’ll tell you when I do.” I may have to remind her.

I feel terrible. It was her day and I’ve hijacked it.

But whatever doesn’t kill us, makes us stronger.

What are you wearing?

River is out of town visiting relatives so we don’t get to do it for a while. One of us calls the other every night. But she’s not really the phone sex type. She’s not the Skype sex type either. But at least she’ll flash me on Skype. I’ll have to remind her about that though. I want to see her muff. Or what's left of it.

So there we are. On the phone. The first night goes something like this: “What are you wearing?” “I haven’t even taken my bra off yet.” Why she even puts one on, I don’t know. That’s not true. I do know. But I wish she wouldn’t. Her small tits perking through her shirt are a sure thing for me. Always a treat. But having her bra between us is worse than having a phone between us. A phone and a bra? That's too much for even me to overcome. Unless she's ovulating.

The second night. “What are you wearing?” “A tank top.” Mmm, I like her in sleeveless. I picture her in it, and nothing else. She knows I like that. Her soft brown hair falling in tangled waves to her shoulders, the tanktop, a black one, coming barely down to her creamy ass, her cheeks swelling smoothly beneath it, her secret darkness waiting to be revealed. She turns, and I catch a glimpse of her freshly waxed landing strip, first from the side, then full frontal, cleaving her pubis vertically. My fingers push between her legs as we kiss, she spreads them for me, my thumb flicks across her nipple.

“He wants to know what I’m wearing.” “I was just leaving the room.” At least whoever she’s talking to there gets the hint. How could they possibly be related?

The third night. “What are you wearing?” Maybe she’s getting the hint by now. “Blue shorts and a top.” I guess not. She claims to be lousy at hints. She’s right. I like the subtle connection of a well-taken hint. But with River I’m just setting myself up for disappointment. Good thing I like her so much. Fortunately she doesn’t mind the direct approach, and it works pretty well. But for me, “let’s have some phone sex” doesn’t set things up quite as well as “let’s fuck.”

The fourth night. “What are you wearing?” “Well, let’s see. I looked under my cousin’s bed, and found a purple and gold teddy.” I know her cousin. She was probably a virgin when she got married. So when River says teddy, I think bear. Then I get it. She’s one step ahead of me. But only because I took a step back. Sadly, purple’s not really her color. Even though she looks good in anything. “And there were some straps, and . . .” “Handcuffs?” “Yes.” “Put them on.” “Ok.” “Your cousin is naughty. But you’re so much naughtier.” This is fun. “Look in her drawer.” “I’m opening it.” “What’s in it?” Probably a Bible. I’ve got some ideas for what she can do with that, but most of them involve her ass. “A feather tickler.” Cousin is somewhat naughty after all. In my mind it’s turned into a feather duster, and I’m working out which end to suggest using, seeing the spray of fluffy dark feathers emerging from between her legs as she works herself into a lather with the handle. “I’m sleepy.” I sigh. Unlike the real thing, I don’t think it would be much fun doing her over the phone while she falls asleep. “I love you." "Sweet dreams.”

The fifth night? That’s tomorrow. I'll call her during the day and ask her to be Skypable. Her muff will just be the beginning.

Addendum: A wave of panic floods me. I'm the one who's not getting the hint. After all, I know she's not the phone sex type. An embarrassed shame sweeps through me. Then I remember why that could never be. River doesn't get hints. And she doesn't give them, either. Sweet, calming relief. And contentment that she lets me be myself.