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.
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.”
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