“Married for nearly 15 years and you haven’t changed a bit!”
I smiled at what was intended as a compliment. Dave was an old high school sweetheart that was trying to score points. I married the summer after I graduated from High School. Dave was one of a few who were left disappointed that they did not get a chance at me, with me, in me. I knew that. But, of course, High School reunions are the place for reminiscing.
In between the burst of his compliment and my polite, humble smile, there was that moment many women like me understand. We work hard to stay in shape, to take care of the God-given curves we are blessed with. As Dave’s eyes eagerly affirmed the fruit of my labors, I felt that inner conflict of being both affirmed and objectified.
“Thanks, Dave. You look great yourself.” That was it. I don’t really remember much of what we said after that.
Hours later, back at the hotel, as my sweet hubby pawed at my naked body as if he had never fondled me ever before in his life, I knew he had enjoyed the night’s visions as well. There were plenty of my former classmates who were eager to show off more than a mid-thirties lady should. At least in my opinion.
But as my husband fondled and suckled on my breasts; even though we were in a hotel where the sex can be much hotter; even though I had been the target of many complimentary eyes that evening; even though my husband was more horny than any of those former classmates were back in our High School days; Dave’s comment was like a loud ringing in my ears that I could not shake.
“Married for nearly 15 years and you haven’t changed a bit!”
As I leaned back on the mattress, I spread my legs almost mindlessly, in line with what had unfolded countless times before. I knew, as he sucked my nipples, what was coming next. One kiss lower, then another. Sometimes five, other times four or six, but always in that range. Migrating lower.
I laid there staring up at the ceiling, Dave’s words echoing in my mind, as I almost moved my lips silently in sync with my hubby as he moaned, “Oh baby, your pussy tastes so good.”
Tonight it had only taken four kisses before I felt the heat of his soft tongue slither between my folds. After a few more licks and some well-experienced talents of suction on my labia, I responded with a moan and sigh – as if on cue.
It was time to slowly lift my hips upward … feel his tongue worm deeper inside of me … then back down … three-four-five kisses on my clit… then as he slithered back down … I lifted my hips upward … his tongue worming deeper … then down … kisses on my clit … then lower … hips up … tongue deeper.
It always felt good to cum. This night was no different.
Then of course, he rolled me over. It was as if we had practiced the routine so many times that we could perform with Olympics-like precision.
Flat on my tummy …
Hubby straddling me … spreading my legs further apart …
That predictable pronouncement that I was about to feel him enter me as he moaned, “Oh fuck, baby” …
The pounding …
Wave after wave of “Oh fuck, baby” …
Then, that final explosive moment when my service was completed …
The slumping of his body, rolling off and onto the mattress …
And moments later, a kiss, a roll over, and – show’s over.
“Married for nearly 15 years and you haven’t changed a bit!”
I wasn’t mad. I wasn’t in the mood to blame anyone.
I wasn’t sad. I wasn’t able to feel much in that moment.
I was lost. Lost along a road that I had traveled over and over again. The worse kind of being lost. Like being lonely in a room full of friends.
As we laid there, hubby snoring and my mind arguing with my heart, Dave’s words kept haunting me … hunting me … hurting me.
“Married for nearly 15 years and you haven’t changed a bit!”
And now I am home from the weekend trip. My reunion is in the rear view mirror. Dave, and all the others, have returned out to sea with the currents of life. And here I am.
The clock is ticking. Just as it has been for the past 15 years. In less than an hour, hubby will arrive home. It is Monday. We will have dinner. He will retire to his game on tv… fall asleep … go to bed… leaving me somewhere between wondering and wandering… wishing.
Fif — teen — years.
Dave’s words ricocheted in my mind. My lips silently whispered what was intended as a compliment, but now was a cruel taunt. “Fifteen years.”
I stood in the shower, the last step in my routine before bedtime, the water soothing my flesh, all the while my mind fielding ripple after ripple of that repeated taunt . . . “Fifteen years.”
Finally, working up enough nerve to confront my demons, I felt the emotion begin to well up inside of me. “Fifteen years!”
Then, in a shock to myself, I heard the silent whisper cross my lips as the water beat a steady drone on my body … “Fifteen … fucking … years.”
I had never said that word before. Never. Not in my entire life. Technically, I still had not said it since it was nothing more than a thought wisping across my lips. So, I mouthed it one more time for good measure.
“Fifteen, fucking years.” I nearly bit my lower lip as I hung that first, unspoken syllable on the edge before I pushed it out. As if I could somehow expel my demons by using their filthy terms.
My hand lowered to my pussy. I felt the sudden precision and synchronization of that word and my own finger pushing inside of my own flesh.
Biting my lower lip just before softly uttering that word, my finger pressing perfectly against my seat of pleasure; my wet, wanton clit.
“Fuck” I dared to quietly moan as I pushed in, then slowly drag back up over my clit that pushed my mind to thoughts that only the demons would dare approve of.
“Fuck” I quietly hissed as my mind fed my body what my finger could only suggest.
“Fuck” I moaned as my eyes closed and dared to invite the images … the impressions … the fantasies … as my finger danced.
“Fuck” I muttered as the demons were busy like never before, bending my reality in ways like never before. I felt my space shrink. I sensed a presence.
“Fuck” I spoke aloud as I felt the presence slither around me … engulf me … dare to penetrate me …
“Fuck” . . . I HEARD in my ear.
I did not open my eyes.
I did open my mind.
I slowly opened up as my toes curled and my feet wriggled further apart.
“Fuck” melted into my ear from a presence I could not explain. From a presence that bent me over. From a presence that seemed both anonymous and familiar.
“Fuck” lingered longer as my body was bending to the will of whatever pleasure-seeking presence my demons had invited behind the veil, within the inner sanctum.
I felt it ooze into me, inside of me, filling me.
My eyes were closed – my mind was open. I vowed to never look back.
Never look back. Things would be different. That is another story.