Sex With My Love

August 20th, 2009

My husband is home and, of course, that mean sex. Unfortunately, it’s not as much sex as either of us would like but, on the other hand, I’m really glad I still want lots of sex after having it. Before he was deployed, I just thought too much about sex without actually doing it. I would think about the effort and the messes and I would actually ignore my body’s physical response to his touch because of the nagging thoughts. It was a miserable mindset and while I haven’t relished the fact that we have been apart for most of this year, I’m glad of the motivation it has provided.

When I think about sex, talk about sex, or blog about sex I tend to do it in a rather objective way. There’s definitely emotional disconnect even if I’m talking about my sex life. It’s not entirely unusual for me to get lost listening to my inner voice talk about the mechanics of sex and totally not be into it and.. that frequently leads me to think that I don’t really like sex and then I don’t want to have it but it’s not true. My inner voice really just needs to STFU sometimes and, right now, it’s pretty much drowned out by the rest of my body’s sexual needs. I touched on this on the EdenFantasys forums and, sadly, I don’t have much of a “cure” for this, at least not something that can be used on a frequent basis.

Anyway, this all sort of leads me to think that sex is very separate from emotion for me and that’s just not true. And I’m glad it’s not true. Maybe it can be and I’d be lying if I said a large part of my sex life doesn’t revolve simply around attraction and physicality but that’s not all of it. And maybe it’s not even the important part of it and maybe I’m just too wrapped up in my head to realize but, obviously, it’s nearly impossible to not have super emotional sex after your husband returns from deployment.

It’s good to feel that connected even if it feels awkward to cry during sex. It’s good to hold eachother that tight. It’s good to feel when you spend so much time not feeling. Sometimes I have such a hard time reconciling my thoughts with my feelings and all the feelings come pouring out so strongly that I just can’t think. Can’t. Despite the fact that so much of me thrives on control, I really do appreciate those moments and desire more of them when it comes to my relationship and sex.

In spite of the situation that has led to it, I’m grateful to be reminded that I like sex, I want it and having it is an emotionally charged experience. It’s shocking how easily that can be forgotten.

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Tense and Tension

April 8th, 2009

When he gets home, I’ll throw my arms around his neck and kiss him deeply, our bodies pressed close together. The blood will rush straight to my pussy, my mind ever aware of the searing heat between my legs as our lips meet, our tongues dance against eachother, our bodies straining to be closer. I’ll feel his cock grow, urging to be free of its restraints, lusting to be in me.

He’ll push me against the wall as his hands slip beneath my clothes. Or I’ll do the same, my hands working at the buttons and zippers between us. Maybe we’ll make it to the bedroom. Probably not. Maybe we’ll move to the couch, hands groping and grasping frantically at each other. Maybe we won’t make it anywhere and pants and shirts will come off in record time, landing haphazardly where they may.

He skin will be salty against my tongue when I drag it across his skin. I’ll make note of his taste amidst the thoughts spin dizzyingly around my head. Suddenly, the floor is beneath us. He’ll lean back, his hands supporting him as mine travel up his chest, across his shoulders, down his back. My kisses will move from his face to his jaw down his neck, slowly transforming into gentle sucking along the way.

I’ll kneel, straddling him, pressing my hips against his, able to see his cock, feel it through the thin fabric of his boxers and my panties. My arousal will build until I am barely able to contain it, my pussy hot and wet for him. I’ll grind against him, listening to his breathing grow heavier, the way it does when he wants me. He’ll kiss me, my neck, my shoulders, leaving marks upon my flesh. His hands will roam my body, one finally settling against my breast, caressing and squeezing, playing with my nipple. The other will move to grasp my ass, pulling me into him, squeezing gently, the way he loves.

He’ll lean back further, arching his back and pushing his hips up further. My hand reaches to his shoulder, fingers grabbing, pressing into his skin deeply as my hips grind harder, faster against him. My panties will be wet and my skin flushed. I’ll tip my head back, run my hand through my hair, tugging on it as my lips part, breathily moaning. His name will escape my mouth as I work myself into a frenzy, hips grinding, pussy pulsing, heart pounding as I rub myself against him.

Then it will begin to build, my orgasm. The tension builds in my body, in the air, an explosion just waiting for the perfectly still moment to release. I’ll lean forward over him, my breasts brushing his mouth and he’ll strain to lick, to suck, to bite my nipples growing erect as he does. In turn, I’ll chew on my lower lip, grinding myself harder and faster yet, my erect clit rubbing against his erect cock.

Then it will happen. The fervor is too much. The bomb goes off. My muscles contracting and expanding in quick succession. My pussy spasms. He can feel it against his cock, if he pays close enough attention, and I think he will. My body will be flooded with heat, with hormones, with ecstasy. My orgasm will roll over me quickly but not so quick that I don’t have time to grasp the back of his neck, pulling him close for a passionate, heated kiss. Our tongues entwine and I will hold my hips against him as I cum, moaning into his mouth.

Somewhere along the way, the sky has grown dusky. I’ll part from his lips, smiling at his silhouette in the dimming light, my breath still ragged as my orgasm subsides and I pull away from the peak.

“Welcome home.”

And now it’s time for the fun to begin.

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and Marriage

February 11th, 2009

Before him, I had never considered marriage. I thought it was a sham, for shmucks and fools. A silly peace of paper which meant nothing. After all, love doesn’t need to be legal and I hadn’t ever known any marriage which I could consider healthy or inspiring. Everyone in my family who had ever been married had also been divorced. (Most also remarried as well). My mother’s first marriage was full of verbal abuse and other strife. It was no wonder I had no faith in marriage. But he would change all that.

I don’t know when exactly but I know, after some time, I decided I wanted to be with him for a good, long while. Eventually, that turned to the thought of marriage. Before we had the chance to meet, he would occasionally question me “Marry me?” “Of course” I would respond and I meant it even if our conversation wasn’t serious. I would smile at the thought at being his wife. If you had told me 6 years ago that this would be the case, I wouldn’t have been able to imagine this change. I would have vehemently denied it and probably insulted you with a flurry of profanity which would have left you flabbergasted.

And so, we met and hit things off. We enjoyed each others’ company until a night where a conversation with my room mate turned sour. We had been talking about plans which had never come to fruition and she said “Of course, you never expected that to happen” as though everyone else in the world had seen the future and I was being naive. I flew off the handle, marched out of the room and locked myself into the bedroom to cry.

I was angry at her for saying such things. I feared they were true. I worried I would never to amount to anything. I knew things weren’t going the way I had planned. I didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life, what I was doing or how I was going to do anything.

Amidst all this, he knew. He knew he wanted to make me his wife so we could be together for the rest of our lives. He consoled me and hugged me and tried to convince me I wasn’t a failure. He told me he loved me and then he did something I never saw coming: he proposed.

I did what I knew I would do for months: I said yes.

Out of defeat and disappointment came new hope and happiness. Of course, he would decide that his proposal was not good enough – the two of us lying in bed, in the dark, me crying. So he turned on the light, got dressed and knelt down on one knee to do it again, the “right” way. But it wasn’t the second proposal which meant the world to me; he had already changed my life. It was the first proposal which had weight, the first proposal which I still remember.

He left soon after and I began searching for rings online. Was I crazy? I had accepted a proposal from a guy I had known, in the flesh, less than a month. But it felt right and I soon picked out a very unique ring; a pink stone with diamond accents. It was set in silver which I loved. Silver has such a history to it and most jewelry is not made of silver anymore.

He began basic training with the military almost immediately after leaving me. He continued to train after it finished and he planned to see me once more before making his way overseas, where he would be stationed for 2 years. Somewhere in the mix, he suggested we get married while he was there. I was against the idea; a part of me wanted that fairy tale wedding. I wanted to be the princess but I knew that would take time to plan and money. He persisted; I resisted.

And then something funny happened. I became giddy at the thought of being his wife and afraid of the time we would have to spend apart while he served. I began to come around to the idea of getting married during his next visit and, eventually, I told him we should. By that time, he had come around to my original way of thinking – isn’t that just how it goes?

We went back and forth for a couple months and then he was visited. I was set in being married and he had become terrified of the idea. But I was convincing, as always, and we intended to head down to the courthouse and have it done on a Friday. There were some kinks in our plan and we only wound up getting our license that day. We scheduled a time for the ceremony the Monday after and returned with 2 friends of mine in tow, a knot in his stomach. For the life of me, I cannot remember how it went.

I remember waiting, however. I remember meeting the judge, walking into the court room. I remember my friends standing back. I remember we were dressed casual, too casual. I remember the judge asking if we had rings to exchange: we didn’t. I remember my friend took a picture on her phone, the only picture of our “wedding,” which neither of us have ever seen. I remember stumbling over my vows because my mouth was not working right.

I remember leaning in for a kiss and tight hug as we were pronounced husband and wife. I remember his whispering “I love you” into my ear and that, as the saying goes, is all she wrote.

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and Meeting

February 7th, 2009

We had known eachother for over a year when we began meeting. He would fly to see me but where would he stay? Our conversations started shortly before I moved out from my mom’s house. Everything depended on my best friend and I getting the apartment we had applied for. We did.

A little over a month passed and 2 friends and I headed to the airport. I was nervous, of course. We sat in the lobby and waited. As time passed, my stomach grew more upset and I grabbed my friend’s hand so hard she yelped.

Then I saw him. I did not want to get up right away. I was nervous and this gave him the impression that I did not see him. And then, I was walking toward him, friends in tow. I was standing in front of him, we hugged. I stepped back and he, very visually, looked me up and down. From a stranger, this would have been rude. From him, it was more than flattering. Anyone who has met someone online can surely sympathize with the fear that your beloved will not be so attracted to you upon meeting.

My fears allayed, we headed to a restaurant but neither of us were hungry. We were too nervous. I ordered hot chocolate, accidentally dipped my nose in the whipped cream. We had a laugh as I cleaned it off. He sat to my leg, nervously bouncing his leg. I put my hand on his thigh to assure him. I remember thinking this was a bad idea. I felt defeated. The so-called meal passed, we rose and he offered to pay. As my friends walked out into the parking lot, I reached my arms around his neck to hug him and he returned the hug. My soul breathed a sigh of relief.

We exited to the car, entered the backseat as my friend drove us home. We put our arms around eachother, awkward with out winter clothing in the way and cuddled. I remember feeling for the first time in my entire like that everyone would be okay. Such a weight was lifted from my shoulders.

We spent the next days mostly in bed. I remembering crawling next to him the first time, feeling so nervous but we lay next to eachother and it felt wonderful. Cuddling and, after a few days, having sex. One day we were hanging out with my friend and room mate, then announced we were headed to bed. She had asked how we could sleep so much and we laughed. We hadn’t been sleeping that whole time!

Those days passed in a haze and soon I had to return to work – night shift. Of course. My coworker wanted to know how it went; he spotted the hickeys on my neck and teased me. He guessed it went well. I was ecstatic.

Who knew it would turn out that way? Certainly not me.

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and Love

February 6th, 2009

Although this blog is entitled of Sex and Love, I don’t often talk about the love aspect much. I don’t really talk about there sex that much, come to think of it. As it happens, I spend more time thinking about sex than actually having it and it’s not necessarily a bad thing. As much as I didn’t want to post explicitly about my sex life under my real name, I feel hesitant to post too much identifying information about my love life here. Still I thought I could at least introduce you to the object of both my love and desire: my husband.

We met online over 5 years ago. We both weren’t looking for anyone and our relationship started out sexually charged. It has stayed that way ever since. There is never a day when he isn’t groping my breasts or my ass and while it can be a bit annoying (I insisted on a no funny business in the kitchen rule!), it’s also insanely flattering. The way he is so easily aroused by just lying next to me is incredibly arousing in itself and he has never once made me feel that he thinks of me anything less of beautiful.

In bed, he’s quick to profess how he’s missed being inside me, missed tasting me. He showers me with compliments and is always eager to have his face between my legs, mouth working around my clit. I cannot help but smile as I see him move his hand beneath him to stroke his own cock as he does this, like clockwork. Seeing him so turned on by me, by pleasing me, only turns me on.

We will be married 4 years this summer. Unfortunately, I don’t think he will be able to be here for our anniversary as he is currently deployed. Such was the case for our first anniversary as well; although he still sent me roses which I kept by my bed until not a petal was left.

He is goofy and cute, funny and real. This adorable awkwardness is how I knew he was real when we chatted online, staying up until all hours of the morning as we shared naughty pictures and racy words. He is simply the best partner I’ve ever found at cybersex and I would often feel the thrill rushing through my veins, my pussy dripping wet as we typed back and forth.

I miss how he makes me laugh. Sometimes I do something and imagine how he might make fun of me. I miss his voice. I miss the voice he would use in bed, slightly lowered and whispering into my ear. I miss feeling his body next to me, even just as we sleep. I miss crawling into bed next to him, kissing the skin on his back and cuddling close. I miss spooning, his cock hard against my ass. Even if nothing would happen, he was ever-erect.

I miss grasping his hair, my hand on the back of my head as he goes down on me. I miss leaning over him, brushing my lips and tongue over his chest, skin perfectly smooth. I loved to leave marks and he loved to be marked. It lets the world know that he is mine. Before he left, he asked to do the same to me and sucked on my own neck. I never looked in the mirror to see if it left a mark. I wish I would have.

I miss the look and the feel of his hips. So fucking sexy. I miss groping and grabbing him. I miss humping and grinding against him, his leg, his hip, his cock, his face. I miss coming together and falling asleep after.

I could kick myself for not doing that more often. I will when he returns.

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