Frankly, I have always found the NSFW tag to be redundant. Because everywhere I have worked if you were on the web for any reason other than work you would get wrote up. A cat video would get you in as much trouble as granny bondage. So when I say ‘NSFW‘ what I mean is let’s make sure your kids aren’t shoulder surfing. And if you are under 18 yourself- what are you doing here? Where are your parents?
“Do you ever miss having sex with me?” She said it in a slightly slurred way. The bottle of Kirkland Cabernet Sauvignon she had brought was gone, as was the bottle of Apothic Red I kept on the counter as a decoration. I didn’t drink much anymore. I drank even less when we were together. But she remembered my weakness for red wine from when we were young.
“I’ll answer you honestly…” I also slurred. I didn’t used to be honest with her. I was afraid to hurt her. Afraid to lose her. Ironically, dishonesty is what drove us apart.
But here we were together. Our kids were asleep in their rooms, and we were sitting on the couch in my living room. Drinking and talking the night away like two old friends. And that’s what we were. There was no sense in us being anything other than that. Our marriage had ended, and our relationship had evolved into this. It wasn’t her fault, and it wasn’t mine. Why should we be enemies? “I’m sorry, what did you ask again?”
Asking that while we were married would have started an argument, but she only laughed. “Sex!” She said a little too loudly. “Do you miss it? With me?”
“I miss intimate moments, my heart speaking to yours. But not sex.” She looked a little put out so I slurred on, “I never wanted just sex from you. I can take care of my physical need with a browser and Lubiderm. What I needed from you was emotional. I miss that.”
“But not sex?” She pressed the matter.
“Not particularly.” The conversation was causing me to sober up. I was beginning to realize where this was going, and it was making me anxious.
Anxiety is a weird emotion. You can become anxious over something you dread. But you can also want something so badly that the anticipation is painful, and this is also called anxiety. I can tell you I was feeling anxiety, but I cannot tell you why.
“Why don’t you miss the sex? Is there someone else in your life now?” She asked.
Tah! I barked a short burst of a laugh- part surprised, part amused, part nervous. “Do you have someone else in your life? We’re at a place right now where we shouldn’t ask each other these questions. What we do when we are together is our business, and no one else’s.” And what I do when you aren’t here is not your concern, I thought- but didn’t say.
“Ok, then why don’t you miss it? Was I no good?” She asked with a pain in her voice.
“Wha? No! The sex was good, you were good- great even.” I fumbled over the answer.
“So do you miss it?” She asked again in earnest.
“Ok, yeah, I miss it,” I admitted.
She kissed me, a sloppy open mouth kiss that I should have been expecting. A kiss I should have resisted.
But I didn’t, I opened my mouth to hers and allowed my tongue to find the once familiar recesses of her mouth. My hands moved instinctively, unbiddenly, to her waist. The curves there still fitting perfectly as if they were made to go together. I felt her hands move under my arms to clutch onto my shoulder blades. Her hands moved with a deft grace that contradicted her state of inebriation. I continued to kiss her, or was it her kissing me, as my hands found their way to the small of her back.
She sidled up onto my lap, and only then did I realize how hard I had become. She felt it too, and moved her hands to my belt to release the pressure.
Here, I did stop her. I took her by the wrists and stood. She slid off of my lap and found her feet. Without saying a word, I pulled her across the apartment to my bedroom. As soon as the door was shut behind us, we attacked each other. All inhibitions, all second thoughts, were gone. This was going to happen.
We wrestled with each other and the clothes that burdened us as we stumbled across the room. By the time she fell over backwards onto the bed she was wearing only a pair of black bikini panties. I was naked, I didn’t own underwear anymore.
As she lay there on the bed we used to share every night, I was captivated by her beauty. Enthralled. The sensuous curves of her full figured femininity called to me. If I thought this was planned, if I thought this was premeditated, I was wrong. Her legs had not been shaved. Not that it bothered me. It never did, but she certainly would have shaved if she thought I would see them. This is what a real woman looks like, I told myself. I stood there and looked at her for a long moment, and ignored my ache of need. I wanted to remember how she looked.
She hooked her foot around me and pulled me to her. She had waited long enough I suppose. I lowered my body on top of hers and put my mouth to her neck.
I bit her, not enough to draw blood. Just enough to hurt a little. Just enough to peak her arousal. She responded by raking my back with her talons, adding new wounds to the canvas of scars she had given me over the years. She grabbed me by the side of the head and moved my mouth to hers. But instead of kissing me she bit my lower lip, her bite brought forth blood. Then she offered her lip to me and I did the same. Our blood mingled in our joined mouth. And as we swallowed I wondered how many times we had performed the unspoken, unplanned, ritual.
She pulled me down onto her, and I felt my swiver rub against the drenched cloth that separated us. She reached down and pulled the crotch of her panties to the side. The hair of her mons veneris grazed my head as I slid inside her.
It felt like heaven.
It felt like home.