Damn, she looked sexy. I'm not just talking about super model sexy, I mean she looked extra special tonight.
And this was my wife?
I was so friggen turned on that I nearly came right through my jeans. Carrie had never looked or acted like this in our fifteen years of marriage. She was usually the shy one in any crowd, and she had certainly never taken initiative or been assertive in any situation, and by all means, never in the bedroom. That was my department. She's always been attractive to me, but somehow I could just see it in her eyes. Tonight was going to be different.
Yep, fifteen years of marriage, and it was our anniversary. We had already agreed to not buy expensive gifts or go anyplace lavish. We had simply made a resolution to save our money to pay some bills, and try to do something simple and nice for one another on this day to show our love. I had taken off early from work to prepare a pleasant meal for her, and of course I had purchased some lovely roses and a small bottle of wine. Carrie rarely drank much alcohol, so I didn't bother with picking out a particular brand or variety. She probably wouldn't drink it anyway, but I made the effort.
I'll tell you straight up; she's the perfect girl in my eyes. I suppose she isn't a girl anymore at thirty-six, but in my head, she is the one and only. I really mean that. There has never been anyone who could pull my strings like her. She's it for me.
But there was a minor problem, though. I have an insatiable appetite for sex. It's a mainstay in my life, without question. I could come three times a day and still look forward to a fourth. It's just the way I am. I fight it, really...because I know Carrie doesn't share that same fetish. Once a month is plenty for her, and it always has been.
Bummer. I would carry her over blistering deserts, across snowy mountains, or any other of those cheesy catch-phrases that the fine poets use. But she simply doesn't want it. None of it. "Could I give you a massage, honey?"
"Naw, I don't think so."
"Back rub?"
"No."
"Nothing?"
"Naw."
Damn. It must just be a guy thing. I would receive more pleasure from giving her pleasure than if she just blew me. I mean it. That musky smell of her vagina shocks my senses into spasms. Fuck, I could live there and never leave. Sure, I'd get kinda clammy and slimy, but I'd be one happy-ass clammy bastard.
Whew.
That being said, I really would rather pleasure her than me. I'd relish a relationship where the woman enjoyed receiving head. I could eat pussy for hours on end and still come to tears when those luscious lips left mine. I don't know what it is about it, but it sends me over the edge instantly. When I can finally beg and plead enough to get her to allow it, I delve in there like G. I. Joe on a slippery mission. And I got kung-fu grip.
I fucking love it there. But alas, it isn't meant to be. Sometimes I try to rationalize it with her. "You don't have to spend hours getting ready and putting so much effort into our sexual experience, especially if you aren't all that excited about it." And I mean that too. I love her dearly, and honestly, I would rather spend one minute masturbating while my face is pressed into her unprepared cunt, than spend an hour doing the usual
that hurts, that tickles, that bothers me, oh...not there, just let me do it, okay?
And she washes that twat of hers like she's OSHA. I like it just like God made it, salty and tangy, and the best fucking flavor on earth.
Damn.
It's a shame, really. I don't understand it, being male of course. But I
am
a male. We are cavemen at heart—all of us. But the strange thing is this. This woman comes like a race horse. I mean it. The whole fucking world comes to an end and rainbows fall from the sky when she comes. I mean the goddamned earth tilts and mountains crumble, the fucking plaster starts cracking from the ceiling. And yet, once a month is enough.
If I came that hard, I'd never leave the damned house. But men are just different, I guess. A slight tickle and my poor little pecker is turned on like the lights at Candlestick Park.
Whew again.
Where the hell were we? Oh yeah, my lovely wife and our fifteenth wedding anniversary. I suspected a very lackluster night and only really planned on the dinner I'd prepared and perhaps a little not-naughty nookie later in the evening. And I was okay with it, really. I just love that woman like nothing else in the world. Infact, I even masturbated earlier in the day, just so I wouldn't be too aggressive with her. I could just ravish her sweet body like a hell hound any time of day, but I really did try to be the kind of man I should. I wanted to respect her tender body and show her how much I loved her, even if it meant curtailing my sexual drive and planning ahead to prevent my overzealous aggressive desire from outweighing my respect for her.
But this night, this unbelievable and unexpected twisted night, I found myself in the hands of a woman I never thought my little Carrie was capable of being. I will always remember it as the night she taught me how to behave. She taught me how to control myself with more satisfaction than simply letting go of my inhibitions. She taught me submission. And that's a weird fucking thing, that submission.
Well, dinner was my usual. I managed a simple bowl of spaghetti and my personal recipe of meatballs. In all honesty, I had opened the bottle of wine and sampled a glass to lull myself into my kind and gentle husband mode. Wine helps me some. It chills me out a bit. Now, other alcohol sends me over that same edge we discussed earlier. Mr. Gentle goes out the window and Dr. Dastardly takes his place. Poor Carrie had seen him more than she cared, I know. I'm not talking about being mean, it's just that I get really fucking horny and try to push every button she's got. It only takes a slight tap of her hand to place me in order, but the next button looks damn good too.
But tonight was different, and I had no fucking idea how different it would be, but I'd soon be putty in her hands, her tender self forcing me to learn submission. And I loved every fucking second of it. I just didn't realize it until the end, stupid caveman that I am.
Carrie entered the room with a printout from the computer. I was puzzled with the look in her eye, and quickly asked, "What cha up to?"
"Just studying."
"Studying what, Dear?"
"Your anniversary present."
"We discussed this already, Hun." I was feeling like an idiot for not purchasing a gift for her. She had made a blatant point of saying that neither of us was going to buy a gift. Dumb ass. How could I be so stupid? This is a woman...no means yes, and yes means no. Stupid-ass caveman.
"Don't worry," she chided. "You're not really getting anything."
I know I had a profoundly idiotic look on my face. Caveman-like, I imagine.
"Tell you what," she said, tilting her head and smiling, "I'm not hungry. Just eat a little something while I shower up. Then come see me in the bedroom."
The sultry look in her eyes shook me. I must have looked like that kid in the E.T. movie when the spaceship landed. "I...uhm...okay. Yeah."
Her smile was like a slap in the face. Even my dick stood up to see what the fuck had happened. I have no idea how long I stood in the kitchen with a spatula and a hard-on aimed in the same direction. "Wwwhat?"
She looked straight into my eyes with the hottest fucking smile I've ever endured. Then she looked at the open bottle of wine on the counter. She paused, and then walked over to it. To my absolute disbelief, she picked up the bottle and downed every damn ounce that was left in it, and it was nearly full.
She let out a loud belch, and gave me that same fucking smile. "I needed help," she said, and sauntered off into the bedroom.
The hard-on chef just stood there. Maybe the aliens replaced my wife with some erotic transplant. Damn, I hope they don't come back for her.
If I told you I knew what happened the next fifteen minutes, I'd be lying. The fucking meatballs burned into oblivion. I'm fairly sure I finally shut off both burners and stood like a statue, but my mind was racing way faster than the rest of me. Did she say
come see me in the bedroom
? No way. Not Carrie. Maybe the alien wife said it. Maybe it was my self conscious. Wonder what color my padded room will be in the nuthouse?
Snap out of it, dumb-ass. Bedroom! I nearly broke a toe scurrying into the next room.
