The Wrath Of Grapes

First of all I must introduce ourselves, We are not one of those couples who go to the gym together and work out regularly, who are slim, who dress in the latest fashions, and are regularly seen in our SUV or sports car. No, we are in our fifties, overweight, take little exercise, eat too much - eat fairly well with lots of fruit and vegetables and wholemeal bread and so on - we drink too much, in other words, we are just normal people.

This is about hemorrhoids; also known as piles, bunches of grapes, old Farmer Giles, anal varicose veins, or just an itchy, or a pain in the, arse. Those of you who have not enjoyed piles may find the topic humorous. It isn't. While this story is just that, a story, it is basically - oh no, people will start looking for double meanings now - it is basically based upon experience and a bit of wishful thinking.

From time to time we both suffer from piles. They are uncomfortable, itchy, and annoying. They are not serious enough to be worth seeing the Doc; we have just used the various creams and ointments that adorn the shelves of our local pharmacy. Judging from the shelf space devoted to them they must be a nice little earner. T'was ever thus. Some time ago I read a book which was set two or three hundred years ago, and included a description of a traveling medic of some sort, with an assistant, who would regularly tour the countryside round their local town, staying in the various inns of the time, visiting the more affluent farmers, lawyers, clerics and the like, to treat their piles. This treatment consisted of the insertion of greasy fingers up the uncomfortable orifice to massage the swollen veins to reduce them, much to the gratitude and expense of the patients.

Anyway, there is always a dilemma when your piles are playing up. When you go for a crap, and you wipe your arsehole you must try to get yourself as clean as possible. Any tiny smear of poo left can be guaranteed to contain an undigested seed, a bit of grit, or some such, that will if it stays between your nether cheeks irritate the hell out of your pile. On the other hand, the more that you wipe yourself the more likely you are to irritate the pile yourself, and to get little streaks of blood on the toilet paper. We are not alone with this problem, witness the expensive stacks of packets and boxes of moist toilet tissue that live on pharmacy shelves near the creams and ointments.

To wipe or not to wipe, that is the question

Whether 'tis better for the behind to suffer

The seeds and itches of remaining faeces

Or to wipe hard against the itching arsehole's smear of ordure

And by removing, scratch it. To sting. To itch

Yet more; and by an itch to say we tend

To arse ache, and the endless urge to scratch

That flesh so tender 'tis a consummation

Devoutly to be wished. To scratch; to sting

To sting, perchance to bleed. Ay, there's the rub.

(Sorry William!)

Anyway, we are fortunate enough to have a room with both a toilet and a shower cubicle. So after my morning evacuation is is my habit to have a shower, and to make sure that what I have not removed with paper is washed off in the shower. Remembering the slang name of the area, the wrinkled starfish, I have learned that irritating seeds can hide in the wrinkles, and diligent washing is needed to be sure of evicting them all. At least that is my official story. I have also discovered that massaging the starfish with a soapy finger provides rather pleasant sensations. Give a fingertip, take a knuckle. Mmmmmmn.

I bucked up courage and bought one of those little prostate massaging toys and some anal lube off the web and discovered new pleasures.

I also noticed that I was suffering much less often from the piles. Perhaps, I thought, the wandering Medic and his assistant had the right idea.

It can be difficult to start sensitive conversations on anal gratification with your wife, it is a subject that could easily be taken the wrong way. Needless to say, such a sensitive conversation took place when we were both rather drunk and our inhibitions were lowered. I learned that she had also made similar discoveries in the shower, and that she had been wondering if we might take these pleasurable sensations to another level. We found some lube, I put on a condom, and we tried. I think I mentioned earlier that we are not slim people. This, together with being somewhat unsteady, meant that we did not actually consummate anything that evening, but we did have fun and a lot of laughs. We also discovered that an arsehole needs quite a bit of preparation before it is ready to accept an intruder comfortably. Yes, we had a great deal of fun trying.

I went on the web again, and soon a set of graduated butt plugs were delivered,. After some hesitation we both discovered the pleasure to be had from wearing one of these for a few minutes, and later, more than a few minutes. Then one evening we were lying in bed. She had her back to me, and I had my arms around her gently tickling her nipples - you know the way these things seem to happen. She squirmed her bum against me, and I felt a part of myself trying to find its way between her bum cheeks. Our skin was dry, and not a lot of progress was made. Then she stretched out her arm and got a bottle of lube from her bedside table. She squeezed a glob out, and brought her hand back and started to spread the lube between her cheeks. She settled down again, and again pushed her bum towards me. This time I slipped between her cheeks, and soon, after a bit of shuffling round in bed, I had the head of my penis pressing against a very warm slippery little orifice. She relaxed and wriggled, I held onto her and tried to maintain pressure. Gradually I felt myself being slowly engulfed as she relaxed and tightened her muscles. After a few minutes she whispered

"Now. Push now. Push hard now."

I did my best, and I made a little progress. She gasped.

"I don't want to hurt you."

"Do you want to do it?"

"Oh yes."

"Well push when I say, and come out if I say"

"Ok."

"Push now."

I did, and I think I made a bit more progress.

"Does it hurt?"

"Sort of, but it is nice as well."

We waited a bit, and I felt her slowly and deliberately taking deep slow breaths. I felt the pressure round the tip of my penis relax, and she said "Push now" at the same time as she lunged her bum towards me. I felt increasing tightness, and then a release as I slid through the tight muscle.

We both let out tremulous gasps.

"Are you in me?"

"Oh yes, Oh yes."

"Is it good?"

"Oh yes, Oh yes, Oh yes. Are you OK?"

"I think so. Keep still a minute."

We lay still. I could feel her muscle twitching slightly. It tightened a bit, and she urgently told me to come out. I pulled myself out regretfully.

"Sorry love, I was getting tense, it was starting to hurt. Help me relax again."

She passed me the bottle of lube, and I put some on my fingers. With my hand I spread her cheeks and started to rub the little wrinkled hole. As I did it started to bloom. I pushed my finger against the soft flesh in the centre, and it yielded. My finger slid a little way in and stopped against the inner sphincter. I felt that relax a bit as I rubbed and pushed, but it did not allow me to slide in.

"Stick your bum in the air my lovely."

In that position I was able to dribble the lube directly on to her entrance, or I suppose we ought to call it her exit, but anyway, I was soon able to slide one,then two fingers in, and to then dribble more and more lube into the delightful aperture. She could not keep still. She kept squirming her bum around to maximise the sensation from my fingers.

"Try again now, quickly."

She lay with her back to me again, and soon I was pushing at her portal. This time I slid up to her inner sphincter almost at once, and she panted and pushed, and moments later engulfed me.

"Oh yes, you're in me, it's fucking lovely."

She squirmed against me.

"Fuck me, Fuck my arse."

I pulled out a little, and then pushed in again. She gasped. I repeated it. The pressure on the head of my penis was delectable, and I knew I could not last long.

"Deeper."

I did my best, pulled out a bit further and lunged back.

"Again."

After a few more strokes it was too much for me, and she knew it.

"Cream into my shit, go on, do it. Now."

I, of course, and not able to stop myself, did as commanded.

A minute or two later, as we both relaxed, our mutual throbbings subsided, and we unavoidably separated. She rolled over towards me and we put our arms around each other, kissed each other, and kept asking the other if it was all right, and reassuring each other that it was much more than all right.

Slowly we recovered and went and showered together. It had happened. Not as we had planned it, following all the advice, wearing condoms and rubber gloves. But it had happened, and it was wonderful. We washed each other of sweat and worse. We hugged and kissed.

After that first time things were easier, we were less nervous and more relaxed, and we tried various other positions with various degrees of success and enjoyment, and with the condoms and gloves, and with lots and lots of lube. We did not have anal sex very often, but it was always special.

One thing was missing. I did not know what it was like to be fucked. Yes, we played together with fingers and butt plugs, but I wanted to know what it felt like. We talked about it. She did suggest that she had a chat with some gay men she knew at work, but that did not appeal to me. Then we saw one of those no-strap-on strap-on things on a web site. If you have not seen one, they are a rather long silicone rubber dildo, with a little vibrator in the base. What is special is that there is an egg shaped protuberance coming up from the base, and if this is slid into a woman, the dildo sticks out of her at a nice natural jaunty erect angle. There are ridges on top of the base designed to entertain the woman's clitoris, and the weight and angle of it, when the woman stands up, causes the egg part to press on the woman's internal G spot. My wife could have a penis, she could have pleasure, and she could fuck my arsehole at the same time. We just call it 'Our Toy'.

Smile.

And perhaps the best bit is, now we have hardly any trouble with our piles.

___________________________

That was the original end of my story, but I thought you might be amused by this post-script. I had printed the story out, and my wife and I were reading through it to correct obvious typing errors. Reading over her shoulder I just had to caress her breasts, and one thing led to another, and we went upstairs. Now we are not into sado stuff or serious bondage or anything like that, but sometimes it is fun to restrict the movement of one of us to allow the other the maximum possibility for teasing and tickling and so on. Thus, I was lying face down over the end of our bed with my arms lightly tied to the bed rails. She was wearing Our Toy, and she had it pushed deep inside me while she rubbed her clitoris to a natural conclusion.

The door bell rang. We were expecting a parcel, and it is a real pain having to go to the depot to pick up parcels that could not be delivered, so my dear wife left the vibrating toy sticking deep into me while she wriggled the eggy bit out from herself. She put on a dressing gown and went downstairs. It wasn't the postman, it was my sister. Now my sister is quite a few years older than I am and we are rather different. For instance she was a sunday-school teacher when I was much younger. I hated sunday-school. In my experience she was altogether too goody-goody and rather boring. She had brought some papers that I needed to sign. My wife told her that I was in the middle of something upstairs, and thinking quickly, put the kettle on to boil and asked Sis to make some tea for us all while she went upstairs and helped me to finish off so that I could come down.

I had heard my sister's voice. I was stuck. The scarves that tied me down were not strong, but they were not cheap either. I did not want to risk ripping them. I did not want to try to expel the toy, I did not want to risk it falling, with any possibly staining follow-through, onto the carpet, even if that would have achieved anything.

So I could not do anything. I heard footsteps coming upstairs, and feared for the worst but it was my wife, who carefully removed the toy, and then the scarves. I hurriedly put some clothes on and went downstairs. There I found my sister had made the tea and was sitting and starting to read the first page of this story. When I entered, she rather sheepishly put the paper down.

She got to business, I signed the papers, we drank the tea, and then she made to leave. As I was ushering her through the front door she grinned in a way I had never seen before, and her eyes sparkled. She turned to me.

"A word of advice, little brother," she said in her Sunday School voice, "If you are suffering from piles try getting a butt plug."