Comfort and Experience

The spring morning sunlight streaming through the bay windows awakens me to a beautiful and quiet Sunday morning.. One of the reasons we bought this house was for those windows for we both do love to wake up to the sun. I hear your gentle snoring beside me and I reach an arm across the bed and lay it upon your shoulder. Such a long reach it is, across this king-sized mattress bought for when we had slumber parties with the kids in bed, or for when one of them would be snuggling between us to wash away the terrors of a nightmare. However, those days are long gone with Kayla in her last year of college and Justin usually sleeping until late as he enjoys his last dozen or so weekends as a high school senior. Now the king is just too big; we spoke of buying a queen, but we have never gotten around to it.

This early in the morning, it is just me, you, and Katey. I look at Katey at the end of the bed. She yawns at me, her calico fur glowing in the sun. She is no spring chicken anymore, and she likes to spend most of her days sleeping. She knows she has no chance of being fed yet, and is content to continue to doze, enjoying her first sunbeams of the day. Your breathing tells me you won't be waking too soon, so I slip quietly from the bed. Ugh, the first moment my right knee takes weight is always painful now from three surgeries and the damage from a bad collision on a soccer field some twenty five years ago. Can it really be 25 years? I stretch, my back crackling like popcorn and my left shoulder aching as I reach overhead. That one I earned hiking some ten years ago.

I look at you in that oversized t-shirt you like to sleep in, most of you covered by a light sheet. Yup, you and I have been together for almost 30 years. You still snore gently, slowly and steadily, so I know my clambering out of bed has not disturbed you. I use the bathroom, brush my teeth and strip out of my light summer pajamas. They are comfortable to sleep in and nice enough for you to wake up to, but I have the time, so I change into something better. A violet teddy with a little bit of lace and some matching panties. As I change, I notice the sag in my breasts and the folds in my belly. Oh, to have the body of a twenty year old again, but I am not bad looking for early fifties.

I slip back into bed with you. For quite awhile Sundays have been our time to be together, often sex, but not always. Sometimes just snuggling As I slide across the bed to be close to you, I think of how the futon that we spent our first six years sleeping on barely had the space for both of our lean bodies to fit. Money was so tight back then, we could not have afforded children although we always wanted them. However, I finished my PhD and you got your plumbing license and we were on our way.

I fold the sheet down to our waist and snuggle up against you, wrapping my arms around your belly (a much bigger belly than that of the lean basketball player I married) so I can spoon you. I remember the first time I ran my hands across your stomach. I had never intended to sleep with you that night, but you were so sweet I had to snuggle with you, and then those abs made me desperate to see more.

Our bodies still match well, and I feel my breasts against your shoulder as I smell your hair, clean shampoo, always Heads-and-Shoulders, and just a hint of your smell, which I could recognize anywheres now. Your hair was your vanity. Shoulder length black curls, but now you keep it short and make no attempt to hide the large bald spot. I was a little sad for you, but also proud, the day you shaved and embraced your older self. I think it gives you an air of authority which easily makes up for the loss of that rakish sense of wildness.

I slide my hand up across your still strong and powerful chest with a little extra padding on top. I circle your right nipple with my hand and I feel you stir a little more. My lips find that hollow between your collar bone at the base of your neck; you love kisses there. You take two quick short breaths and I know you are awake. You lay still, soaking in the feeling of my hands and my lips and I do nothing to break your reverie.

Instead, my hand wanders down from your nipple across your belly to find the bottom of your shirt. As I slide it up, I trace the edge of your shorts' waistband and then slide under your shirt along your side. You sigh in contentment, reminding me of Katey when we pet her under her chin and get her purring. I again toy with your nipple, circling and teasing, and nibble gently on your earlobe. You turn and smile, "Good morning, Christina,"

"It is Sunday and a beautiful morning, Anthony" I whisper in the ear I was nibbling.

"I'll be right back," you say and you heave yourself out of bed. Like me, you have your share of aches and pains, and you stretch your left hip and knee, both always stiff, before setting weight on your left leg. As you head for the bathroom I see you flexing your fingers and wrists, as you work through the morning pain of your arthritis.

I lay in bed waiting. I hear your urine hit the water of the toilet. Still strong, but your days of peeing like a racehorse are gone. When you finish, I hear the sink run as you wash your hands and the medicine cabinet open. Soon I hear you brushing your teeth, which makes me smile. You usually brush with baking soda toothpaste, because you love it so, but on Sunday mornings you use a mint flavor, because you know I like the taste when I kiss you. You know as well as I do that it is the little things that matter as much or more than the big things.

When you come back you have changed into black boxer briefs and nothing else. You, feeling self conscious about how your belly hangs over a bit now, asked me once if I still really liked you in them. "Oh, hell yes," I said, "Anthony, when you are wearing those I am not looking at your stomach." That was not entirely true. As you come into the bedroom I look over all of you. I see the tattoos on your left breast, nothing fancy, just my name and the names of our children in a simple script, and the dark hair covering your torso, now turning gray, that is so out of fashion now, but I do so love. However, mostly I drink in how your balls sit forward in the underwear in a pocket shaped by their bulk and how your penis, partially erect in anticipation of the morning, points slightly up and to the left. All of that is framed by powerful thighs, thighs that climbed many a ladder and carried twelve year old Kayla two and half miles across rough terrain after she twisted her ankle badly hiking Mount Washington.

You smile as you feel my eyes on you and you slide into bed. I return the smile, as you ask, "Where were we?" It is not really a rule, but tradition that the one who wakes first takes the lead. While I waited for you I contemplated my plans for the morning. Twenty years ago, I could easily ask of you, in fact might all but demand, more than one orgasm, but you are not thirty-five anymore, and the days of you being hard mere moments after cumming all over me are long behind us.

"Oh, I was teasing your nipple and your neck, thinking about how you'll feel inside of me and how wonderful it might be to taste myself and let you finish in my mouth."

"Sounds wonderful, as long as I get to feast on you for a long time at some point." As you tell me your thoughts, I think of how shy and awkward we used to be. Afraid to ask and afraid to share what we wanted and what we did not, leaving us fumbling and frustrated. It was during our first pregnancy that you found the courage to talk to me about how sex was getting stale and how you wanted to change things. At first I was defensive, but over the next two years we explored porn and sex together and found a new vocabulary to share our desires.

We slide into each other's arms and kissed, slowly at first, and then with more passion. As your tongue slides past my lips, I feel the tip stroke the roof of my mouth. So perfect, you know me so well. Soon I am kissing your neck again, our hands exploring each other's backs. My back arches in response as your hands stroke the hollows just inside my shoulder blades. I move down to your chest stroking and caressing the hair with both hands and my lips. I feel your eyes drinking in my breasts hanging half exposed and framed in the violet of the teddy. I used to envy women with large breasts, but I think mine have aged much better than those of my friends and I love how your eyes still seek them out.

Your hands tease the side of my breasts as I move down to the gentle swell of your stomach. I feel your penis, harder now, pressed against my stomach. Your fingers gather the teddy and I slip down to the elastic of your briefs as the teddy slides over my head. Letting my tongue trace the edge of the elastic, I let my nipples brush against the bare flesh of your thighs. I stretch out my legs to get more comfortable. Katey is in the way and I gently push her into her with my leg. Stubborn, and not willing to lose her patch of sunlight, she surfs my calf and lands between my legs.

Comfortable and with the cat between my legs, I slip down out of your easy reach, your left thigh nestled underneath my left shoulder. You slide an extra pillow under your head so you can watch more easily and our eyes meet. My fingers tease you through your underwear, gently tracing scrotum and penis. I know how you enjoy being teased, so I let time slip by as I caress you, tracing your curves and crevices. After a while, as my fingers gently slide up your shaft, barely grazing the cloth, your penis twitches in anticipation and your balls move of their own accord. I love seeing that and it only happens when you are getting close to the edge. I raise my eyebrows, "My you are excited this morning. Do you want to speed up the program?"

You smile back and contemplate for a moment. I am fine with whatever you want as you would never leave me unsatisfied. Even our first time naked together, when you blew your load twice in the first ten minutes, you made sure to take care of me the best you're naïve self could. "No, Chris, I want to wait." Part of me is gleeful as I know my turn is coming.

Our heights are not so different, me giving up only a few inches, but your power and strength easily pull me up towards you. My right foot gently kicks Katey who offers a meowl (a sort of meow-yowl combination irritated cats like to make) and she reluctantly decides to dodge the action and move to the window sill. She still gets the sun at least, but the bed she feels forced to surrender is far more comfortable.

Katey is one pampered little beast and I feel no guilt as all as I let you flip me over and lift my chin so you can nuzzle right into my neck. I see above me my PhD diploma and your plumbing license hung about our bed. You were so proud of me, and you so wanted to hang my diploma. I reluctantly agreed, but only if you hung your plumbing license beside it; they both are what built our lives. We have come a very long way, with me now being a provost at the university and your company purchasing your twelfth plumbing van.

Your tongue laps the nape of my neck with long licks that make me shudder. You have just enough weight on me so I feel your strength and power, but enough weight on your knees so I am not crushed under your 260 pounds, some of it fat, but 230 pounds are pure muscle and strength. Your tongue moves down to my navel and then back up to my right breast. I cradle your head as you suck on my nipple.

Your tongue is electric, but as I cradle your head my maternal instincts bring me back to my days nursing our children and how, despite all your power, you trust me to almost mother you when your temper goes off the rails. Ever since your mother passed on eight years ago, I am the only one who can slap the anger right out of you. I remember the first time I did it. Kayla was three and you were fixing the kitchen sink on a cold winter's day. Especially since you were a plumber, you expected it to be a 30 minute job. Two hours later you were cursing up a storm and slamming things around. Kayla and I were in the playroom, and we were still in the first house which was too small to give you any real space.

As your temper flared I saw Kayla's eyes widen in fear, so I marched right into the kitchen. We both have Italian tempers, but my mom always said I had that cold Sicilian rage, and I was running on that as I walked in seeing you with blowtorch in hand, unlit. "What do you want!?" you shouted at me not really as a question, but a warning.

Not a word did I say. I just walked right up to you and smacked you right upside your head, and hard. Your mouth dropped open, too stunned to speak, but I was quite ready to fill the silence, "You are scaring Kayla, and you are going to teach her words that will embarrass us both, so you either take your damn temper for a nice cold walk around the block to cool off or you start acting like an adult." You started to speak, but I cut you off, "And no, Kayla and I are staying right here. This is your problem, you fix it."

Your eyes flared, but I did not back down. You went for a walk, came back and fixed the sink and then apologized to me and to little Kayla. Later you called me brave for what I did that day, saying how few stood up to you like that. You said it without bravado, and I knew it to be the case. However, it was not really courage, it was faith in your love for me. I knew you would never hurt me nor raise a hand to me; and you never did to me or to your kids. There was that time you did put Justin up against a wall, feet dangling as you held him by his collar last year after he threw a glass on the floor in his anger at me, sending shards flying everywhere, one cutting my face. "You are so good at taking care of me," I say to you as you suck and kiss at my breasts.

You replace your mouth with your fingers and whisper, "I am just getting started."

I giggle, "I meant you take so good care of us. Thank you."

"You make it all worth it," you say and then you turn your attention to the other breast, so far neglected. Your lips stay on my breast, but your hand wanders lower. Laying on my back hides the folds so easily seen in my belly when I stand, so your hand runs, unimpeded, down my stomach and across the leg of my panties to my thighs. I feel myself getting wet, but you refuse to give my pussy any relief yet. After a while, your head follows your hands and you then bring yourself up to kneeling between my legs.

Your eyes walk all over my body. I don't like to wear bikinis that much anymore. The folds and stretch marks don't look good in public. However, in your eyes I know they are beautiful. A few years ago after buying my first one piece, you asked why. When I told you, you did not argue. However, the next time we made love you traced every stretch mark with your tongue as you talked about how helpless you felt during both of the pregnancies, as I went through morning sickness, swollen feet and back pain. The last thing you did that morning before turning your tongue's attention to my clit was to trace my episiotomy scar and then look me in the eye, "Never forget that carrying Kayla off that mountain was nothing compared to what you put yourself through for our children." God, I loved you so much for that!!

And, in the now, I feel beautiful and wanted. You slide the panties off my legs and pause for one more look, while your hands tease my thighs and then the outside of my lips. Then your tongue is on me: first thighs, then circling outside my lips, then parting my lips. I part my legs further, and stroke your hair as you get comfortable between my legs. You don't rush. Your hands are playing with both my breasts as your tongue parts my inner lips and then, ever so slowly, slides up. I try to thrust down and into you to force your tongue on to my clit, but you easily stop me. Instead of crossing my clit you circle it keeping your tongue pressed against my outer lips. I moan, "Oh you damn son of a bitch."

You giggle, and lift your head briefly from me. You glide one hand down saying, "Patience, almost there!' I moan again and I feel your fingers part my outer lips, exposing my clit completely. You slowly bring your head down; I try to push you to go faster, but you easily resist me. Then your tongue touches the bottom of my vagina right at the episiotomy scar and then it slides up, up, up, and....contact. I almost scream, but bite my lip instead. My son, Justin, is a deep sleeper, but I do not want him to wake up to that.

The fingers of your other hand penetrate into me, curving up at just the right angle; fingers behind my clit stimulating my g-spot, tongue circling and lips sucking gently. It does not take me long. As I crest, you accelerate and as I ease down, so do you; your timing is perfect. My hands stay in your hair, my silent request for more. You move back for a while, just massaging my stomach and thighs as we both catch our breath, but you quickly sense my desire returning. You build me up again, teasing, toying and pleasuring, with practiced ease; you stay down there for almost twenty minutes. As I get close again I interrupt.. "Anthony, I want you inside me," I urgently whisper.

You pull off the boxers, a bit awkwardly as neither of our bodies work as they did, but seeing your cock spring free still takes my breath away. Over eight inches long and thick, I never tire of seeing it. I sit up, you kneeling over me, and I caress and kiss your cock and balls. I know you want more of that, but I desperately want you inside and you sense that. You push me back, gently but firmly, your hands on my shoulders and I feel the glans of your penis slide along my lips and through my pubic hair. After picking up my wetness, you slide in. It does not take long until you are edging close to orgasm.

Still focused on the pleasure of you inside me, I reach for the condoms in the nightstand. Package open, I have one in hand and you pull out. We don't need birth control, I am long past having kids, but you don't last the way you used to, and this prolongs things. You kneel before me and again I sit up. Your hard shining cock sits right before my face. I give it a lick and a quick suck, not being able to resist, and then slide the ribbed condom on. Soon you are back inside me. With a condom you can last a long time, and I crest through my second orgasm.

As I finish you pull out. I sit up again and remove the condom. I tug against the back of your thighs. You know what I want and we both move to the head of the bed so I can lean my back against the headboard. "Give me every drop, Anthony," I say as I caress your balls gently in my hand and rub your penis along my cheek. I feel your glans catch on my ear and I revel in your warmth and your length. I bring one hand up and stroke your ass, letting my fingers wander to the crack. I feel your hemorrhoids, you will be getting surgery this summer, but you letting me touch you there lets me know you are clean and want me inside..

I begin kissing your balls and thighs while I reach again into the nightstand for the lube. I fumble open the cap, and lube up my right index finger as I nibble on the side of your cock like an ear of corn. Soon my tongue is teasing the tip and then I bring you inside my mouth. I never could swallow eight inches, but my left hand gives attention to the part of your shaft neglected by my mouth as my right hand finds your ass crack. With one hand on the headboard, you spread your ass wider with your other. My index finger works its way in and finds your prostate.

While both swirling and pressing my index finger into your prostate, I continue to work your cock. You groan and I feel you getting closer. I change nothing; I have you in the perfect spot and I know you want to let loose. I feel you thrusting slightly against me. You want to thrust more, but you know it can choke me and you resist. Your cock pulses in my mouth, warm thick and full as my tongue swirls, and I let your head rub against the roof of my mouth and then slide down into the back of my throat.