A New Monsoon

It was late afternoon one early monsoon. The rain was over and loose clouds hung in the sky after emptying their bowels. It looked as if they were returning somewhere, some place where a huge buffet of water was waiting for them. The greenery of the landscape was vibrant. Had the rain cleansed the leaves or my eyes, I could not tell.

On this day I realized perversion is considered perversion until you can't accept it.

My husband had a habit. A habit, I believe I fed when I didn't stop him when he first approached me with his intention. It was precise and perverted. Perverted, at least in my opinion at the moment.

Our sexual life wasn't intentional because we weren't trying for a baby. So it was pure obligatory sex as if once a gender receives an opposite gender in a relationship, they are bound to have intercourse. But mind you, just intercourse and no other diversions. It was not until that day that I realized how mistaken I had been about my knowledge. So, like any other couple in a lawful relationship, we set aside one day per week for sex. There were no oral, unnecessary caresses, or complementary kisses. But during our weekly intercourse my husband would do something that made me feel as if he was exerting all of his energy to control or contain something within himself.

He would never touch my breasts. I would wait from the beginning to the end of our routinely intercourse for him to fondle me, press his chest against mine or kiss me, but it never happened. At first, I assumed he was saving the best for the last, but he just would not touch my chest or take off my t-shirt.

But it changed.

On that monsoon evening, he arrived home early while I was still ironing clothes. I was still a long way from preparing the dinner, but I knew he was going to be hungry. I asked him if he wanted any snacks before dinner. He denied the offer saying he had a late lunch. But, to my surprise, he smiled and said he had never seen me do chores before, particularly ironing. So he stood by the laundry room door and continued watching me do the chore.

I would occasionally steal glances at him, and we would exchange a smile. He seemed genuinely happy, and it was endearing to see him in such good spirits. Also, his glances were making my heart skip a beat each time our eyes met.

Today was not "the day" of the week that we had sex, but his expressions suggested otherwise.

I turned off the iron and used the remaining heat to press his white cotton handkerchief into a perfect square.

He seemed pleased as his eyes smiled a bit earlier than his lips.

I leaned down and place the warm iron in a corner of the room. But as I leaned back up, my body collided with his. I cleared my throat, mildly apologizing and attempting to find my way out. He stopped me in my tracks and very gently rested his head on my shoulder. Then very politely he asked me to take off my top. The request was unexpected and bizarre, to say the least, as I never expected such words to come from his lips.

His stance became less rash and more intentional. He stepped inside my bubble, breathing the same air as me, and fixed the stray hair that refused to stay in my claw clip.

Was I supposed to avoid him? Pretend to not like? Or simply play it off?

But as bleak as it might appear, but for the first time, I experienced what it is like to be desired desperately by one's husband.

I was looking him in the eye, but the thought of him stripping me thrilled me to my core. I hid my hands behind my back and subtly moved my chest forward for him.

He appeared hungry. His light pink tongue slithered over his bottom lips when he raised his hands to undo the buttons of my blouse. He was only done with upper two buttons when he pushed me up against the counter, where I had been ironing not too long ago.

This sudden gesture took my breath away and he closed the distance between us, melting into my body. I wrapped my legs around his hips and watched as he helped himself to the remaining buttons.

Upon exposing my bra, he leaned out slightly, as one would do when observing a delicate specimen; filled with sheer curiosity. I shifted on the counter, getting hot under his watchful gaze.

Just when I thought he would fondle my breasts through my bra, he put his palm inside the cup of my bra and scooped out my left breast with child-like enthusiasm. And then, just as quickly, he buried his nose in the mound of my breast and began sucking on my nipple.

It was perverted in every sense, making me feel uneasy by sucking so hard that a pain would shot through my veins aching my ribs. However, the pain was soon overshadowed by the sheer neediness of my husband. I felt a warm sensation budding in my heart and I wrapped my arms around his head, holding him closer. He held the breast with his hand and went on fulfilling himself. Slowly, the sight took over my senses and my body soon went moist and suppressed any repulsive thoughts I had conjured up in the beginning.

Suddenly, he raised his head and with glassy eyes, asked me if I was wet. I noticed the brown of my nipple looking pale as if a white film was coated over it inside his mouth and felt a dull ache. I replied positively to his question and watched him un-zip his pants and reveal his erect penis. Ever so carefully, he pulled up my skirt and slid aside my panty to push his entire length in me. He grunted just a little, as he always does and I moaned a little, but together we were like a key finding the perfect lock. He didn't move anymore. He stayed inside me and resumed his feeding. I realized I had resorted to using the term "feeding" because there was no other way to describe it.

After what seemed like an eternity, he pulled my other breast out of the bra and began sucking on it, leaving a swollen, wet and soggy nipple behind.

He would not do his "feeding" all the time. We had our usual intercourse, but on rare occasions he would snuggle up to me and suck on my nipples for hours. When he would be done, his saliva and jaws made sure my nipples were sore beyond repair and remained untouchable for the next few days. I did not realize when I had accepted him and his (or our) fetish as our new normal.