This is 16000 words, so a 55 minute read. Sorry I don't seem to be able to write short short stories at the moment. There's plenty to entertain along the way, though.
Enjoy!
BC
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"The August sun in Greece is like being licked all over by a huge, hot tongue." This is the thought I had as I lay sizzling on a beach bed on the tourist-rammed island of Corfu. I also considered how much the rolling surf sounded like the long, orgasm-deferring breaths my wife Penny used to make when I went down on her.
Judge for yourself my state of mind. It was really no surprise what happened next. I was probably radiating horn in all directions -- a second sun of beaming horn, pinking all around me with my lurid thoughts.
Penny was in the sea with our grown-up son and daughter, all playing like children, but I was sullen and smouldering and sorry for myself. Penny and I had argued that morning. Holidays used to be a non-stop lick-and-fuck-fest -- all that clean, salty skin and lie-ins and siestas -- but since her menopause, Penny's libido had tanked. The menopause had been physically and psychologically hard for my wife, and I hated seeing her upset, but that was five years ago. Now, as I lay dwelling on our lack of sex, and the sun lapped at my body and the sea huffed "Yess..." in my ear, I was more upset for myself.
It's horrible to admit my selfishness, but I was wondering why no-one cared about the effect of the female menopause on relationships--no, that's a lie. I was wondering why no-one cared about the effect of the female menopause on men. Specifically, me. We were through the hot flushes and brain fog and the existential crises of no-longer being able to bear children, and Penny seemed to have settled into her new normal. She'd cut off all her astonishing long, red hair and sported a neat, almost masculine hairdo instead. She described herself as a "grownup" and joked with other short-haired, postmenopausal friends that she wished it'd happened years ago. "All that mucky sex business," they'd hoot. "Who needs it?" She even told me she'd "grown out of oral" and suggested I do the same.
I wished I could, it'd certainly make my life easier, but I had no biological help in that regard. I was horny as ever. More so, in being denied for so long. I was in my mid-fifties, and in the best shape of my life since my redundancy. Over the eighteen months of my unemployment I'd worked hard in the gym to make my body more appealing to Penny--I still harboured a doubt that it wasn't sex she'd gone off, but me.
So, after twenty-five years of excellent, multi-orgasmic sex all Penny offered now was a holiday "maintenance shag". But when that was done, if I kissed her big, pillowy lips or stroked her still-pert breasts or tried to nuzzle between her powerful dancer's legs all I got was: "I'll watch you cum if you like?"
This was the twelfth day of our holiday, and Penny had got everything she needed on the morning of the first day. On that first morning, after some kissing and cuddling, I was allowed my annual access to her fat and lovely clitoris. I was lost and loving it, her slick and puffy secret place, and marvelling how my mouth seemed made for it, and vice versa, and she squirmed and stroked my head and purred... but then, just minutes into my licky bliss, she suddenly hooked her feet behind my head and came, squeaking and cackling and immediately too oversensitized for any more. Fair enough. Penny's orgasms are my catnip, and at least then she was drenched and needy for a good shag. That's the thing, it seemed that if she let herself, she loved sex, so why not try more often? She even came again while we fucked, clawing my bum and squealing into my neck so the kids couldn't hear in the room next door. All good. I flipped her onto her front, hoping to take her to our third orgasm like old times, but she'd had enough. And remember, that meant enough for the next year. But it got worse when I pulled out ready for her to suck me off. This was something she used to breathlessly beg for while we shagged for her last orgasm -- the dirty talk tipping her over the edge -- but recently she went down with a "get this over with" flat-lined smile. Her postmenopausal post-coital blowjob comprises wanking me while pretending to suck, but just holding her mouth wide and well away from my sex-slippery, squirting member. This is a very frustrating sensation after years of warm, hummy relish. It left me feeling repulsive to her, but also like I was expecting her to do something she didn't want to do. But it used to be her thing. A thing I'd grown to adore.
Anyway, that was as good as sex got, which reading back, was pretty bloody good compared to most of my mates who got nada, ever. And compared to her friends' hubbies, most of whom had affairs. But remember this had to last me a year. So. Back to that morning, two weeks later, when we argued. I was trying to reenact our first morning and probing for her clit with my lips, burying a kiss between her tightly crossed thighs. "Come on, you'll love it," I whined. No pride at all.
"Stop." She forced a giggle like this was all fun. "I just don't need it, I'm sorry." Then the standard depressing compromise. "I'll watch you cum if you like?" She doesn't watch, by the way. She usually nods off.
"OK, I'll cum for you," I said. "If that's what you really want."
"What do you mean?"
"I want you to want me, not indulge me. I want you to need to watch me cum."
"Oh stop, Pete. Just cum. You'll feel better. I want you to cum. Look, I'll do this." She opened her legs in a wide M. "You like that."
I swear I will go to my grave wanting to pet my wife's pussy. Even though she refused to wax anymore, and was rarely wet unless I licked her, she wasn't very hairy underneath, and her lips were thick and florid and always clearly visible. In her splayed position her crinkles and pleats slowly parted under my gaze, where they puffing up a bit? Yes. I lunged for her clit. She covered herself.
"No..." she said as if to a bad dog. "Come on, do it for me. Come come!" She sniggered.
I leapt up to stand over her, flexed my tanned muscles, and stroked my cock. She used to cum with me like this, watching from underneath -- she said she loved my jiggling balls, and not knowing where my cum would land. "How much do you want it?"
She shrugged, her big eyes glittering. "A hundred?" She laughed.
"You're laughing at me, while I'm stood here wanking for you! I'd never do that to you."
"Sorry." She bit back her mirth. "You look so glum that's all."
I sighed, and rubbed. "You want my cum or not?"
"I want you to cum."
"But do you want my cum?"
"Of course."
"Say it."
"I want your cum," she whispered. "Hmm."
There was a hint of an indulging, even mocking tone, but still, "Fuck, yes," I thought, and sank to one knee, rubbing close to her face. Sometimes a little sucking got her in the mood. When we were younger, she used to love blowjobs so much I woke to find her sucking me in the middle of the night once. My wife has an epic mouth too, think Brigit Bardot, Natassja Kinski, Liv Tyler. It's even sexier messy. Not so sexy when it's smirking at my erection, though.
"How much do you want my cum?" I whispered.
"A hundred!" She cracked up and collapsed into her pillow.
I stormed out to wank into the toilet, but was too miserable to cum, then the kids started clamouring to use the bathroom.
