This storyline is dedicated to my email buddy, Ed. Enjoy!
When talking about my wife, everyone usually agrees, she is one beautiful woman - inside and out. Not only is she a wonderful human to all but to some she is incredibly sexy, even to some of her female friends.
Her golden-blonde locks flow like Niagara about her round face, which is most regularly sporting a welcoming smile with an embracing ambience. Her hazel eyes, which are slightly orientally oval in shape, radiate life and vitality, and often love and passion. All of her friends -- and lovers -- are attracted to her initially by her warm personality and jovial spirit. Nearly all lust after her for her curvaceous body.
She is the kind of person most love to be near to. Her 'free spirt' is gregarious and attracts people about her as flies to jam. If I am brutally honest, she can become slightly loquacious when the alcoholic spirits are flowing freely and her 'free spirit' is fully released. Yes, I admit it, she does like a little drink and is somewhat high-spirited and playful when a little drunk.
There is no doubt that she is kind and considerate with a wicked sense of humour. If I may reveal a secret to you, she is all of these things -- and more - in the bedroom too; demonstrating her sexuality, with generosity, open-mindedness and with passion aplenty. She processes a body and an inner charisma that has always aroused the animal in me. We have enjoyed a rich but conventional sexual life as a married couple, but one would not say adventurous.
At 36, she still maintains a great physic as she works out once a week at the gym with a personal trainer and often runs 5k with friends. Standing just 5 feet, 6 inches in her stocking feet, when naked she is a magnificent example of the female form. While quite lean of frame due to keeping herself fit, she is shapely and voluptuous in the necessary areas.
Her hips could be best described as 'child bearing' and her peach-shaped ass, whilst far from large as is the 'new' fad, is full, round and sufficiently squeezable for my liking -- and I love to eat a peach, don't you? Thank the heavens for sports bras though -- or, as my wife calls them, 'necessary evils'. Indeed, they are necessary, essential even, to support her 36D breasts - a magnificent handful which are extenuated further in their magnificence as they appear to hover above her narrow waistline, which is due in part to the exercise she performs, as well as a vegetarian diet.
I have been amiss, as I now realize I have not told you the name of my beloved: Deanna.
We have been happily married for 9 years, of which the first 7 were blissful. Before I explain what happened, perhaps I should introduce myself: I am Gordon Browne. An Englishman by birth and a proud Yorkshire man by heritage. At 54 years old, my hairline is receding, my greying temples are spreading, as is my waistline unfortunately. In short, I willingly admit I have allowed age and my lifestyle to affect my physique and my physical health. Before you vilify me too much, let me add that I suffered a heart attack 2 years ago, which was quite serious at the time, and acutely still effects my health -- and my life - today.
Therein, lies the explanation to the unanswered, earlier question -- at least in part.
Let me take you back to that time...
***
"Yes, baby, fuck me."
"Oh God, yes, your cock is so good."
"Fuck me, Gordon baby!"
"Oh, yes, baby, yes, oh, oh, God... yes."
"Oh Yes, Oh Yes... Yes, God, Yes, oh God."
"Yes, I'm coming... Oh, Go------d...
"Oh Goooo..... Gordon!"
"GORDON!"
"
GORDON!
"
[pause]
Indeed, that stream of audible passion was
all
my wife, Deanna.
I was the one above her, pounding into her, in an act of glorious, matrimonial sexual intercourse -- pounding as hard and as fast as I possible could, mind you, so that I could bring her to her second wonderful orgasm that evening.
My sweat was flowing as the heat was increasing and my heart was (let me stress
WAS
) pounding like the rock drummer of the band Motorhead.
She was the one who lay beneath me turning a warm pink as her impeding orgasm approached.
I was the one turning bright purple as my heart and breathing had stopped.
Apparently, I was only a shade of purple for a few minutes, before I started to turn grey. Which I am now informed is not the best complexion immediately after a heart attack.
Thank the heavens for Deanna! As a trained nurse, though she had not practiced for a while, Deanna knew exactly what to do as she awaited the emergency ambulance.
But everything was not doom and gloom as I must interject some excellent news: Due in part to the remoteness of our village location and the recent deep snow which still lay on the roads; add that to this first ever heart attack, allowed me to tick off an item from my bucket list - my first flight in a helicopter... [tick] even if I knew nothing about it at the time.
[unpause]
Back home after just 3 weeks in emergency procedure, open heart-surgery and intensive post-op care, my life has changed immensely, but not necessarily for the better. The implanted box in my chest, now controls not only the beat of my heart, but has redefined my entire life.
Regular but steady exercise, such as country walks, was now a necessity.
-- and the regular short walks to the pub on an evening somehow fails to count as a suitable exercise!?! What's that about? Not only that, but I have also been forced to change my diet to a completely vegetarian one. To make matters worse, everything is cooked in sterile and allegedly healthy fat-free ways. 'Healthy' being a marketing pseudonym for 'tasteless'. Now, in my book, any Yorkshire man without his steak pies, deep-fried fish and chips, roast beef and Yorkshire puddings consumed at least weekly, to name but three of four essential food groups, will always be just a shadow of a true Yorkshireman - and that is without mentioning the indispensable fourth group; pints of dark, bitter ale. Sorry, I became riled up in my frustrations. Alas, all this moaning to you is pedantic as it remains the same arguments I have already lost with Deanna. -
So, the other major change in our lives was the sex.
Due to the toil on my heart and damaged blood circulation, I was now unable to get a strong erection, that was to say without considerable and prolonged intense encouragement. Advised against strenuous exercise, my days of pounding Deanna, as she loved to be, had gone.
Our sexual lives were reduced to blowjobs, both willingly given and gratefully received and masturbation whether together or in solitude. Indeed, I still masturbated solo and regularly, as my desire had not diminished, only my ability to perform it. The problem was not an inability to get, but to keep a strong erection sufficiently to make love to Deanna. And, as much as I loved fucking my wife, her beautiful, delicious, inviting, warm and welcoming pussy sadly failed to deliver the intensity required.
Extremely conscious of my wife's needs, we had experimented with both dildos and vibrators, and in fact, she had a small collection which often remained rejected in the bottom draw after first use. We had even tried a strap on, worn by me I will quickly add, in replacement of my flaccid cock, but alas, the stress on my heart almost triggered a repeat helicopter ride.
Sadly, we were reduced to doing the best we could. Deanna never complained. She told me she was quite satisfied with what we had. But over time, her eyes said differently. You know how that word 'quite', when said pertly and confidently can sound like "sure", yet the word can often trail away in a downcast or uncertain way to mean 'almost'...? This was that time.
"It's alright, honey," she replied to my probe. "I'm quite satisfied."
'
