When we were younger and newly wed, and first sensed the challenge set to us to find variety in the physical expression of affection and love, we frequently made challenges, one to the other, and enjoyed our struggles together. We both worked uncertain hours and the healthy commutes involved made our days long, but we so enjoyed our careers, we worked together to deal with daily logistics, cleaning, cooking, and caring for our apartment.
What a delight to come home and find dinner prepared, or even just groceries brought in, the menu decided and maybe a load of clothes in the washer and dryer and the living room picked up - both of us had occasion to enjoy the efforts of the other on our mutual behalf, and learned patience and forbearance in our interactions. On those too frequent evenings that we both arrived late, with neither prepared for any evening meal, we just laughed and kissed and hugged and chose between Triscuits and Cheese with whatever odd wine was left over, or resolved to feed ourselves on our mutual lust. Where we live, we can speed dial a fixed order for pizza and the cooking plus delivery gives us just enough time for one of us to satisfy the other orally. We'd open that special drawer, pull out the gold sovereign kept just for that purpose and one would flip, the other would be 'Heads'.
On the night I'm sharing with you, though, we'd collaborated on our dinner plans and he brought a baked chicken and I'd picked up some veg and a tea we both liked. We laughed as we sat at our counter and ate the luscious chicken with some green beans and cold corn salad and he drank his tea cold and I, my tea hot. He is a lovely conversationist and guided our sharing of our days, which for each of us were stressful. When we finished, I washed the dishes while he stood behind me and kissed first one ear, then the other. His hands rubbed my belly, but when I felt his fingers rising toward more intimate play, I stopped him.
"I'm so tired, I just want to go to bed and read, then go to sleep?" I said this firmly, but respectfully, since it was our practice to meet one another's needs and we'd tried to be sensitive before offering resistance to our partners' advances. He didn't look hurt, just that little puppy dog look that I love, and he leaned over and kissed me on the lips to show it was okay. I thought I saw a glimmer in his eye, or something. Or did I? I was tired.
He finished cleaning up while I got ready for bed. I had the latest potboiler to read before I went to sleep. I couldn't find my jammies anywhere so I put on a soft white nightgown that was comfortable and slid under the covers. I was deep into the love trials of a female detective in Atlanta and barely heard him come into the bedroom, toss his clothes in the hamper and then go into the bathroom and take a shower.
I'd turned off the overhead light and had my nose buried deep in my book as I felt him slide under the covers and scoot over toward me. He kissed my shoulder and slid his hand across my breasts, making soft but insistent contact with both nipples.
I closed the book and turned my head toward him. His eyes were closed and his face relaxed and content, pretending he hadn't done anything, just relaxed into bed, ready for sleep.
Sure.
"One," I said.
"What?" he asked, sleepily. Faker.
"You can make love to me. Now. But."
His eyes opened. I met his gaze, serious written all over my face.
"But, what?" he asked, in his little boy voice.
"You can turn over and go to sleep if you're really sleepy. Or, ..."
"Or, what?" he asked. Still so innocent. God, I love this man.
"Or, you can make love to me. Do your best, but, you can only use one finger."
"One finger?"
"Yes, it doesn't have to be the same 'one finger', but only one at a time. If you get far enough, pleasing me, you can use that eleventh finger you have, but only with my permission."
"Permission?"
"Yes, permission," I said, schoolmarm-voice, "I'll guide you and tell you when you've finished in one place and may move to another. If you move to the wrong place, I'll tell you and you can try a different one. I believe you know what I enjoy, finger-boy, but we'll see."
"What about kissing?"
"Oh, kissing is always nice, but only on my face and lips tonight. Everything else gets only the..."
"One finger!" he said, enthusiastically.
(Is there a limit to what they'll do for sex? I haven't found it.)
"Yes,and, you know how I'm always after you to go slower than you want to?"
"Yes, I get started and I just want to ..."
"Fuck, yes, I know, but tonight, slow won't work."
"What?"
"Tonight you'd better get busy and keep going, fast, because I'm really sleepy."
"I'll just let you go..."
"No way, I have to see how you do. So?"
His answer was a kiss, centered on my lips while no other part of his body touched me. His lips made love to mine, softly, firmly, licking, sucking, his tongue finally entering me and pressing on mine. We entwined our mouths and enjoyed that most intimate moment before he broke away,
I felt his middle finger, the one next to the wedding ring, slowly circle my belly button.
"Oh, yes, good move, baby, yes, that's ..."
"Can I ask questions?"
I grabbed his hand and moved it away, "No, that's the last thing you'll say tonight. Your finger speaks for you. Only I can talk. Now, start over. That felt good."
The finger returned, gently caressing my belly, circling my navel, the circles widening, centering, widening, then I felt the sweet feeling of his finger enter my navel and rub back and forth.
"Ohhh, oooohhh, that's nice. Please, proceed."
I felt his finger dip lower, testing the limits of my patience.
"Oh,no, do you think I'm that easy? You know better. You haven't even..."
