My name is Tim. I have a mechanical engineering degree, and I'm the production manager for a large company that makes heavy logging and milling equipment. I'm also a husband, married for more than a decade to my wife Amy. Her college degree is in marketing, and she works from time to time in advertising sales for a local cable television system. We've got two kids, a 9-year old son and a 7-year old daughter. We live in Northern California in a small, upper-middle class community not too far from any number of major metropolitan areas, but just far enough away to be comfortable and somewhat isolated from the madness of the masses.
Someone peeking in at our world would see that Amy and I live a rich, full life. By all accounts, we're viewed by our family and friends as a happily married, loving couple, and we're not hesitant to express our affection for one another. I've been told by some that I'm a reasonably nice-looking guy, and Amy is an attractive, natural beauty with a shapely, naturally feminine figure. We don't buy or sell sex, and we don't shave every hair on our bodies, and we don't have tattoos, surgically enhanced bodies or pierced genitals. We've got lots of friends, and we're respected in our jobs and for what we do in our community. We're a typical family, with young kids who are doing well in school, starting music lessons and active in lots of things with their friends. That's normal stuff for kids, and we do normal things, too, like going to parties, and having fights about stupid things, and then making up. Like everyone else, we have dreams and hopes for our future.
I'm not a trained philosopher or psychologist, but over the years, I've pieced together some theories (albeit uneducated ones) about any number of subjects. To me, one of the most perplexing subjects of all is that of relationships between men and women. Based on my engineering background and some recent experiences I'll tell you about, I've come to believe that relationships are analogous in many ways to a weld between two pieces of metal. The weld joins two pieces of hard, resistant and strong material - - like a woman and a man. If the weld is a weak one, it might break from any kind of a jolt, or even a sudden change of temperature. If it's a strong one, however - - they're called "full penetration welds" - - it can withstand almost anything nature can hurl at it. Even severe stresses, cataclysmic temperature swings and impacts from external sources won't break it - - in fact, a good weld makes the two pieces stronger at their union than they are independently. It follows, then, that a good marriage can be likened to a "full penetration weld" - - and "full penetrations" sure make a marriage better, too. Sorry, I couldn't resist. I'm delighted to say that my marriage is the best weld I've ever seen, or even heard of.
We're the picture of an ordinary American family, you might say. Nothing about how others see us is deceiving, but like so many other people and things, there's a bit more to our situation than meets the eye. You see, we communicate very well with each other, and it's these open lines of communication that let us express ourselves in our relationship. We know each other, and ourselves, better than any other couple I know, but it wasn't always that way. Here's how we got there.
It was a typical mid-summer evening for northern California - - a hint of cooling from the day's heat, a slight breeze and the ever-present fragrance of the nearby mountain forests. Our children had been safely stowed a couple of blocks away at a neighbor's that Tuesday night, rowdy participants in Amy's sister Wendy's 8-year old son's birthday slumber party. We'd enjoyed a quiet evening, just talking and relaxing. Though we'd been married for quite a while, it didn't take long before we headed upstairs. Amy and I were looking forward to making mad, passionate love without worrying about kids interrupting us.
As Amy slipped into bed beside me, for some reason (and I really have no idea why I did it), I commented to her that I just couldn't figure out why men and women seem to have such different views about sex. She asked what I meant, and I told her: "Well, there are lots of things that really excite a guy but just don't appeal to a woman for some reason." She said: "Yeah, kinda like the way you always want to know about things I did in bed with other guys before we got married? I've never understood why something like that would interest you." She has such a way of getting right to the point sometimes.
A bit more amateur theorizing before I continue. Men are often our own worst enemies when it comes to sex, but ladies, we can't really help ourselves. It's biological. At a neighbor's dinner party one night, I overheard a doctor's medical explanation of why. According to this doctor, anatomically speaking, men just don't have enough blood supply to support the proper functioning of both of their heads (the big one atop the shoulders and the smaller, bald one below the belt) at the same time. As the smaller one swells, the effect on the big one is just like alcohol - - it reduces our inhibitions and clouds our judgment. Of course, the accuracy of this explanation was somewhat questionable because the doctor was a woman. But she was married, too, and she had probably seen the same thing happen with her own husband.
Now, where was I? Oh, yeah. Amy was lying in bed beside me, wearing a button-up, satin pajama top, but nothing else. So sexy. It never takes me long to get hard when she comes to bed like that, and that night was no exception. Sure enough, my smaller head grew, and the intoxicating effects on the big one began to appear. In my rapidly weakening state, as I reached over to unbutton her top, I answered my wife's question like this: "Actually, I'd really like to know what you did with other guys back in college. It turns me on when I think about you doing wild and crazy things like that."
I knew right away by the look on her face that I would have been better off just saying nothing and dropping a subject I should have known better than to bring up in the first place. "What do you mean?", she asked suspiciously, stopping my hand from unbuttoning any more.
Having already opened what was obviously a touchy subject with her, I should've also known better than to continue. My better judgment was now impaired, however, and stirring hormones kept me talking. I decided to tell her what I meant. "You remember me telling you about that girl from Arizona State I used to date?"
"What about her?"
"She dated other guys, too."
"So?"
"Well, that was fine with me . . . no big deal. But one time, I drove down to see her, and I got there the night before I was supposed to arrive. I went by her apartment late that night, just in case she was home. I figured she might've had another date that evening, which was OK, but when I drove up, she was sitting on the patio, smoking a cigarette.
"Yeah, and . . .?"
"She'd had another date, all right, but he was already gone, so we had a drink and then went straight to her bedroom. She was really horny that night, and as we made love, she whispered in my ear that she was so hot and wet because she'd already done it with the other guy earlier that night, too. It shocked me to hear that. I guess it shouldn't have, because I knew she liked sex. My reaction to what she said really surprised me, too. Instead of being jealous or angry, I got hornier than hell as I pictured her with that guy, whoever he was, her legs wide open and gasping for breath as he pounded into her. I totally lost control, and she did, too. For the next few hours, we screwed each other's brains out.
Oops . . . again, the wrong thing to say. Her silence, coupled with an icy stare, made it clear that my wife was now really unimpressed with what I'd said. Her mood quickly changed, and she got angry. Almost immediately, Amy pushed me away and turned over, saying, "That's it . . . I've heard more than enough about it. You're so perverted, Tim. Now you've made a mess out of everything tonight . . . just leave me alone."
I'd never forced sex on my wife, and I sure wasn't going to start now. "OK, then . . . but I didn't mean to upset you, Amy" was all I could say. But what I really meant to say was "damn it", because the more I remembered that night with my Sun Devil friend, the hornier I was getting, and now I couldn't do anything about it.
For the next week after that, there was distance between us, and some lingering anger on Amy's part. After the kids were off to sleep, I'd go to bed and ultimately fall asleep while Amy would watch TV, surf the 'net or find something else to do to avoid any situation where the possibility of sex might come up. So much for those "open lines of communication" women always say they want to have with their husbands. That would teach me to bare any more secret thoughts to her about sex (or about anything else, I told myself in angry frustration).
Then came a remarkable chain of events that would end up drastically changing the shape of our relationship.
In the same way Amy stayed up late by herself, the morning was my time. I usually got up early, downed a couple of cups of coffee, and took advantage of the early morning peace to think, to do paperwork and, generally, to be by myself before showering and going to work. One morning, I was getting dressed in the bedroom, as usual. I didn't know where Amy was - - she hadn't been in the bedroom with me in a week except when we were both asleep. I was standing by the big chair in our room, looking absent-mindedly out the window as I tied my tie. As I turned around to check the results of my handiwork in the mirror, there stood Amy. She didn't say a word, but instead pushed me backwards, forcing me down into the chair. I couldn't tell from the look on her face whether she'd just boiled over in anger and was going to take it out on me (she's not violent at all, and not all that strong, either, so I wasn't worried - - just a little surprised), or whether it was something else.
It was something else, all right, but nothing like I would have ever expected. Without even taking her robe off, she slipped to her knees between my legs. Then, as I sat there speechless, she took my cock in both hands, looked up at me, then moved her head forward and took the tip of it in her mouth, resting it on her tongue. Making sure that her eyes had my attention (and believe me, they did!), she slowly swirled her tongue around the entire head of my cock, licking it like an ice cream cone, before taking it completely in her mouth and sucking its length in as far as she could. It didn't take very much of that to get me real hard, real quick.
Though it wasn't that way in the beginning, over the years of our marriage, Amy had adopted an attitude of "very special occasions only" for giving me head - - and it sure looked to me like this was going to be one of those times.
"That feels good. . ." is all I could say.
