Two to Five days

My wife and I are having trouble conceiving. Because we want the joy of children, we’re seeking medical help. Of course, this means we have to monitor our intimacy, so we can maximize our chances of success with the medical program. “Monitoring” unfortunately often means “restricting” or “waiting.” The timing of the matter is critical, and two to five days’ abstinence is required for me to produce a proper sample. Of course, that’s two to five days of thinking and waiting…

*  *  *

This month, her ovulation was later than we expected. So (needless to say) I was rather eager to…well…produce a sample. When the happy day finally came, I retreated to my den with the sample cup and a head full of images from our honeymoon and our other vacation retreats. Then, she knocked on my door, peered into the room and asked with a grin, “do you want a little help?”

“Hmmm…I’m not sure we’re allowed to do that.” I said. Of course I wanted help, but I didn’t want to ruin our chances of success.

“Well, I don’t see why my hand is any different from yours,” she replied. I couldn’t argue with that logic. She sauntered into the room, smiling. She started licking her lips – which filled my head with even more images of our honeymoon.

“You can’t do THAT,” I complained.

“I can make you think about it, though,” she said.

“Oh, I’ve been thinking about that for two to five days.”

Laughing, she kissed me, knelt down in front of me and told me to stand. By this time, of course, I was completely aroused and not at all willing to keep waiting. She could probably tell, from her vantage point. Keeping her eyes locked on mine, she opened my belt, unbuttoned and unzipped my khakis, and pulled them down to the floor. She rubbed me through my Fruit of the Looms, and then my boxer briefs joined the pants at my ankles.

Her hands were soft, and I could smell the faint traces of some vanilla lotion on them. As always, her hands were also cold, so I jumped a little all over when she touched me. Her eyes apologized, and she warmed me up with a long, slow breath. That was all I needed.

“Wait – stop,” I said. She did, and asked what was wrong.

“Nothing. It’s…perfect. I just want to have some more time to build up a little pressure,” I explained. “That’ll improve our chances.”

Now she couldn’t argue with my logic. So she waited, standing behind me, rubbing her breasts on my back, kissing my ears and telling me she loved me.

After a few minutes, I had subsided a little and said, “Break’s over. Back to work.”

“Happily, boss.”

This time her method was more psychological, more suggestive, less direct, and much more sensual. Breathing hot and moist again, she caressed the fronts of my thighs the way she does when she’s pleasing me, and has to do something else with her hands. The breath – and the mental imagery – awoke me again, and soon I throbbed, plum and red and pink.

“You better be ready to get that sample cup,” I warned – there would be no more stopping, I could tell.

Her hands warmed again by the rubbing my thighs, she now caressed me, squeezed me, rubbed me. I felt like my whole body was there in my wife’s hands, and I loved the feeling of trust and abandonment to her. Knowing her husband’s body, she knew when it was time to take one hand away to collect the sample in the cup.

Stroking and squeezing with one hand, holding the cup in place with the other, she kept her eyes locked on mine as I gave my seed. It felt like it would never end, and she made me wish that feeling were true. After I finished, she made sure to collect it all. She put the cap on the cup and stood.

“Oops, we can’t go to the doctor with you like that,” she said. She knelt back down, pulled up my shorts, and just before letting go of the waistband, gave me a short kiss, then a longer one, more encompassing than the first. Then she pulled up my pants and zipped, buttoned and belted them.

She stood and we kissed long, deep, like we hadn’t kissed in a little while.

“Thank you, sir,” she said, cheekily. “I hope your donation to the cause leads to a successful conception.”

“My pleasure, ma’am.” I nearly fell down on my wobbly legs. “Maybe you’d better drive to the doctor’s.”

*  *  *

Later, when the nurse saw the report on the tests of the sample, she said, “Wow, that’s a really good sample! Really good numbers.”

I wasn’t surprised a bit. Now I can only hope the procedure worked, so we can have a child and share our joyous life.