We married young by some standards – I was 21 and she was 20. I remember thinking that we’d better enjoy sex while we could because it probably would grow old and stale within a few years. I even went so far as to tell my bride that I couldn’t imagine how making love to the same woman for my whole life would be all that compelling. Surely, after a few dozen times, the excitement would wear off. Perhaps we should just resign ourselves to the statistical probability of having affairs to keep things exciting.
The years have flown by since that wedding day and our love for one another has grown and matured in ways I never would have expected on the day we exchanged our vows. We also have grown far deeper and more settled in our faith and our love for God – He has assumed His rightful position of centrality in every facet of our lives. That and our commitment to one another are the primary reasons we have not become extra-marital statistics.
It is not that we have lacked opportunity or that we have never faced temptation. Sometimes in a hotel room on a business trip, I have prostrated myself before the Father and begged Him for grace to steer clear of a particularly enticing new acquaintance. The thought of betraying my wife and my God is terrifying to me.
Perhaps that level of commitment and the depth of our friendship explain why our sexual relationship remains vibrant. Days and evenings jammed with work and church and coaching and a host of other things make it difficult to find time for much romance during the week, but it is rare for a weekend to pass without some naked grappling.
Sometimes, though, I find myself daydreaming about the first months of our marriage, when we couldn’t keep our hands off each other. As much fun as we still have in the bedroom, I would be lying if I said we always approach sex with that same youthful ardor. After three kids and a bout with cancer, my wife finds it hard to think of herself as sexy. A few years ago, a strong dose of misguided teaching about how a Christian woman should conduct herself pushed her even further away from an appreciation of her own beauty and sexiness.
But she is beautiful and sexy. That admittedly is a biased observation from an infatuated spouse, but when I see college kids and young professional men walk by her and do a double-take (occasionally even walking into walls or light posts), my opinion is confirmed.
We recently hit a period that interrupted our love-making schedule. An accident with a horse left my wife unable to endure any pressure around her hips and pelvis for nearly three weeks. She repeatedly apologized and I repeatedly assured her that we would make up for lost time as soon as she was able. In spite of my empathy, though, I have to admit that the pressure in my groin grew with each passing day. The situation was exacerbated by a recurrent dream about her slowly undressing and teasing me with each newly-bared expanse of gorgeous woman flesh. (I’ll also admit to one dream involving a mysterious chanteuse with great cleavage, but what can I say?)
Waking up from one of those dreams about her, and realizing how long it had been since I had seen that seductive, playful side, I found myself in a real funk. She promptly recognized my mood and assumed she had done something to offend me. My denials did nothing to disabuse her of that notion, so I finally decided it was time to talk.
After assuring her at least half a dozen times that nothing in what I was going to say reflected criticism of her or dissatisfaction with our love life, my heart just started pouring out. I told her how beautiful and sexy she was and how much I loved her body. I started with her hair and worked down to her feet, describing in detail how every part of her anatomy excited me. I reminded her that her beautiful body was a gift from God to her, but that it ultimately was for me; and I encouraged her to appreciate the splendor of that gift. I implored her to do more in the shower than just wash … to take time to see her full breasts and flat belly and long legs … to look at herself in the mirror when she emerged naked.
Then, I described the dreams and told her that the mystery seductress in the one stray dream couldn’t hold a candle to the beauty who mesmerized me in the others. Quietly, almost bashfully, I told her that I wanted to see that mesmerizing hottie in real life.
She listened carefully to everything I had to say and then apologized for retreating from that part of herself. With an unfamiliar twinkle in her eye, she informed me that she would see if she couldn’t find that woman again.
She had the day off work, but a couple times during the afternoon, she sent me flirtatious texts. She was doing laundry that day, and one of her texts informed me that the bed was ready and so was she. Another said she was “keeping it warm for me.”
The 45-minute drive to our home in the country seemed to take forever. When I walked in the house, the lights were dimmed and a candle-lit dinner was on the table. She was wearing a long, tight skirt and a zip-up blouse left open about halfway to her waist. Her gorgeous décolletage was showcased in a diaphanous camisole that literally took my breath away. The next thing I knew, she was pressed against me with her tongue buried in my mouth and I was fighting to keep from losing it in my pants.
Her lips slid to my ear and she whispered, “Do you want dinner or dessert first?”
I needed to calm down a bit, so I offered the excuse that I didn’t want the dinner to get cold. We sat down together and I gave thanks for everything, starting with my beautiful wife. Then, I tried to eat, unable to tear my eyes from her exposed flesh.
A couple minutes later, I remembered that I needed to do something in our bedroom (besides the obvious). Walking through the bedroom door, I glanced down at the bed and saw a conspicuously deposited pair of my wife’s sexiest panties. I forgot the nature of my errand and headed back to the dining room.
Without fanfare, I told her, “I cannot wait any longer.”
She smiled seductively and came into my arms. All of my wistful ruminations about the passion of our early days evaporated in the heat of her kiss. My pulse rate went through the roof and I could barely breathe. Her hands slid to my butt and pulled me tightly into her, grinding her pelvis against my erection and moaning appreciatively at the contact.
After several minutes of making out like crazy teenagers, she pulled back with a mischievous grin. “I think you need to sit down on a sturdy chair.” I tore off my clothes, and she pulled out one of the dining room chairs and pushed me down onto it. While I watched, she slowly unzipped her blouse and slid it off her shoulders. I could not tear my eyes from the breasts, nipples pebble-hard, swaying behind the lace material of the camisole. Bending toward me, she unzipped the skirt and shimmied it down over her hips, revealing a garter belt, white fishnet stockings and – as I expected – no panties. She slowly turned away from me to drape the skirt over another chair, casually displaying her incredible butt.
It didn’t make sense. After seeing her naked or partially clothed body hundreds of times, I should not be reacting this way. Truthfully, though, I don’t think there was ever a time in my life when I was more turned on than in that moment. All I could think was that, even in my most erotic fantasies, I had never imagined anything as sexy as the woman swaying toward me.
She didn’t say a word – just straddled my legs, her smiling eyes staring deep into mine, and sank onto my painfully hard cock. Her pussy was a furnace, slowly engulfing me in its wet fire. I was so aroused that I could not even speak. Her sexual aura swirled around us like her long hair, and I fell into a vortex of arousal so intense that I momentarily wondered if I might have a stroke.
She kissed me and then pulled away just far enough to give me a good view. I didn’t say a word, but she sensed what I wanted. Her hand rose to one shoulder and slid the camisole strap down her arm, holding the material just above her nipple until she heard my frustrated groan, and then sliding it down below her breast. Almost involuntarily, my lips fell to her nipple, evoking a wonderful, aroused half-sigh, half-moan. Her hand went to the other shoulder and the camisole soon fell to her waist, as I feasted on her breasts.
In all our years together, I had never seen her touch her pussy, but I whispered encouragement and she smiled. Her fingers descended over her belly and, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, she began rubbing her clit. Her aroused breathing just about ruined my control, but I slowed my rhythm and returned to her nipples. I thought for sure the combination of my kissing her breasts and her touching herself would put her over the edge, but I soon sensed her frustration.
“Let’s go to the bedroom,” I whispered. “I want to taste you so bad, I can hardly stand it.”
She smiled and rose from my lap, then walked ahead of me to the bedroom.
“I think you may be even sexier from behind than from in front.”
She smiled over her shoulder. “Why thank you, sir.”
Within moments, I was on my back and she was on her knees over my face. I tasted the heady blend of her juices and mine, letting her slowly begin her climb. She was wonderfully wet and engorged, truly a fragrant garden. I took my time, loving the familiar sensations, as her hips started their involuntary dance and her breathing accelerated. I teased her up to the brink a couple times, before backing off. Then, I lifted a hand to her breast and sucked on her clit. She moaned raggedly a couple times and then her whole body flew out of control. I softened my oral caresses and held her in her orgasm through wave after wave, letting my own arousal grow with hers to the point where I thought I might cum with her.
Finally, she smiled down at me and asked, “Can I come down now?”
I laughed, watching her slide that long body down next to me. Sighing contentedly, I told her, “I am completely satisfied right now. I honestly don’t need anything more.”
“Well, I need more … I need your cock.”
Who was I to argue? I kissed her and then breathed into her ear, “We taste fantastic together tonight. You should try a taste.”
With an impish grin, she dropped her head and licked the length of my shaft. Giving me a sideways glance, she sucked me into her mouth and swirled her tongue around the head.” The noises that came out of my mouth were beyond my control.
Sensing that I was close, she lifted her head and smiled at me. “Do you want me to finish?”
“No. I want your pussy.”
“Okay,” sliding up over me and drawing me once again into her furnace.
Her green eyes danced with arousal and she said, “I love you!”
I came so hard that the muscles in my back and my legs flexed on their own and I lifted our connected hips completely off the bed. I have not cursed in years, but I am afraid several profanities escaped my lips in those moments. Bliss? Ecstasy? Those terms are totally inadequate.
And that brings me back to the introduction to this story. What I did not understand on my wedding day was that God’s gifts do not wear out. When married mortals fall totally in love with their Creator and allow Him to infuse their marriage with His miraculous gift of sexuality, they are going to burn up the sheets for a lot of years. This story did not involve people in their 30’s … or 40’s … or even their 50’s. We have been at this for more than 40 years – and yes, she still makes young men walk into light posts.
Take heart, you young whippersnappers.
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