Babymaking

Kim and I had been married seven years.  Things were as good as they ever are in that ambiguous zone when a marriage is no longer fresh, and the parties are still   young enough to contemplate starting over.  We had mostly good times together, and while sex had gotten to feel rather routine, it often happened en enough to keep us feeling healthy.

We had been discussing having a baby for a couple of years.  Discussing had become our way of putting it off.  It wasn’t just fear of losing personal freedom.  Both Kim and I were only children, and in both cases our parents’ marriages had ended in divorce.  We didn’t want a child of ours to have that sort of childhood, but it was hard for us to envision what other kind of childhood we could provide.  We didn’t know what a “normal” family feels like.  The whole subject made us wary.

Then one night, as we watched late night television on the couch, Kim seemed restless.  She wanted me to hold her.  We started kissing.  She quickly got passionate, so I assumed we were on the way to making love.  But when things reached a certain point, with our clothes half-off, Kim said we’d better not because she had forgotten to take her pill that day and the day before.  Then she glued herself on top of me, gave me the kind of kiss I had almost forgotten, and whispered, “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.”

I always tried to be a “thoughtful” lover, which I assumed meant letting Kim take the lead in sex.  I’d give her a real workout any day she wanted, but only when she had signaled she was in the mood.  I never insisted on anything, or denied her anything.  But this night was different.  Suddenly I knew that I was going to take her, regardless.  And somehow I also knew, in spite of what she had said, that it was exactly what she wanted.

By that time, we were on the floor.  Kim was on top of me, her pajama top was off, and I had been stroking her pussy through the thin fabric of her bottoms.  I increased the pressure of my fingers, which made her gasp.  I was always gentle there and tried to time my strokes with her breathing, but now I acted like I owned it and could treat it roughly if I chose.  She half drew back in surprise.

“Stay where you are,” I growled, pulling her down.  I continued pressing my fingers into her. “Be a good girl and get dripping wet fast.” (That was not the way I usually spoke to her during sex).

I rolled her onto her back and yanked off her pajama bottoms. Then off with my shorts. Without saying a word, I raised her knees to her chest, held them with my shoulders, and it didn’t occur to me to wonder if she was ready, but she was.  She moaned and panted and pushed herself back against me.  I gripped the sides of her buttocks hard. We made love passionately as never before.