“You have to anoint your new home,” my friend Sandy insisted.
“Anoint? You mean like with Holy Water or oil or something?”
“No, silly. I mean you need to have sex in every room. God blesses sex between husband and wife. It’s holy in His sight. So go home and “anoint” the whole house with prayer and sex. I’ll bet you have a baby within a year!” Sandy had the most serious look on her face, so I knew she meant what she said. As a married woman with about ten years on me, I figured she probably had a reason for advising me in this way, too. She and her husband still had a vibrant sex life, and I sure didn’t mind following her advice. But I’d been barren for nearly seven years by then. I wasn’t too convinced that she was right about a baby for us. But hey, if it was God’s will…
So that evening, I shared her sage wisdom with my husband. After a year living with his parents, we had just closed on our first home. We were headed there to explore the place for the first time as owners rather than potential buyers. It was a 7.5-acre plot of land with what amounted to a free-standing apartment near the front of the heavily wooded property in Southwest Florida. We planned to develop a hobby farm for me and our hoped-for children to care for while he worked outside the home. “My Lord’s Farm,” I called it. We stopped at the gate and prayed together that God would bless this home and us as we sought to glorify Him in it.
And then we drove through.
We took a walk through the somewhat overgrown trails snaking between and around the pines and palmettos. Then, after another quick glance around the pole barn with its interior grow room, we went to spend some time in the house. It was tiny: two bedrooms, one bath, and a combination kitchen-living room divided by peninsula. It had only 850 square feet under air, but half that again under the metal-roofed screened porch. This would be our real living room, we decided. We even talked about putting a sofa bed out here. That way, we could sleep outdoors on coolish nights.
Then we opened the door that led from the side porch into the kitchen. My own kitchen again! I dreamed of making meals for my husband and, someday, for our little family. Not that I was a great cook. My husband’s first-anniversary gift to me was a Betty Crocker cookbook. He’d inscribed it: With love and understanding for all the burned stuff. 🙄
Rez picked me up (which was easier to do back then) and sat me on the counter that separated the living and kitchen areas. We kissed and caressed each other as the passion between us rose. It wasn’t just the excitement of the adventure ahead of us, making our new house a home. Rez had always known just how to touch me and let me know how sexy he found me. Or maybe he didn’t know; maybe he just didn’t have any fear of rejection, so he naturally showed me how desirable I was to him. Whatever it was, the eagerness of his kisses and touch enflamed me. The way his pulse raced under my fingers at his throat and how the pace of his movements increased the longer our lips touched and his hands roamed left no doubt how I affected him. Finally, he gripped my buttocks and slid me off the counter.
He had to stoop a bit to continue our liplock while he unbuttoned my Lee’s. But soon, he had them and my undies around my ankles. I stepped on the heels of my tennis shoes to quickly get out of the pile while simultaneously unzipping his jeans. Moments later, we were sprawled on the cool linoleum, naked as the Florida Jay yelling from the yard. Tangled in each other’s arms, we groped at all the wet and hard parts of our anatomies. His muscular ass that filled out a pair of Wrangler’s just right felt terrific, all bare and accessible to my grip. And the love-muscle sandwiched between us just begged for my attention.
I flipped him onto his back, though it required a bit of cooperation from him. He smiled up at me as I straddled his thighs and wrapped my hand around his thickened shaft. He’s not crazy long, but nothing to be ashamed of by a long shot. But the best part of his size is how his girth stretched me as he entered, especially back then before babies. But just now, as much as I wanted to slide down that pole, I wanted more for him to feel my adoration. So I wiggled farther down his legs until I could bend forward and lick and suck him.
Of course, his eyes shut with the first sensations. But I made sure that when they opened again, he’d find me staring up into them. I hoped mine conveyed the blessing he was (and still is!) to me and the joy I felt at having been chosen by him. Because he did have to choose, and I won!
He didn’t let me continue lavishing him with my mouth for long. Instead, he stood and lifted me to the end of the countertop and asked me to lie back. I leaned onto my elbows, insisting that I wanted to watch. He parted my thighs, and I lifted one of my heels to his shoulder as he explored my outer and inner folds with his tongue. When he settled into a rhythm that included both stroking and suckling my clitoris, my head fell back, and I groaned aloud.
In those days, it was really hard—almost impossible—to get me to an orgasm. Clitoral stimulation was all we knew about back then, and that was such hard work that I seldom went for it. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t enjoy his attention there and get really worked up from it. And I loved sex, orgasm or not! It wasn’t long before I was begging to have him inside me.
The counter was too high above his waist for good penetration, so he helped me down and leaned me against it instead. His finger slipped inside me to pull some of my wetness to the outside and smear it left and right of my opening. Then I felt his head against me and couldn’t help but push back to take him in.
A deep shudder shook me as his hips pressed against my buttocks. Oh, that feeling! My husband inside me, at home, right where he belonged. But I couldn’t hold him there; we had work to do!
He pulled back a bit and pushed back in. Not hard yet, just a little thrust. His lips found the curve between my neck and shoulder and began to suck a bit. He knew I couldn’t stand the little movements, though. That’s why he did it. He wanted me begging and trying to make him go faster, bigger. When I began to whimper and shove my butt back against him, he relented and began to really give it to me!
It felt so good to be taken this way! I wanted him to lose control, to be pushed over the edge by my eagerness, my need. And I got my wish! After a good long pounding with all the grunts and groans of his pleasure feeding my libido, I begged him to release! I wanted so much to have his seed inside me, have his cum fill me. When he finally shot his load, he held me fast against him by my hips until the pulsing stopped. Then he pulled me upright, wrapped his brawny arms around me, and squeezed me so tight I couldn’t breathe. But the fierceness of his love has never scared me, only comforted and… empowered me, I guess.
So began the anointing. In subsequent days that week, we had sex in every room of that house while bringing our yard sale and thrift shop finds to furnish and decorate our lovenest. And true to Sandy’s prediction, three months later—on Mother’s Day weekend—I had my first bout of morning sickness!
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