My wife moved to my hometown 30 years ago. It didn’t take long for me to snatch her up. We met and married in the same year. Within our first year of marriage, we made the 12-hour drive to her parents’ place eight times!
Those long drives were good for our marriage. We talked a lot within our short courtship, but the concentrated time trapped in the same car forced conversations that might have otherwise been delayed.
The sleeping arrangements at her parents’ home were never conducive to intimacy. We always slept on the pull-out couch in the basement den, where the TV and her dad’s computer were. He would sit there on his computer while we tried to go to bed. He struggled with narcolepsy, so he would often be sitting at the keyboard with his chin on his chest. My wife would beg him to go upstairs and go to bed so we could go to sleep. He insisted that we could sleep just fine with him there. On the way home, I would be about to burst!
Of course, being a sexually minded man, I would often fantasize about all kinds of car sex acts. One afternoon on our 12-hour drive home, we were blowing through St. Louis during rush hour. I let my right hand wander over to my wife’s thigh and began the not-so-subtle move up to the “Y”. She spread her legs slightly and shifted her backside toward the edge of the seat giving me easier access. I massaged through her jeans as she sighed and rocked her hips. The traffic forced my eyes to the road, but my mind was at my fingertips.
Testing my multi-tasking abilities, I began working on the button to her jeans. She seemed to be content to see if I could accomplish the task on my own. The cruise control was set, my eyes were on the road (traffic), and my fingers were working miracles with her button and zipper.
My wife was impressed as the zipper bottomed out and my hand slipped under the waistband of her conservative cotton panties. She was drenched! My immediate inclination was to just plunge my middle finger inside and enjoy the heat, but I controlled myself.
Spreading my fingers slightly, I let my middle finger slide between her well-lubricated lips while my index finger and ring fingers slid along the equally wet outer lips. She was nearly panting at this point. Her hips rocked up each time I slid down. Our rhythm happened naturally.
My wife doesn’t climax easily. The planets need to align in order for her to reach that final explosion. It is very rare that I’m able to make her cum with my hand or my tongue. It took me a few years to get it worked out, but I now don’t consider it a full love-making session unless those planets have fully lined up.
The excitement of flying through heavy traffic with my hand in her panties must have done the trick. She raised her beautiful butt off of the seat, squeezed her nipples through her shirt, and let out a guttural sound that almost ran me off the road! Her legs squeezed together and flew back open several times. I just tried to keep the motion going without plowing into any unsuspecting commuters.
She slowly came down off the mountain with a dazed look on her face. I eased my hand out of her pants and immediately began licking and sucking her honey from my fingers.
She let me know that my turn was coming. By the time we got out of the St. Louis traffic, it was getting dark outside. My wife suggested that I pull off onto the shoulder and join her in the passenger seat.
I was only too happy to oblige. I made the quick sprint around the back of the car as she wriggled out of her jeans. She slid the seat all the way back and reclined it as I climbed in the passenger door. I knelt on the floor in front of her, freed my aching member, and buried it all the way in one quick move. It didn’t take long, I’ve got to say. I was wound up from her pleasure. She was so wet and hot. It only took a few strokes before I was filling the car with my own sounds of pleasure.
When we sold that car, it still had the stain on the passenger seat. I think about our adventure together every time we drive through St. Louis.
We have been married for 29 years now. While our trips to her parents’ house have dwindled to once every couple of years, our love life has only gotten better. I love my wife. I love her pleasure.
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