Get In

My wife pulled the foreskin of my penis down while her other hand applied lube to its head. Our lips met while I groped at her breasts. Satisfied with my erection, she whispered, “I need you in me.”

There was a time when I longed to hear those words from a woman.

I thought back to a much earlier time and erection. My heels dug into the edge of the mattress; the resistance to squeezing my legs together during ejaculation enhanced my orgasm. I pulled the foreskin down the shaft and held it. The memory of our first kiss that afternoon resulted in more than enough pre-cum for lube. Sliding back up and pausing to squeeze the tip of my erection, I reviewed the past few days and hours.

She was one of a group I’d hung out with over the summer at a Wednesday college-and-career Bible study. I didn’t take much notice of her at first, perhaps because she was in her first year of college, and I had finished college six years earlier. But that Wednesday, five days ago, she and her friends had sweetly planned a birthday party for me for Friday.

Memories of that Friday night flooded in with the next stroke. I found her in the kitchen, cleaning up after the party; the few remaining guests stayed downstairs watching a video. She had her back to me and didn’t notice my arrival, so it startled her a bit to turn and see me standing there. I thanked her for the meal and for her work at arranging the party.

“There’s plenty of leftovers. Would you like to come back tomorrow night for supper as well?” The invitation implied it would be dinner for two. An erection came as I closed the car door for the five-minute drive home.

After several frustrating attempts at a summer romance, I had cried out to God, “You’re going to have to hit me on the head with a frypan before further attempts on my part to find a wife.” Had I just been hit on the head?

Sleep eluded me for several hours; thoughts swirled in my head long after the cum on my chest had dried. What was happening? I was scheduled to leave in two weeks for a job change. I didn’t want to start a romantic pursuit, only to have it terminated or complicated by a long-distance relationship. I had the option to change plans, but didn’t want to do that only to discover the relationship was short-lived. When sleep finally overtook me, I’d resolved to ask her out and to propose marriage on our first date.

I returned the following evening, eager to see how events unfolded, yet nervous. Had she changed in some way or did I simply perceive her differently? Was the tone of her voice welcoming me to dinner or to something else? The sparkle in her eyes and hint of seduction in her smile? The choice of sweater that pulled my attention to her boobs? The fit of her jeans focusing my eyes on her crotch?

She accepted the date for Sunday. The hour’s drive to the airport to pick up a friend gave me the time I needed to let her know what I was feeling. I told her I was interested in pursuing a relationship with her. I was willing to change my plans. Did she think she wanted to be my wife? After returning home, we went for a walk in the woods behind her house. We held hands, but I was hungry for much more. We stopped. Embraced. The softness of her breasts against my chest contrasted with the hardness growing in my trousers. Our lips met. Our tongues explored each other’s mouths.

We had several more make-out sessions before we finally said goodnight, and I returned to my house, to my bed, to thoughts of her lips, and to the unfulfilled desire to unbutton her shirt. That’s when I came.

Now, thirty-some years later, while I kiss her lips, and my hands slide up under a different shirt, she gloves her hand over my penis to bring another erection. She whispers, “Get in.” I position myself in front of her and see what I could only dimly imagine that night long ago.