by Blaise Quin
Emily had flirted with strangers in a bar, she’d slept with two other men while her husband watched, and yet she’d never be able to so brazenly do something as simple as buy a box of condoms without wondering what people were thinking.
The pregnancy test had been easier. One time, the cashier, a kindly old woman, had said, “Good luck,” as she had rung it up. Though the comment was rather personal, Emily had smiled. Maybe it was a woman thing.
She’d come full circle, from a woman who thought sex was just for procreation, to loving sex for its own sake, to again having sex just for procreation. Because every time she and Justin made love, that’s what she was thinking about. Not about having an orgasm, but I hope I get pregnant. She was ashamed that often she didn’t even focus on how Justin was feeling. Only that he finished inside her.
Not once since that night had he come any other way except inside her.
She fingered the box, deciding whether to do more tests. On one hand she’d know, on the other, she might be more relaxed. Or would it be the other way around?
It wouldn’t hurt to have them at home. She gently placed a box of three in her basket.
Emily lay curled up next to me in bed, wearing loose pajamas, her hand on my thigh. It was Saturday night. We’d had a good day, a nice dinner out. Just ten p.m. and we were already in bed. A year ago this would be a hopeful night for me, an early bedtime on a weekend meant a good chance for sex. Even after we’d begun experimenting with our sex life, I had still looked forward in optimistic expectation to our evenings together. In the past, I’d often masturbated alone just thinking about seeing Emily react to my dirty talk, or re-living the evening before, remembering how she’d orgasmed while we’d watched a hotwife video, or I’d made up some story about another man fucking her.
But I hadn’t masturbated in over a month. It wasn’t that I’d lost any interest in Emily; I still loved her and the way she looked. It was just. . .sex had become almost mechanical. Now that it had a goal, it seemed more like—and I’m embarrassed to admit this, even to myself—work. Do X, get Y.
Emily snuggled in closer to me, indicating her desire to get physical. I felt like I was watching a movie, not part of the action, knowing the secret of the guy in the bed, cringing at his response, or lack of it.
It was too early for me to feign sleep, so I stalled. “Did you have a nice day?” I asked.
“Wonderful. It’s so nice to spend the entire day together.”
I absentmindedly stroked her hair. “I’m glad.”
“Are you tired?” she asked.
This was my chance to perhaps avoid having to perform, but the hope in her voice was impossible to miss. “Just a little.”
“Maybe we can, you know.”
Even after all we had been through, Emily still could barely say the words. In fact, since we’d been trying to have a baby, she’d reverted even more to her old self.
I turned toward her, sliding my hand down along her leg, brushing the soft fabric of her pajamas. Maybe I could mix things up a bit, go back to having sex just for fun, at least now and then. I kissed her on the cheek, then the lips, while my hand rode up and down her thighs.
Her return kiss was full, yet it was a loving kiss, not a kiss of an excited woman. I continued to caress her, my hand roving over her thighs, her belly, only briefly touching her between the legs, moving up to her breasts. My fingers sought her nipples through her top, teasing, gently pulling.
Normally by now my cock would be rock hard, yet it hadn’t stirred.
“That feels nice,” said Emily.
I redoubled my efforts, slipping my hand under her top, cupping her breast. I was surprised her nipple had not yet swelled, she was normally so sensitive there. I ducked my head to her stomach, pushing her top up with my chin, clamping my mouth over her nipple, while at the same time pushing my hand down under her waistband.
My fingers settled over her pussy. Her hips moved, her body shifted to give me access, and yet—she hadn’t made a sound, her kiss seemed the same as before, no increase in intensity.
I moved my hand lower, flicking at her clit. Finally she responded, a hint of a moan. I traced little circles, then sought out her wetness for some lubrication.
Only there wasn’t any there. For the first time in as long as I could remember, she wasn’t wet at all.
This was the ultimate reversion to the old Emily.
I didn’t say anything, just moved my fingers away, working gently at her nipple, pressing my hand against her mound. Maybe I hadn’t warmed her up enough. And besides, I needed more time myself, I was still totally limp.
Perhaps Emily had noticed something wrong, because she shifted to the side, reaching her hand between my legs. I was embarrassed to have her discover my condition, so I subtly moved away, covering the motion by turning Emily so that she was facing away from me in a spoon position.
I don’t think I’d ever felt so much at a loss with a woman in my life.
Emily immediately sensed something was wrong the minute she tried to touch Justin. He’d always said this was one of the most exciting experiences for him, the first touch, a thrill not lost even long after they’d been married.
She allowed herself to be turned away, Justin cradling her in a spoon. At this point she’d expect to feel Justin’s erection pressed into her, but tonight there was nothing, no evidence he was in the least bit aroused.
She was warm, ready, at least emotionally. As for her body, she wasn’t quite so sure. Over the last month or so she’d reacted differently during their lovemaking. She loved Justin, she wanted to be with him, she wanted him inside her. And yet, something was missing. A few weeks ago she started secretly preparing herself by rubbing lubricant inside herself before Justin had come to bed. She didn’t think he’d noticed, but she felt guilty about that, which was why she hadn’t tonight.
She started to reach for him again, but hesitated. The last thing she wanted was to embarrass him.
Her first thought, as always, was that there was something wrong with her. That Justin had lost interest. Foolish, but it was what a woman usually did, blame herself, see herself as the problem.
Yet Emily was smart enough to understand what was going on. After totally changing their lives with wild sexual exploration to overcome their staid physical relationship, they were back to where they had started.
In a rut.
I pressed my chest against Emily’s back, my arm thrown over her, my fingers working her breasts. Tight as I was against her, I kept my groin pulled back, not wanting Emily to discover my lack of an erection. Instead, I concentrated on getting her excited. Maybe I could rub her into an orgasm and she’d be content. I’d still have to deal with my own lack of arousal, but one thing at a time.
Again I pushed my hand down under her bottoms. And again, as I touched her, I met only dryness.
It wasn’t just me who was wasn’t aroused.
Being a guy, I thought of it as a problem to solve. That’s what guys do. So I redoubled my efforts to get her excited. If I did that, I’d probably take care of my own lack of response as well.
I kissed her hair, her neck. I nibbled her skin while I continued to caress her body. Gently I spread her thighs, letting the back of my hand brush her folds. I increased the pressure, cupping her pussy with my palm, then turning my hand over, bumping my knuckles over her clit, back and forth.
Emily made a little moan, yet it seemed forced, like it was what she felt she should be communicating instead of her body taking over.
Frustrated, I flicked at her clit, or tried to. Normally by now she’d be inflamed, her clit flushed and protruding. Yet I had to spread her open to find her tiny nub.
I kept at it, not willing to give up, wide awake and alert, intent. My lips found hers, demanding. Emily kissed me back; it was obvious she wanted to keep going, and yet neither of our bodies were responding.
I was reminded of the early days of our marriage, Emily knowing this was what married women d
id, trying as hard as she could to please me, going through the motions. Back then I would have been quivering with out of control desire, I would often come the minute she touched me.
Now, I couldn’t even face having her touch me, having her discover I was limp.
There was only one thing left to try.
Tentatively, I said, “Maybe if we. . .”
Emily willed her body to respond. She was awake, she wanted to make love, she wanted Justin to feel good. Unlike the early days of her marriage, now she wanted sex. She knew how good it could feel, for both of them.
Yet she felt like a plastic doll, hard and cold and dry.
She kissed Justin harder, even initiating a French kiss, her tongue darting out, pleading. Justin’s hands were on her, yet with every touch she cringed, not wanting him to feel how unready she was. She still hesitated to touch him, for fear of what she would discover.
In the back of her mind she realized there was one thing that might work. She could fantasize, she could imagine herself with another man, Justin watching. Yet she fought going down that path, just as she had on other nights. That wasn’t a fantasy to have when you were trying to get pregnant.
She tried to shake off her thoughts, yet she was haunted by how aroused and hard Justin had been when they had talked about her with other men, when he had seen her with other men. Maybe Justin needed that fantasy too. She didn’t dwell on that disturbing idea, that he could only get hard with such a fantasy in his mind.
Suddenly she realized that perhaps Justin was doing exactly what she was. He was forcing himself not to think about it, for all the right reasons, and yet the pressure of being pure of thought was getting in the way of his arousal.
She slipped her hands between his legs. His manhood was soft, proof of his confusion at best or disinterest at worst.
There was only one thing left to try.
In gentle desperation, she said, “Maybe if we. . .”
They had both spoken at the same time. “Maybe if we. . .”
“You first,” said Emily.
“No, go ahead,” said Justin.
To Emily, he sounded relieved. His fingers stopped moving on her. Her own hands were still pressed between his thighs. Yet now that he was waiting, she couldn’t bring herself to voice her idea. “I just. . .”
“What?”
“Nothing.” She just couldn’t do it. “Maybe we are both tired.” Emily bit her lip, that had slipped out. “I didn’t mean you, I meant me. . .”
“No, that’s okay. Me too.” Justin hugged her tightly, a warm embrace.
“What do you think is the matter?” she asked.
Justin hesitated before replying. “We might just be trying too hard.”
Emily could accept that. It made sense, and it was far preferable to any alternative. “That’s probably it.”
There was a long silence, and Emily thought Justin would leave it at that, but he said, “We’ve faced this before. Way back.”
“I know.” Although it hadn’t been the same, she had been the only one who had not been aroused. Now it was Justin as well. She asked, “Was that what you were going to suggest? A video?”
“Is that what you were going to say?”
Emily felt the first stirring between Justin’s legs. “Or something.”
“Like what?”
She ran her finger along his thigh. “I’m sure you can imagine.”
“I have a good imagination.”
Emily didn’t respond right away, but continued to roll her fingers over his skin, shifting closer and closer to his manhood, giving him time to go wherever he wanted in his mind.
And as he did, she couldn’t help but guess what he might be fantasizing about. . .
He began to harden in her fingers, sending a thrill right to her heart. “Tell me what you are thinking,” she whispered.
His body stiffened, his hips rising off the bed, pushing toward her hands. “You,” he replied.
She squeezed him gently, stroking with just her thumb and middle finger. The head of his erection pushed into her palm. “Just me?” she prodded.
He shook his head, but did not reply, giving Emily her answer.
And, in an odd way, released her from her self imposed exile from the fantasies that most excited him. And excited her.
“It’s okay,” she whispered. “You can say it. I want you to say it.”
“Are you sure?” Justin’s voice was a confused mix of concern and desire.
“Yes. Say it. Tell me what excites you.”
Justin shifted toward her, bringing the welcome feel of his hardness onto her lower back. His lips brushed against her ear. “I get excited thinking about you getting excited. Especially when you are excited about another man.”
Emily hadn’t let go of him, stoking him, making him harder and harder. “You mean when I’m thinking about another man?”
“Not just thinking. But with. When you are kissing him.”
She turned her head, her lips opening, demanding a kiss, returning it with a moan that she didn’t have to fake. “Like this?”
“Yes, kissing him, kissing him like you want to. . .”
“What?”
Now it was Justin’s turn to moan. “Have him touch you. Suck on him.”
“What else?”
Justin drove his tongue into her mouth. “Get fucked by him.”
Emily moaned again, twisting in the bed, spreading her legs. His words didn’t need to paint a picture in her head, she was way ahead of him, getting herself ready to be taken. “What are you doing during all that?”
“I’m watching.”
“Are you touching yourself?”
“Yes.”
Emily was jerking him hard now, just as she knew he’d be touching himself if he was watching her. He’d told her as much, and she’d seen it too. And it aroused her tonight as it had then. Justin jerking off in the other room as she’d been with Antonio. Justin masturbating as she’d been with Dwayne.
She didn’t want him to masturbate tonight though. She wanted him inside her.
“That turns me on so much,” she admitted, and she guided his hand between her legs.
“You’re wet,” he marveled.
“You’re hard.”
“What got you so wet?”
Emily hesitated just a heartbeat. Yet she couldn’t fib, they were clearly in the same fantasy. “Thinking about you. Watching me.”
“Watching you what?”
His fingers probed inside her, her legs opening to give him access, to show him her complete arousal. Her heart pounded in her chest, not only for what she was thinking, but for what she was about to confess. “Watching me with another man.”
“What’s he doing to you?”
“He’s touching me. He’s making me wet.”
“Like this?”
Justin pushed his fingers inside her, Emily shuddering, her body coming alive. “Yes. . .like that.”
“Is that what’s making you wet? Him touching you?”
“And. . .knowing you are watching.”
“He’s getting you ready, isn’t he? And you are getting him ready, you want him to be really big, don’t you?”
Emily moaned into his mouth, ashamed, Justin knew her too well, he had uncovered all her newly discovered secrets.
Justin rolled on top of her, the tip of his shaft on her belly, pointing directly at her womb. No, she still had him in her hands, she was pointing him at her womb.
“You want him to fuck you, don’t you?” prodded Justin.
She shook her head, not sure if she was reacting without thinking or if this was part of the game. “No, he can’t,” she said.
“Because you are married? Or because he isn’t wearing a condom?”
Emily gasped. It was exactly what she’d been thinking, but hearing it out load stunned her. She shouldn’t be thinking about other men now, being inside her, no barrier between them.
“Maybe you’d like that,” Justin sai
d, pushing his hips forward, driving his rock hard stiffness between her fingers. “Having another man inside you, unprotected. Do you ever think about that? Does that excite you?”
Emily shook her head again, but couldn’t get her voice, the truth not letting her speak a denial. She had thought about it, yes, and it had excited her. But that was before, not now, not when she wanted to. . .
“It’s okay,” whispered Justin. “Show me.”
And she did, so help her, she pushed his shaft down, and even though she jumped with excitement when his hardness slid across her clit she kept going, spreading her waiting folds, pointing him at her opening.
“Is this what you want?” said Justin. “You want this man to fuck you, unprotected?”
Emily moaned again, pulling him forward, but he held himself at bay, letting it build. “Please,” she whispered.
“Please what?”
His hot shaft quivered in her hand, harder and thicker than she had ever remembered him. She pulled at him, the head now at her entrance.
Her arms went around his shoulders, her legs spreading as far as possible. Earnestly, passionately, and yes, lustily, she cried, “Please make me pregnant!”
And with a roar that didn’t sound at all like her husband he drove into her, blissfully, into her wetness, pushing through the last vestige of tightness, into her totally unprotected depths.
Her mouth opened, reflecting her body’s willingness, her desire. She pulled him as close to her as she could, wanting all of him, outside, inside. He drove harder and harder, and she only wanted more.
Within moments he grunted and she held her breath, wanting to feel every single spasm as he emptied inside her. Only then did she let herself go, and for the first time in her life came without being rubbed or by a single motion of the man on top of her.
