I am fond of saying, “If I can say, ‘This is a good morning’,” then it is a good morning, and it should be appreciated.” This is not a platitude. It has a point: When not much is stressing you, you may as well appreciate the hell out of what you are doing.
This is one of those many mornings when I really like what I do in my life. Yes, I have occasional highs, and they are seldom occurring lately since I sort of retired from the thrilling occupation (for you perverts, see my profile, I was in law enforcement for a thrill, not into pimping and such), but there is a lot more than the highs to make life worth the time we spend on it. Actually, in a profound sense, life is what we make of it.
Getting back to reality, I am on my routine. I am repeatedly awake during the night, looking at the clock, and deciding whether I should sleep more. At some point, say after two, I begin to think. Not consciously, just beginning to deal with unresolved issues that came to the front of my consciousness. If I had already had about four hours of sleep, I am ready to be up.
I silently slide off the bed and walk to my dresser. I pick up my signaling device, athletic shorts, and slip my feet into outdoor slippers. I walk to the kitchen where I pick up my protein drink, then walk downstairs to an unheated room in which I do weight training. I have free weights, Smith machine, weight benches, and a treadmill. I turn on the TV for distraction. If I am up at three, Jerry Springer’s show is on. I really don’t identify with him or his clientele, but it is better than the infomercials or religious shows that are on at that time of the day (besides I like the carefully selected females of the audience and the participans). Otherwise I watch the news.
I spend on the average an hour in serious weight lifting doing supersets mostly with free weights. The room temperature averages from 60 to 87 over the year. In the winter I rely on my accelerated metabolism to keep me warm as I exercise in my natural state. During warmer months I rely on my perspiration to keep me cool, but I also turn on fans and open windows and doors as necessary. Installing air conditioning is not an option at this time.
After I am done, I come upstairs and shower. Once clean, the time may be three or four o’clock. MW is still asleep, but I never know when she is ready for me, so I install the signaling device. I make a cup of espresso for myself, and settle with my computer to visit some friends, to read, or to write while I wait for a signal from MW.
This Morning
This morning I did not expect anything until late, like seven or so, because she was up during the night while trying to deal with persistent problems. A little after five I felt a twinge under my private parts. It did feel real, but just so. Not wanting to take a chance on escalation, I dropped what I was doing. If I were a pervert, I would wait until she ups the intensity of the device before responding. But I am not that way. Really. Well, maybe once in a while. I tippy-toed back to the bedroom. In the darkness I stood in silence within the partly lit doorway so that she could see me if she was awake. She spoke,
“There is something waiting to be kissed."She usually leaves her beautiful buns uncovered when she knows that I will see them. This time being dark, she gave me a hint about where I can find them. It was also cold in the room, and her buns were covered. I pushed my head under the cover until my lips found bare skin. I did not find her buns right away, but as I always, say, "Most of the fun is getting there." Her buns were unreachable directly, as they were on the other side. But since her thighs were just under my lips, I took the pleasure.
“Coffee or cuddle?”she asked after about a minute of my slobbery kisses near the center of my being.
“Cuddle first, coffee later,”I added with instant diplomatic wit.
I crawled under the covers and settled with my face between the world’s most beautiful breasts.
You have to understand my love of her charms in order to appreciate my fascination with them. I admit that she is not necessarily the most beautiful woman today, but that term is meaningless anyway. She gave me all that she had when I married her. She was just barely out of her teens, fascinatingly curvaceous, strong, healthy, beautiful. Yes, the years have changed us some, but in her case she matured just the way a beautiful woman does, and that is what she allows me to share. We share skin, warmth, scents, juices, and intimate thoughts during these close times. Yes, I am ready to have sex, but it is not a requirement.
She pulled my face into that intimate place between her ample breasts. There I had the feeling of safety and peace. My tongue was allowed to massage the tender skin between her two beauties. I knew enough to stay away from her perky and challenging buds: she tends to bop me if I try, they are not to be touched unless she is really turned on. The position immediately triggered my response. She noticed it and manipulated the (not so) little guy between her knees right away. Being a bit sadistic, she began to drag her nails from my thigh and up, and really rake my tit. As if that was not enough to spill my juices, she took the tit and pinched it between her nails. I am not into pain as such, but this is really appropriately erotic. If I am ever in need of help to have an erection (genital, that is), this will do it.
I controlled myself admirably, but could not help creaming between her knees. We lay there for a while until she suggested that it was time for coffee. I slid off the bed, and opened the blinds so that we could observe the coming sunrise. It was still dark, but there was a hint of the coming sun.
Our “coffee” needs a bit of explanation. We are connoisseurs of the brew. We go to any Trader Joe’s or Starbucks store that is local, wherever we happened to be. At home, the nearest is about twenty miles away, but we do the trip anyway. I buy what we have found best in medium price over the years. Three or four cans of their freshest roasted beans will grace our pantry for about a month. For each brew I use a burr grinder to grind enough for the moment, and the fresh grounds go directly into a filter that the drip-coffee maker will process in one setting. I never brew more than two cups, all of which we will consume in one session. I like mine thick and strong, somewhat like espresso: if the spoon will stand up in it, the coffee is about right. She likes hers a little less robust. To mitigate the strength, I boil water and provide it with the coffee for her to dilute as she wishes. We both like it black without artificial flavors or sugars.
I served the coffee in bed. We leaned back on pillows to watch the mountains between us and the sky as they began to take form against the dawn. The night was cold enough for snow, especially at the elevation at the top, but as the morning advanced, we saw only a misty mountain. With windows on three sides of the bedroom, we had the grand view of dawn.
We discussed current problems, and plans to deal with them. Interestingly, since her sexual inclinations are less intense than mine, she frequently reverted to sexual innuendos. I considered that a good sign of things to come my way. She may be working herself out of the current destructive problems that we have been handling. She plans to do an art project whose product would be a piece that she wants to give to one or our sons for Christmas. I offered my help to provide the physical details (non-art, but necessary).
After coffee and exhausting the plans, we started the daily chores that make our routines: people, pets, and things that rely on us. I remained in my natural state still glowing from the gift of her presence, and looking forward to serving her in any way that she needs.
Am I the Only One?
Is anyone out there who likes to “cuddle” as I described it? It need not be in an FLR, since it relies on love and attraction between two people regardless of the style or their relationship. I have some questions.
- What does it do for you or your mate? Does it lead anywhere other than more love and closeness?
- Do you withhold it if you feel angry or cheated or slighted?
- Do you do it when stressed, or only when all is well?
- Is it less than “manly” for a man to want to do that?
- Do you as a woman miss it, want it more often, and request it from your mate?
No comments:
Post a Comment