I.
Hi Journal.
It's been a minute. A lot has happened, most of which I could not type through for a while.
So, I'm not pregnant. I mean, I was. Sort of. After my doctor visit and the usual questions, I disclosed some discomfort, which I was I was willing to write off as part of a major increase in my sexual activity. However, some blood tests and an ultrasound later, I was told I had an ectopic pregnancy. The embryo would not survive where it was and posed a serious health risk to me. So, there was some medication, more discomfort, and things moved on.
What can I say? My support system was there for me. Tom, Sammie, and Dwayne were present in my life and shared a sense of relief and empathy. For the most part, everyone agreed we had dodged a complicated bullet. There was a lot to unpack at the possibility of being impregnated by a man other than my husband. Admittedly, I was grateful that there was no reason to reach out to Greg and reopen that nonsense.
Still, I had mixed feelings. The idea that my middle-aged body was still fertile gave me a warm feeling. Also, I had someone like Dwayne in my life, who was virile and made me feel like a women in ways I had not before. He made me feel special. It is crazy, I know. Safe sex, Nancy. It is important. I am nearly done raising the kids I planned for. Be rational. I tell myself these things all the time, but I cannot deny the way I feel in bed with Dwayne. The way my body feels when he is inside me. The feelings haunt me. Moreso over these past weeks.
We all pumped the brakes on this lifestyle. Everyone giving my mind and body the space to pull together. I even insisted on Tom having an orgasm, so he would regain his senses for at least a few days. I was growing sure it could not be healthy for a man to go as long as he had without an orgasm. When he was in orgasm denial, he saw sexy opportunities everywhere and as much fun as that can be, it can also feel like having an over-excited puppy bouncing up and down waiting for you to throw a ball.
One day recently, we were having a pleasant shower together. We soaped each other up and got aroused. I was still not interested in any penetrative sex but touching each other's slippery bodies, finding each other's sensitive spots, and making out was still quite satisfying. Tom was behind me, cupping my breasts, teasing my nipples, and rubbing his erection against my back. He started to pull away as the excitement was getting too much for his pent-up sexual energy. We had played this game of denying him an orgasm for a while now. The result was he was almost always on the edge of an orgasm. I had enough. I placed my hands on the shower wall in front of me and pushed my ass back, pinning Tom against the opposing wall. I began stroking my generous ass up and down the front of his body, his erection pressed up against his abdomen but also sliding between ass cheeks.
"I'm gonna come," Tom protested feebly.
"Good, Tom. I want you to come," I encouraged, continuing to stimulate his shaft against my slippery skin.
"I can't," he started.
"Yes, you can Tom. You get to come today," I insisted. "Come all over my ass."
That was all it took. I felt Tom grip my hips and let out a groan. A moment later I felt the warmth of his come on my lower back and sliding down between my ass cheeks. I kept my body rubbing against his, trying to ensure a deep and satisfying orgasm for my husband. From the feeling of things, he had quite a bit of come to release. I was glad this was happening in the shower. At least cleanup would be easy. For his part, I thought Tom was going to pass out and collapse in the shower from the sexual relief. I kept him pinned against the shower wall until I was certain he was steady on his feet.
After the shower, it was like having my sensible husband back in my life after a prolonged sabbatical.
"Can we have a sensible conversation now?" I teased as we were dressing in our bedroom.
"Yes, Dear," he replied with a grin, knowing he was feeling like the rational version of himself again.
"Good because we have that neighborhood dinner tonight. It's only going to be a half-dozen couples or so, but I think some of them moved in recently and we haven't met them yet. I would like you to be charming and sensible, not lurid and trying to grope me when you think nobody is watching," I explained.
"Got it. I can do that," he assured.
...
Thus, the day progressed in the normal way. We picked up some groceries and together prepared our contribution to the evening dinner. We got changed into suburban casual dinner attire, without Tom even trying to nudge me towards anything revealing. Soon, we were in the car with our food and headed to our friend's house. We could have walked but the dish with the food was heavy. Also, it had been a little disappointing not having Tom trying to nudge me into some mildly scandalous outfit. So, I ended up stepping into a pair of sensible heels to gain an approving grin from my husband. However, walking in them through the neighborhood was out of the question. We took my car, it still being the nicer vehicle of our two. Our neighborhood can be a bit 'showy' and Tom did not want to pull up to the neighbor's house in his high mileage Honda. He is equally peculiar about not driving my car. He insists it's mine and he will enjoy his own new car when the time comes.
Such was our three-minute drive around the back of the neighborhood. During short drive, Tom scooped up my phone to look at the list of names our friends had texted us with who would be attending.
"Where's your phone?" I asked.
"I left it at home. It's easier to be engaged and social when the temptation to look at it is not with me," he offered, tapping in my passcode.
It was a fair point. I considered leaving my phone in the car but then worried about the unlikely event of one of our kids needing something. Without Tom's phone, mine was the only connection to our sons. They are teenagers and perfectly capable of being left alone, but I am a mom. What can I say? I worry.
I allowed myself to be OK with sparing a thought for my offspring. I was pretty even-headed about most other things in my life. Watching my husband thumb through my phone in the car next to me was one of them. I gave myself credit for not worrying about him doing so. Our personal lives were open to one another like never before. He tapped through a few screens and grinned.
"What are you doing? I thought you were memorizing neighbor names," I joked.
"I did. It's nothing," he smiled, locking my phone and placing it back on the console.
We shared a couple of moments of quiet, but before we finished pulling up to right house, he posed a question.
"Do you think we could have another one of those days when we stay in bed and watch one of your videos on the TV?" he floated casually.
I laughed.
"Yes, I supposed we could do that. It was fun and I think I'll be up for that in a day or two," I admitted to him and myself. "Besides, I still have that video with Dwayne we haven't 'reviewed' together."
"I noticed," he teased, eyebrows bouncing.
"Did you?" I laughed harder. "Well, I'm glad you did. I had almost forgotten it was there. We sort of skipped over that little gem, when you watched the real thing live over a phone call."
"That was hot," he assured, nodding to himself.
"Yes, it was. Now clear your dirty thoughts. We are here," and I turned off the car.
The evening was pleasant. It felt good to go to these events every once in a while. We were developing a rapport with a few of the longer-time residents of the neighborhood. Additionally, having a couple of the new families present, made Tom and I feel like we were among the established crowd. One new young couple stood out. Tara and Tim were in their mid-twenties, only a few years out of college and married for two. Tara worked at a local non-profit, while Tim worked long hours as an investment banker to afford a nice house in a nice neighborhood. They were off to a good start. Tom and I had owned two other homes before this one. It felt like a big accomplishment to afford the house we had. It was easy to imagine Tara and Tim stretched themselves a bit thin to make the mortgage payments for this neighborhood, but they were sweet and eager to fit in. So, I made a point of trying to make them feel welcome.
After dinner, Tara got up and asked permission to use the host's kitchen to finish prepping the dessert she brought as her contribution. I stood up to help her while everyone else was either seated at the dining table or having side conversations in the adjacent living room. I set my phone down on the counter and pushed up my sleeves. She was trying to mix some sort of glaze to pour over the pie she made ahead of time. We laughed as we organized the ingredients she had hastily tossed in a tote bag before she came over for dinner. It was a simple enough glaze, but Tara was nervous it would separate before dessert time. So, we started whisking from scratch.
"I can't remember how much vanilla is supposed to go in," Tara said, puzzling at the small vial of vanilla extract in her hand.
"It's probably just a splash," I suggested, trying to take the pressure off her.
Tara was not satisfied with that answer. The anxiety of youthful precision is a curse.
