I went to bed, alone again. It was one of those stretches we go through where sex isn't on her mind, so it isn't happening. It was one of those stretches where I am more intimate with my right hand and excited about exercising its wrist muscles than anything with her.
You have to understand, we've been married 27 years, both faithfully, and aside from a couple medically challenged bumps in the road, we've had an active and satisfying love life together. We each know how to push the other's buttons just so, whether we want to interest the other or to tease them, whether we want them to luxuriate in a sensual moment of candlelight and massage, or feel sweaty heated raw animal passion.
We communicate well, we share similar tastes and dreams, and we share everything. This one night we shared more than I expected.
She came to bed later than me one night, after a good dinner, plenty of wine, and a rousing game of foosball with my son, who was home visiting from college. I awoke to the feeling of her warm body lying on top of me as she smothered me with kisses. Nothing works better as an aphrodisiac on her than a good bottle of red wine. Unfortunately, it tends to make me happy and sleepy, so if she delays acting on the Romantic effects of the wine, it simply means she'll be waking me up later. That can be a bit of an annoyance, but only until the sleep clears from my brain enough to realize what is happening.
After a good deal of kissing, she climbed beneath the covers to find I had donned a pair of silky boxers and a t-shirt. Something clicked in the feel of the boxers in her mind.
"Oooh" she cooed, "I like these on you."
I had thought she was kissing passionately before, but she stepped it up as she ran her hands all over me through the boxers. She delayed reaching her target. I was so excited and aching to feel her hands find my erection, and the longer she put it off, the closer I pulled her to me until I was able to wrap my legs around her, and began to rub my hardness against her thigh.