In times long past, I used to complain directly about the lack of frequency of sex. In sophomoric fashion at times, I would say,
To which she would rejoin,
Well, apparently I did.
I guess it wouldn't matter if she had been reading the blog or not if the end result was some connubial bliss, but I kind of hope not. She would have no reason to know I am back blogging, but she is much more blog-sophisticated than I an may have this on a reader or a feed. It just seems odd that just since whining here she initiated.
You read right, she initiated.
The only thing even remotely bedroom related I had brought up was when cleaning the yard and porch up I mentioned that we needed to bring the small ones crib in and finally set it up. (She hasn't slept in it yet at 2.5 years, but I digress.) I did point out that we need to kick this one out of our marital bed earlier than the others but it was conveyed (I hope) conversationally not accusatorilly.
My middle daughter had a birthday and my wife had to work, so I drove the birthday girl the 40 miles to the (relatively) "big city" (where at 4:00pm the first three stores we tried were closed!) She and I had a good time, had dinned together and did some clearance sale shopping. I was pretty proud of how budget conscious she was in her choices. I wished economic circumstances were different but was please at how adaptable my daughter was.
We returned and showed off what "Mom" had bought her. (This is a kind of fun tradition we seem to be starting with the practicalities of gift shopping so far away. The recipient picks out the gifts, but tries to anticipate what the giver would have likely gotten her. Works surprisingly accurately when viewed after the fact. For example, the oldest sister "got" her clothes, the youngest "got her a big red bouncy ball, the brother got her Pokemon stuff, etc.)
Anyway Mom was pleased at the gleam in daughters eye recounting our adventure. SHe had to ring up a purchase. (A cousin, -small town.) So we headed the rest of the way across the state line to our happy little acre of god's country, assuming God is experiencing a drought and likes an absence of neighbors.
Whilst at WalMart, I scanned the meat counter for yellow stickers of meat that needed to be moved before it starts moving on its own. I found vacume packed "random bison steak" (direct quote.) As I unpacked the grocery portion of our trip I mentally combined the good looking tri-color sweet peppers and the bison and came up with "buffalo-kebabs".
I was slicing and dicing like Ron Popeil when my wife returned. She leaned in for a kiss, I automatically presented a cheek, then realized, too late that possibly that was not where she had aimed. She settled for a peck, and said sotto voice,
"I made a little bed for her in 'her room' (an alcove off of ours.) Maybe I can get her into it tonight."
Clearly this was an invitation.
The child was well and truly wound up at 10:00 pm still when she began the attempt, so I felt no rush in joining her in the bedroom.
About 11:00, Good eats and some other show watched, I realized I better head back. As I approached the door I had a sense of dread, what if my wife is also asleep by now? The light under the door reassured, but the sense of trepidation remained.
She was reading, ALONE. I still had no idea where to start. "Blow me!" wasn't going to cut it, clearly.
I settled for nothing and picked up a Soduku book.
As I finally tired and put it down, I couldn't bring myself to initiate. I laid down and snuggled in my covers, careful not to turn away or over as I do when I sleep so as not to give body English of rejection.
She rose to the bait and said,
"Roll over, let me look at that thing on your back."
My wiofe missed her calling as a dermatologist. Not relavant here, but perhaps a post another time is the odd connection between hunting in-growns and black heads and its causational relationship to sexual congress.
In non-previously-scripted ways.
Involving submission, a little oral sex, some fingering, some coarsely whispered dominance, and some anal.
But not like you'd think....