Post-coital with D

D and I fucked again on Friday.  If you recall, the last time was almost a month ago.  The circumstances were not as ideal as last time.  After dinner on Friday the kids went to bed and I wasn't expecting any action.  In fact, I helped myself two days in a roll on Wednesday and Thursday.  I was bemoaning yet another week of sexlessness, even though obviously she promised it to me a day before.  Fridays have become unbearable lately, as all my friends live a couple of suburbs over and if I want to see them I'd have to drive at least 20 minutes, and they are each burdened by their respective anomic home life.  I have gotten pretty friendly with a couple of co-workers: Aaron, who used to be on my team, is a meticulous Jewish man who went to NYU and moved down here two years ago.  He is the ambitious type, working long hours and bought a house close to a reformed synagogue that his wife made him attend every Friday.  Wife is a special-ed teacher.  I wonder how much sex he's having.  I obviously can't hang out with him on Shabbat.  Christopher, is an amicable local guy, born and raised, and speaks with a drawl occasionally, even though he managed to get an MBA from...was it Berkeley?  He loves to go on and on about football and baseball, and cultivates a persona of a laid-back aging frat boy, but deep down I know he's the sensitive type.  He loaned me a book by Henry Miller once, and told me to not tell his wife.  I'm not sure why, because she is cheerful, dull, slightly overweight but still attractive in her mid 30s after two kids, and flawless in her ways of managing the household. Every time I go to his house to do something it was always immaculate, despite his own very messy twin boys.  They apparently needed help conceiving.  We have play-dates pretty frequently, sometimes on Sundays, because to his parents chagrin he doesn't go to church very often.

D was in bed blowdrying her hair and in a pink nightgown.  I took off my t-shirt but left my underwear on.  She leisurely shaped her hair into a glowing, wavy contour and nonchalantly started petting my boxer-briefs with her fingers.  I was startled, but a few seconds later let myself go to feel the smooth movement of her fingers.  She smirked and squeezed my nipples a bit.  I started massaging her smooth inner thigh with my palm, and I had the thought of noticing the inexplicable misfit between the hairy, coarse skin on the back of my hand and the spotless, almost silvery skin of hers.  My pudgy fingers seemed utterly out of place--I felt like a brute.  I am a brute, heavy, clumsy, physically awkward and deficient in whatever sensuality that is required to attract my own wife.  Sometimes I felt like Shrek.

I felt her warm wetness in between her legs and I knew I was ready to enter her.  I pulled off my underwear and exposed myself to her, and she looked at it happily and swallowed it for a few seconds. I felt the warmth around the tip and behind the frenulum building up inside of her mouth.  I quickly pulled out of her mouth and entered her, grabbing her buttocks as waves of pleasure enveloped my pelvis.  Barely a minute or two later I was about to let go.  I closed my eyes and I let go.  I'm not sure why, because I knew I could wait and last a bit longer, but I didn't feel like it, and whatever there is left inside of my seminal repository erupted quietly with a few weak contractions.  

She pulled herself away and said dourly, "that was pretty fast."  She sat up and fished out a tiny white vibrator and started working on herself.  I tried to massage her and lightly bite her nipples like she always liked me to do, but she interrupted me curtly, "just stop."  A few minutes later she arrived, and she turned off the only lamp that was lit, on her side, and the curtains of nightfall closed again around me.