And boy did those pipes need clearing out. 29 days worth of shit was clogged in there.
It was CD8 yesterday. Ovulation is approaching.
I’d said to Dave last week that we needed to blast some boys out because otherwise after nearly a month of no daylight for his lads (except a sporadic wank here and there), they’d all be coming out backwards and dribbling.
We needed the healthy fellas at the front ready for FW (fertile week).
But in all seriousness, Dave hadn’t wanted sex since back in June because of his mental health. Jeez that was tough… My sex drive was still there, and I missed connecting to him physically, but I had to respect his feelings. He really had lost his mojo and it was heartbreaking to see. But I was also concerned that this drought would end up becoming harder and harder to overcome the longer it went on for.
So I bit the bullet and offered him a no-strings blow job on Saturday.
Except it didn’t happen. A late night at the pub with a mate the night before, followed by more daytime drinking on Saturday meant he was in bed by 8:50pm. The lightweight.
But I came home from work yesterday, to be greeted by this delightful chat-up line.
“You can suck my penis tonight.”
I’m sorry – what?! I know I said ON SATURDAY that I would oblige because it was the weekend, but you didn’t take me up on the offer that night. That doesn’t mean it still stands 48 hours later on demand!
But I needed to keep him sweet. FW was around the corner and the sooner we got the duds out, the better for his next batch.
“Okay, but when? Now? I was about to go for a run.”
“Well we need to be finished by 10:30pm so I can get to sleep.”
“FINISHED by 10:30pm? Oh well maybe not then.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“Then we’ve got a tight schedule – run, shower, dinner, Hollyoaks, wrestling, blow job, bed.”
I shit you not, that is what he said to me.
But come 10:30pm, when I was actually halfway asleep, I was awoken by a prodding in the dark (it was his finger you mucky smutts…). I thought it was just going to be a quick blow job but actually it ended up finishing with the loveliest reconnecting sex that we’ve probably ever had.
And the best bit was, it wasn’t doggy for once! This was making love, the good old missionary way. It was so nice to go back to being… normal again. I’d missed it.
I let out a little emotional whimper at the end.
“You’re not going to cry again are you? Oh god please don’t cry…”
(Fuck off you unfeeling bastard)
*high-pitched wobbly voice*
After the inevitable clean up, I said to Dave that it was so nice to make love, rather than fuck, for a change. I asked him why he decided to stay above me rather than behind me, as is his usual modus operandi.
“Because now you’ve stopped self-tanning you don’t smell of fucking biscuits anymore. It was like shagging a digestive before.”
Aaaaaand any soppy-love I was feeling for him went in that instant.