Strange Days

Yesterday was a bit odd, from a mental-health standpoint. I didn't sleep at all; I dozed briefly with the TV on because I was trying to sleep, but couldn't drop off completely so I just missed most of what I was watching. Then I had to get up ass-early and go to work, sort of to make up for having skipped out last Saturday.

Work was interesting, because I was essentially stoned. Not actually, but my mental state was such that I wouldn't have put it past me had I been stoned. I wasn't a terribly good worker and my brain was completely out to lunch, not to mention feeling very disconnected from the world. And then I had an hour-long discussion of sexy women with my coworkers. We discussed whether we'd have sex with Anna Chapman even though she's a spy. Consensus was yes. We talked about models on Sports Illustrated, a magazine I find hysterically ridiculous in every way. But I do enjoy sexy pictures. We were really, really inappropriate. Like I've said in the past, I'm just one of the guys at work, for the most part.

Then I got home and saw an email from Annie saying that she was alone in her house and did I want to come over when I got a chance for dinner. I didn't care about dinner, but I went over anyway, later than I should have. I was really stupid; I should have just gone to bed.

She'd made this enormous bowl of salad, so we ate salad. Then she asked if I was feeling okay and I said, truthfully, that I was feeling a little tired and lightheaded. So she led me to the couch, laid me down, and brought me some juice. I must have dropped off, just for a minute, because I opened my eyes and she was gone. She came back though, in a sweatshirt and panties, then took a look in my eyes and said, "Oh, sorry, I never would have invited you if I thought you were this tired."

"No, it's my fault," I said. "I should have taken a rain check." My blood sugar was improved by the food, and my pulse was improved by her standing there in her panties, and I sat up, drained the juice, and said, "But since I'm here..."

"I don't want you to think that I'm interested in a relationship," she said suddenly, covering herself with her hands. "I just... I mean, I like how you make me feel, and I enjoy doing things with you. I felt a little guilty after last time, but I think it's okay. David knows that I have these needs. He said he doesn't want to know how I fill them."

"I don't want to make you feel guilty," I said. "But I do like making you feel good. And you give dynamite head." She giggled and blushed at that. "No, I'm serious; you're great at it. I'd be lying if I said I hadn't come back just in hope of you eating me out again."

"Then lie back," she said. I leaned back and she pulled my pants off and then slipped my panties down, and without further ado began tickling my cunt with her delicate little tongue.

I don't like to fuck fucked up. There's no way that being in an altered state improves good lovemaking, although I guess it can improve bad. I've never been on the drugs which are said to improve the experience, and I don't know that I believe they really do. So being in a sleep-deprived state which was similar to being either drunk or stoned or both, I was not at my best for receiving, let alone giving. It took me ages to cum, by my standards, to the point where I was afraid she'd give up, and I really wasn't in a state where I could fully appreciate delicate touches. When I came, it was practically nothing, just a hiccup, but I played it up to reward her because I felt bad for not being more receptive. Yes, in this case it was my fault. Not always. But in this case.

She sat back after she'd finished, and I was about to get up and try to return the favor somehow, but she just said, "No, you're tired. I'm just going to sit here for a minute and give you a show like you did last time." I confess, to my great shame, that I took absolutely no convincing to just lie back again and watch as she pulled her panties off, leaving her sweatshirt, and displayed her shaved pussy. "I liked the feel of yours," she said by way of explanation, diving a finger into her snatch.

"Aw, I thought your pubes were pretty," I said.

"David was shocked," she said with a small smile. Her finger kept moving between her legs. "I think he suspects that something's going on, but he doesn't want to ask."

"Do you want him to ask?" I asked, because I'm stupid. In my ordinary frame of mind, I would have let sleeping dogs lie, since it's somewhat bad form to attempt to analyze someone while they're fingering themselves for your amusement.

"Yeah," she said, her finger stopping. "I wish sometimes he could be more... I don't know."

"Open?"

"Something like that." Her finger started again. "He's never once been too busy for me, you know, in bed, but it's just not enough."

"You wish he'd try other positions, or invite a friend, or what?" What I was thinking I don't know. Seriously, there was a big part of me which was sitting back outside myself at this point and wondering just who was in charge. It may seem fascinating after the fact, but at the time, it was not the right time, and I admit that. Still, when you're raised having deep conversations while fucking, old habits are hard to break.

"All of that." She laughed suddenly. "Geez, you're not shy about it, are you? I think if I asked you to talk to him, you would. You'd probably talk him into a threesome with you too."

"No, I probably wouldn't. I'm bad at confrontation." But I laughed too, then beckoned with my hand until she slid over and let me take over with my fingers what hers had been doing. "You really don't think he's capable of having a conversation about it? At all? I mean, not about a threesome or anything, but maybe, 'Hey honey, can we try from behind tonight?'"

She giggled at my impersonation of her, which made her pussy giggle too, which felt nice and probably would have felt even better had I had a cock inside her. "We don't just do it with him on top," she said. "But it's usually that way."

"I prefer missionary myself, and I never seem to get enough of it because all the guys want to fuck me from behind," I said with a laugh.

"When I was in college I dated a guy who liked it with me on top," Annie said, blushing a little. "I never told David about that. He thinks he was my first."

"Did you have sex with him before you got married?" Seriously, in hindsight, what the hell was wrong with me?

"No. He's traditional, like I said. And the first time... it was magical." She was relaxing on my fingers, and the heat was building.

"You are a space heater down there, I swear," I said, marveling.

"Thanks," she said with a shy smile. "I'm getting pretty close, that's why."

"Do you cum when you fuck him?" That I remember everything I said is the worst part; if I'd blacked out, at least I wouldn't get to analyze myself post-facto.

"Oh yes. Well, sometimes. Sometimes I have to go in the bathroom and finish myself. I don't tell David. He knows I enjoy it, and he enjoys it, and that's what matters. It's not about the goal." She tensed up suddenly on my fingers. "Speaking of which..." And then those little twitches, and she relaxed. "Mmmm, it's more fun when someone else does it," she said with a giggle, then hopped up and pulled her panties back on. "Now, you really should go home and get some sleep." It was strangely maternal, and it reminded me that she is older than I am, although probably not as many years as she thinks.

I got my bottom back together and drove carefully home because I was on the verge of crashing. Not the car, my brain. Fell asleep immediately, without really processing anything of what had happened. Now I've had a chance to process it and I've probably fucked some things up in remembering it, but that's about what I recall happening. Further conversation on the subject, anyway.

I do wish I could talk to Annie's husband. Because he has a treasure, and obviously loves her, but he should wake up and smell the coffee because I can see someday her needs becoming too much. I respect people who have beliefs about sex that run counter to my own, but even if he'd just man up and hear her out, that would be something. I mean, it's one thing to say, "No, I don't think I can be in a marriage where things like that happen." It's another to be willfully ignoring both her needs and the way she takes care of them. Sticking your head in the sand isn't a solution.

But as I told her, I don't know that I could talk to him because I can't talk to people I know sometimes. I have my own communications problems, and I should probably see to my own house before I invade someone else's.

I wrote her an email today telling her that I wanted to take a raincheck after the fact because I'd totally failed as a lover, but if she gave me a bit of prep time I'd be ready to rock her world. Not sure if that was the appropriate response; maybe I'll frighten her away. But if not, I'm thinking of bringing a toy next time, maybe some exciting underwear. Maybe, if she's so interested in novelty, I'll introduce her to ass play. Who knows. If all I can do is make her happy a little, I'll do that, for the very selfish reason that she's attractive and I have few other options at present.