Happy Birthday to me!

Satan was, indeed, correct about it being my birthday. But where she got the adjective “glorious” to describe this day is entirely anyone’s guess. She, of all people, should recognize that my birthdays have never been much in the way of stellar. Or mediocre. Or even sub-average. At least not in the last 10 years.

Arwyn subscribes to the LL view that just because it is (insert momentous occasion here), don’t go assuming that there will be sex. In fact, it is far safer and less frustrating to assume there WILL NOT be sex. We would not want to cultivate anything resembling an attitude of entitlement, now would we?

This morning, I was greeted by my wife snaking her hands down my shorts and firmly grasping my morning erection. She whispered “Good morning” before tonguing my ear and draping a naked leg over me. After pulling my shorts down and off, she mounted me and whispered “Happy Birthday!”

“It definitely is now!” I half groan, quickly becoming more alert and my breathing quickly becoming jagged as she rocked her hips slowly, grinding me deeper into her.

Oh wait. That was a dream!

In reality, I was greeted to “Happy Birthdays” by Arwyn and the boys, but they were all in a rush to get to work and school. There was the goodbye/good morning kiss as Arwyn had already showered and dressed before I even woke up. It was a good dream.

Once at work, I was up to my eyeballs, with a brief acknowledgement of the day by my department and some co-workers but otherwise nothing too spectacular. No parties or anything like that, which would have just been embarrassing. It was a day where I was glad when it was over.

The boys were excited, mostly about getting to eat birthday cake and blowing out candles. They presented me with a new silk tie and some hand made cards that I’ll have to find a special place for.

After dinner, the boys were bathed, put in bed and then Arwyn ran to the store for milk. Then she spent time on the computer while I read a few blogs. Then my dad called to whish me a happy birthday and we talked for a couple of hours. By this time, Arwyn is long asleep.

Emily had asked about accepting a sort of servicing deal like she has going on, basically consisting of a handjob administered in a loving, sensual fashion. Fact is, I would do that and have subsisted on that sort of sexual diet before, only a much, much leaner version. Emily’s version of the encounter would be extravagant by comparison!

The reason I have not gone for the handjob these past 10 months is because they have become exercises in humiliation instead of some loving compromise or accommodation. I’ve asked Arwyn to at least strip down to her underwear for these sessions and she has refused. It is extraordinarily difficult being vulnerable around someone who is so unwilling to offer anything of the like from themselves.

In addition to insisting on being fully clothed, she has to have the towel right there. There is never any lubrication used. It goes thus:

I ask her if she could use her hands on me. This having to ask basically makes it all about me getting off, bereft of love or compassion. My thought is that she might do this just because she knows I enjoy it. But no. I feel like a chore.

She asks if I have the towel. It is up to me to obtain the hand towel and have it ready. She may assist in pulling my underwear off, but I had better otherwise be undressed and ready to go.

Once I am completely naked (and she is not even partially naked) she will lay with her head on my chest in a more conventional cuddle position, and begin stroking me. She has laid the towel out beneath my erect cock so it is ready to catch any offending fluids. Her strokes are quite purposeful and she is all about her task. She goes straight for getting me off. It usually doesn’t take very long as she has sort of trained me for getting off as fast as possible. She used to complain about how tired her hands were getting or her sore wrists. And it was true she had severe carpel tunnel before getting surgery a couple years ago. Her handjobs were actually a bit better then, because she would rest frequently which enabled me to ride the roller coaster longer. But she would quit if I took too long.

So she is stroking away. Sometimes she might watch TV but most times there is no sound or light save my own breathing which is becoming more shallow and ragged. When she feels me getting close she folds the towel up so that her hand and my cock are completely enclosed and she quickens her pace until I explode. My orgasms from her hands are quite strong, and she does “play through” by continuing to stroke me even past the point where it is pleasurable. I reach down to slow her furious strokes and she subsides and stops. She may keep her grip for a minute or two, and then wipe her hand off on the towel before going to the bathroom to scrub with soap and water. I am left to clean up with the towel before putting my shorts back on.

There is not a lot of talking before or after. At one point in our handjob sex life, we actually did talk during the procedure. It was often interesting because we would talk about mundane things while she was stroking me. The more mundane, the better as far as I was concerned. It could have helped me last longer except that the sound of her voice combined with the rasping, gasping of my own voice and breathing was such a turn-on for me!

Yeah, I get off on my own breathing.

When replaying the faded mental sexual tapes of past lovers, the breathing is one of the most vivid and erotic memories I have. I adore the sounds of a woman getting turned on and losing control. I truly miss the sound of a women getting aroused under my touch. Just the sound of her arousal might send me over the edge.

Arwyn rarely gives any auditory feedback. And I’m not a real vocal lover, myself. But talking pulls the curtain back and a body can hear the breathing become more shallow as arousal deepens. You can hear the quivers and the trembling in the voice that could otherwise be hidden in silence. So Gone often writes about how she enjoys talking during sex, or at least when her partner talks. It’s something I have only recently discovered, myself and I do think it is good to regulate the pace and flow of things. For me, the conversation does not have to be sexual or even intimate. Intimacy helps, but sex makes any conversation more palatable!LOL!

Getting back to wherever I was…

Where was I?

I could go for handjobs as the primary part of my sexual diet, but some effort needs to be expended to make the experience less humiliating and at the very least, more fun. I would like, Arwyn to find the time and effort worth while in some aspect. I would definitely like these sessions to last longer than 3-5 minutes. I would like more intimacy and some efforts at being more vulnerable. I’d like to not feel like a sexual pervert. As it is, I get off and then have all the emotional shit left over afterwards and it isn’t worth it. It’s a hell of a lot less effort, trouble and drama to get myself off and it seems that’s the way she prefers it.

I have no idea if it addresses any questions, but I think it turned out to be a pretty hot post.

D.

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