"Switch-er-oo" (Short Story/Fiction)
Author's note: Not sure where this one came from. It began as just sort of typical erotic fantasy stuff, (and a variation on a theme I explored previously, on the blog) it evolved from there and the characters kind of took it in their own direction. Reader beware - 18+ content.
I'm not sure when the fire typically leaves the bedroom between married couples, but I understand that it's neither inevitable nor uncommon, I guess it was our time. Don't get me wrong, being intimate with my wife of twenty some odd years still got me all hot and bothered, even if the frequency wasn't as often as I would've liked. When we did make love, sometimes it felt like she wasn't 'into it'. Almost as if she was going through the motions for my sake, not because she had desires of her own. At least that's what I believed, so I was surprised when on a certain evening she proposed something a little adventurous in bed.
"No peeking." She admonished as she blindfolded me.
"What are you doing?" I asked as I felt my shorts being eased down.
"Trust me, you'll like it, but, you are not allowed to take off the blindfold."
"Okay, I promise, I won't take it off before you tell me to."
A moment later my manhood was enveloped by a warm, moist, heavenly sensation. I then felt a hand wrap around, aiding the fellatio I was receiving.
"Ohhh" I sighed. It had been too long since I last had this particular treat. "Swing yourself up here, I want to take care of you too."
"Mmmph!" was the only 'verbal' reply, I could tell she was shaking her head 'no' with her mouth full.
"Please, baby, I know how much you like it. And you know how much it turns me on. Get up here!"
A moment later she lowered herself on to me. I immediately began to try and please her as much as she was pleasing me. She moaned. I was reaching up to her hips to position her to a more favorable position when the realization hit me:
This was not my wife.
All the little details that I was ignoring rushed through my consciousness. I knew my wife. The 'feel' of her body, her scent, her flavor, the sounds she made, her preferences; all the little things that were different about the woman I was currently being more intimate with than otherwise humanly possible. I should've felt guilty, but I didn't. My wife had set this up. I rationalized to myself that I owed it to her to enjoy this if she went through all the trouble to make it happen.
Some minutes later... (who keeps track of how many at moments like this?):
"I'm close...where do you want it?" I warned of my impending climax. She didn't answer, but redoubled her efforts and began to grind on me, letting me know that she was close too.
I 'finished', she paused on her ministrations a moment or two later to verbally affirm her approval, and to call out to our heavenly father, loudly and repeatedly. Then she ravenously went back to work, trying to speed my recovery.
Before long, she achieved her goal. She stood, I heard heard her open a can of something and take a drink and then she was on me. Our mouths overlapped and she positioned herself above me and then guided me in.
"Mmmmm" she cooed. "No wonder that I was so thirsty, you've gotten me so wet..."
We kissed some more, then she pivoted herself upright and worked some magic with her pelvis while on top of me. I lifted my left hand from her hip to caress her breast, my thumb grazing her nipple. I'm sure she liked it, judging my the honeyed moans the action inspired, I went to repeat the process on the other side.
"Don't." Her plea was tinged with sadness. Too late I realized why. My hand brushed against the flat front of her chest and the mastectomy scar. I tried to ignore my realization and moved to again grasp her hips more firmly, guiding her to move faster.
"Is it safe? should I pull out? I'm close..." I asked.
"Don't stop, I'm almost there, it's okay... but try to hold out for a just little bit more..."
Less than a minute later, she practically collapsed onto me as her body shook, which also sent me over the edge. Our moans were muffled by the deep kisses were were sharing.
It took me a moment to catch my breath, I stroked her back and shoulders while I did. then I told her:
"Thank you, that was wonderful. You're beautiful"
"...Says the man in the blindfold."
"I don't need to see you to know that you are a beautiful person, to share this with me, without even knowing me, it means a great deal, at least to me." The awkward silence that followed was interrupted by her sobs. I felt teardrops falling on my chest. "What's wrong, honey?"
"I'm hideous, I'm not a 'whole' woman. No one will ever call me beautiful..."
"Untie the blindfold."
"I don't want you to look at me."
"Trust me. Untie it."
She pulled the blindfold off of my head. I blinked a few times to get my eyes to adjust, and then took a look at her. She looked young, very young. I hoped that she was of legal age. She was thin. Slightly thinner than merely being slender, thinner than was probably healthy, but not by much. I could tell she'd recently lost weight, her skin was 'loose' in several places. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying, but there was steel there also, and she had a apprehensive expression on her face. I reached up and removed her wig and gazed into her eyes, stoking her cheek. "You are beautiful. I'm no artist, I couldn't paint you or photograph you in a way that does you justice. But I see it. What's more...The potential, and I see the resolve in your eyes, you're planning on beating whatever it is. The rest is just skin, and opinions will vary on the aesthetics of 'skin'. I'm talking about the person, and the feelings we shared while making love. You. That person is beautiful. "
She took a shuddering breath, "But...I'm lopsided...and my hair...and I feel emaciated...I don't feel pretty."
"Chemo?" I asked, she nodded.
"Just finished the round a couple of weeks ago, I'll know in a few months if I'm done or not."
"The hair will grow back, the rest...I can imagine how you'll look in a couple of months. You'll need to fend the boys off with a stick. But you're still just talking about the surface."
"You know nothing about me."
"I know that you're strong, and brave, and determined. You've resolved to beat something that would cause most to curl into a ball and just give up. I know you're adventurous, and bold, to hop into bed with me under these circumstances. I know that you are not too guarded to open up and speak with me about this, and to snuggle with me. I think you have a fetish for older men, I'm at least old enough to be your father. I know that you're lusty, and that I'd like to make love to you again."
The last comment spurred a giggle from her, "Now? Or are you asking me out?"
"And I know you have a nice laugh, and a pretty smile. To answer your question; yes, both, but soon not 'now'. I'm not a teenager anymore and I'll need a bit before I can again. And that's an 'and', not an 'or'. I'd like to see you again, that is, if my wife will let me." I replied as I rolled her over and positioned myself to spoon with her. We chatted for a while. I then started asking about her: "I want to know more about you. Where do you go to school? What are your hobbies? What's your favorite color? What flavor ice cream do you like best?"
"I'm on hiatus from 'State U', seducing older men, peach, and... peach...stop the twenty questions already, and just do me."
"If you insist...I have to admit that I'm relieved."
"Oh, that feels wonderful, a little harder...I'm not made of glass, I won't break...why are you relieved?"
"That you're old enough to go to college, and consent, and that peach is you favorite flavor. I made peach ice cream...still some in the freezer. Peaches are in season."
"Mmmm, multiple orgasms and home-made ice cream? I might be in love, can I move in?"
"Sure, let's clear it with the wife. By the way, what's your name?"
Switch-er-oo
I'm not sure when the fire typically leaves the bedroom between married couples, but I understand that it's neither inevitable nor uncommon, I guess it was our time. Don't get me wrong, being intimate with my wife of twenty some odd years still got me all hot and bothered, even if the frequency wasn't as often as I would've liked. When we did make love, sometimes it felt like she wasn't 'into it'. Almost as if she was going through the motions for my sake, not because she had desires of her own. At least that's what I believed, so I was surprised when on a certain evening she proposed something a little adventurous in bed.
"No peeking." She admonished as she blindfolded me.
"What are you doing?" I asked as I felt my shorts being eased down.
"Trust me, you'll like it, but, you are not allowed to take off the blindfold."
"Okay, I promise, I won't take it off before you tell me to."
A moment later my manhood was enveloped by a warm, moist, heavenly sensation. I then felt a hand wrap around, aiding the fellatio I was receiving.
"Ohhh" I sighed. It had been too long since I last had this particular treat. "Swing yourself up here, I want to take care of you too."
"Mmmph!" was the only 'verbal' reply, I could tell she was shaking her head 'no' with her mouth full.
"Please, baby, I know how much you like it. And you know how much it turns me on. Get up here!"
A moment later she lowered herself on to me. I immediately began to try and please her as much as she was pleasing me. She moaned. I was reaching up to her hips to position her to a more favorable position when the realization hit me:
This was not my wife.
All the little details that I was ignoring rushed through my consciousness. I knew my wife. The 'feel' of her body, her scent, her flavor, the sounds she made, her preferences; all the little things that were different about the woman I was currently being more intimate with than otherwise humanly possible. I should've felt guilty, but I didn't. My wife had set this up. I rationalized to myself that I owed it to her to enjoy this if she went through all the trouble to make it happen.
Some minutes later... (who keeps track of how many at moments like this?):
"I'm close...where do you want it?" I warned of my impending climax. She didn't answer, but redoubled her efforts and began to grind on me, letting me know that she was close too.
I 'finished', she paused on her ministrations a moment or two later to verbally affirm her approval, and to call out to our heavenly father, loudly and repeatedly. Then she ravenously went back to work, trying to speed my recovery.
Before long, she achieved her goal. She stood, I heard heard her open a can of something and take a drink and then she was on me. Our mouths overlapped and she positioned herself above me and then guided me in.
"Mmmmm" she cooed. "No wonder that I was so thirsty, you've gotten me so wet..."
We kissed some more, then she pivoted herself upright and worked some magic with her pelvis while on top of me. I lifted my left hand from her hip to caress her breast, my thumb grazing her nipple. I'm sure she liked it, judging my the honeyed moans the action inspired, I went to repeat the process on the other side.
"Don't." Her plea was tinged with sadness. Too late I realized why. My hand brushed against the flat front of her chest and the mastectomy scar. I tried to ignore my realization and moved to again grasp her hips more firmly, guiding her to move faster.
"Is it safe? should I pull out? I'm close..." I asked.
"Don't stop, I'm almost there, it's okay... but try to hold out for a just little bit more..."
Less than a minute later, she practically collapsed onto me as her body shook, which also sent me over the edge. Our moans were muffled by the deep kisses were were sharing.
It took me a moment to catch my breath, I stroked her back and shoulders while I did. then I told her:
"Thank you, that was wonderful. You're beautiful"
"...Says the man in the blindfold."
"I don't need to see you to know that you are a beautiful person, to share this with me, without even knowing me, it means a great deal, at least to me." The awkward silence that followed was interrupted by her sobs. I felt teardrops falling on my chest. "What's wrong, honey?"
"I'm hideous, I'm not a 'whole' woman. No one will ever call me beautiful..."
"Untie the blindfold."
"I don't want you to look at me."
"Trust me. Untie it."
She pulled the blindfold off of my head. I blinked a few times to get my eyes to adjust, and then took a look at her. She looked young, very young. I hoped that she was of legal age. She was thin. Slightly thinner than merely being slender, thinner than was probably healthy, but not by much. I could tell she'd recently lost weight, her skin was 'loose' in several places. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying, but there was steel there also, and she had a apprehensive expression on her face. I reached up and removed her wig and gazed into her eyes, stoking her cheek. "You are beautiful. I'm no artist, I couldn't paint you or photograph you in a way that does you justice. But I see it. What's more...The potential, and I see the resolve in your eyes, you're planning on beating whatever it is. The rest is just skin, and opinions will vary on the aesthetics of 'skin'. I'm talking about the person, and the feelings we shared while making love. You. That person is beautiful. "
She took a shuddering breath, "But...I'm lopsided...and my hair...and I feel emaciated...I don't feel pretty."
"Chemo?" I asked, she nodded.
"Just finished the round a couple of weeks ago, I'll know in a few months if I'm done or not."
"The hair will grow back, the rest...I can imagine how you'll look in a couple of months. You'll need to fend the boys off with a stick. But you're still just talking about the surface."
"You know nothing about me."
"I know that you're strong, and brave, and determined. You've resolved to beat something that would cause most to curl into a ball and just give up. I know you're adventurous, and bold, to hop into bed with me under these circumstances. I know that you are not too guarded to open up and speak with me about this, and to snuggle with me. I think you have a fetish for older men, I'm at least old enough to be your father. I know that you're lusty, and that I'd like to make love to you again."
The last comment spurred a giggle from her, "Now? Or are you asking me out?"
"And I know you have a nice laugh, and a pretty smile. To answer your question; yes, both, but soon not 'now'. I'm not a teenager anymore and I'll need a bit before I can again. And that's an 'and', not an 'or'. I'd like to see you again, that is, if my wife will let me." I replied as I rolled her over and positioned myself to spoon with her. We chatted for a while. I then started asking about her: "I want to know more about you. Where do you go to school? What are your hobbies? What's your favorite color? What flavor ice cream do you like best?"
"I'm on hiatus from 'State U', seducing older men, peach, and... peach...stop the twenty questions already, and just do me."
"If you insist...I have to admit that I'm relieved."
"Oh, that feels wonderful, a little harder...I'm not made of glass, I won't break...why are you relieved?"
"That you're old enough to go to college, and consent, and that peach is you favorite flavor. I made peach ice cream...still some in the freezer. Peaches are in season."
"Mmmm, multiple orgasms and home-made ice cream? I might be in love, can I move in?"
"Sure, let's clear it with the wife. By the way, what's your name?"
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