u/Stone_Throw

Before kids, we were super hot for each other and had tons of sex. Kids, careers, and all that stuff didn’t end our sex life, but it sure made finding time for each other more difficult. And I’ll be honest, the effort involved meant intimacy was mostly reserved for once or twice a week, in the bedroom, behind closed doors.

I used to love vacations without the kids because vacation sex, well, is vacation sex. We’d fuck as soon as we got to the hotel. We’d fuck after lunch, in the evening, whenever we felt like it, until Sunday came and we had to leave. Then it was like, okay, back to the grind.

What I’m enjoying now is having an empty house and even the slightly awkward feeling of walking through the house naked, wearing lingerie, or simply teasing him. It almost feels like vacation sex again.

I have loved being a moderator in this space because it seems relatively free of a lot of the negativity that has somehow darkened conversations about intimacy and relationships. Here, people seem able to talk openly about loving their husbands. It’s odd to me that sometimes that doesn’t seem cool anymore.

Well, I love him.

And I don’t think I’m that different from most women, but I am a pleaser.

It’s been about a year now since the kids moved out, and in some ways we’re rediscovering the things we loved about each other when we were younger. I’m enjoying long baths again. I’m enjoying a quiet house. I’m enjoying coffee in the morning. I get to work from home now, and after being alone all day, I genuinely love when he comes home.

I’ve started preparing little surprises for him, and I find myself getting giddy with excitement just knowing he’ll be home in 20 or 30 minutes. He's my best friend.

Earlier this week I thought, "Hey, I’m really going to surprise him." The plan was a long, loving blowjob followed by a romantic dinner, wine, and just the two of us.

When he got home, I greeted him with a hug and a kiss, reached into his pants and rubbed his cock and balls, and said, “Baby, go shower. I’ll be ready soon.”

When I finished getting ready, I led him to the couch, handed him a glass of wine, pulled down his shorts, pulled my hair into a bun, and gave him one of my favorite blowjobs ever. I said very little other than, “Close your eyes and relax.”

He was a complete wreck when I was done.

He could barely walk. I laughed hysterically as he tried to get off the couch, his legs weak and his head spinning. At our age, I literally had to help him over to the dining room table.

And then we had the most wonderful evening.

It’s not uncommon for us to have a meal together during the week, but for a Wednesday night, this was different. We sat at that table for two or three hours, just talking, laughing, and making plans for the future. My favorite parts was that it felt like we were "dating". The simple act of us connecting.

We talked about when we met, how we met, why we fell in love, and all the things we’ve accomplished together, survived together, and built together. We even talked about some of the painful stuff. Somehow, it turned into this wonderful, healing dinner and I did not want it to end.

At one point, he got up to clear the table. I grabbed his arm and said, “Nope. Not yet. Let's just sit together a little while longer. We’ll clear this together. I just want you to know that I love you, and I would do all of this again with you.”

He’s not one to wear his feelings on his sleeve, but he held my hand tightly and, with watery eyes, said, “Baby, there’s no one I’d rather do this all over again with than you. And if I haven’t told you lately, I fucking love you, baby. I love all of you. Always have and always will.”

I’m not sure if these are the kinds of stories people want to hear, but I’ve been encouraged to write more. We have some new community members who have been writing some really hot stuff, and it’s inspired me to want to write more intimate, authentic stories about myself, our love, and the sensual way we navigate our intimacy.

I hope you enjoy.