Recently Jesse and I have been indulging in fellatio: him in the big easy chair, and me on a little footstool — the most comfortable position for both of us, of any we’ve tried. I’m being gentle on myself by not pushing myself to engage in intercourse as much as I used to, or even to try for orgasm with fingerplay or toys, unless I really want it.
Somehow we started calling this event “dessert.” When I started to write about it just now, I went looking for a more standard bit of vocabulary… and was disappointed that the only word I was willing to use was “fellatio.” It’s so dry and Latin, I wanted something more poetic or graceful or juicy… but all the slang terms I know feel ugly or demeaning. No wonder we started smiling at each other and talking of “dessert.”
Today I sit down and start fooling around gently with Jesse’s cock, pulling it a bit, wiggling it back and forth, saying hello. I stroke his balls, lifting them delicately away from being wedged in his crotch, lightly pulling on the scrotum here and there. We experiment with my position, deciding to try putting me between his legs although in the past that has not worked out because he would want to press them together when he was about to come. But it certainly is easiest for me, and my aging body appreciates that. Then I squeeze his left leg between mine, and my, that feels nice!
Jesse had put on a Bonnie Raitt album, which was playing at a fair volume because we both enjoy the sound system in that room. I’m getting physically warm, and take off my many layers of sweaters to rub my breasts on him. Jesse’s getting more intensely turned on, and starts to press on my head, to lead me in the rhythm he feels urged to.
This has always been a problem for me: it makes me feel used … forced even; plus it’s worse since my neck muscles have developed chronic pain. I certainly understand his impulse to do it: otherwise he has no control over his stimulation in fellatio — and we haven’t figured out any other way for me to understand what he needs. On top of all that, his cock needs more stimulation than it used to, in order for him to come.
But this time his pressure was in time with Bonnie Raitt, and I was able to shake off his hand gracefully, and at the same time enthusiastically sink into a beat that worked for him. It was fun, moving to the music! After he came, I strutted across the room topless, still dancing to that rock and roll, as I went to get the box of Kleenex. We both laughed with pleasure.
Later we talked about how much fun it was. Jesse, who has always been strongly moved by music, reported that Bonnie helped him, too: by relaxing into the beat, he knew what was happening, didn’t have to worry about how to control it. He observed that when two people dance together to music, the music guides their energy in one flow.