J and I have been together for 40 years (we celebrated the 40th anniversary of our 1st date this last February) and we have been married for almost 38 years. We are as close as a couple can be, and always have been. Staying together was never a question, it was an expectation. We cared about each other and made a commitment to each other. I am convinced that marriage vows need to be revised to say “promise to deal with each others neuroses and overlook things said in emotional outbursts” as opposed to love honor and obey. We have had tough times, and we have had times when we disagreed vehemently. But we never said hurtful things to each other and we always made the conscious effort to overlook disagreement and find the good in each other during or after the disagreement. Sometimes it was hard but we always managed to do it.
Being in love isn’t always easy, and it certainly isn’t all hearts and flowers. For me, sometimes being in love means that I need to make a conscious effort to love her even when she is not feeling lovable. Sometimes it means foregoing my own pleasure in favor of helping her shed her anxieties and feel pure unadulterated passion and sensuality. What drives me to sacrifice is my intimate longing for her.
So intimate longing . . . what is it? It is a very deep and profound need to give her pleasure and to feel her pleasure vicariously. Imagine horny wrapped in emotional need and a thick layer of desire. Then imagine that package bound tightly with strings of deep intimacy and sharing. That is intimate longing for me.
In real terms what it means is that being apart from her stirs an emotional desire in me that both causes anguish but also arouses me. A thought of her fills me with an ache of sexual need that is offset by the need to give pleasure to her.
Sometimes that sexual need can involve sex culminating in the tangy sweet reward of orgasms in each other arms. There is nothing like warming the chill of longing that I feel for her body by bathing my penis in the warmth of her feminine canal while I am swooning in orgasm. That beguiling sweetness that is her seething femininity makes my cock convulse deep inside her pussy. It spews thick ropes of my own hot thick lust into her, coating the walls of her vagina with the consequence of my lust for her.
But there is something else much more profound that isn’t necessarily punctuated by the ecstatic anguish of my own orgasm. It is an attractive force that is switched on by impassioned touch and adoration for her. It makes me want to plant the gift of divine and blissful rapture deep in her pussy and witness it with my own clear mind.
Sometimes (not as often as I would like) I will resign myself to an evening of intimate love with her which will not necessarily culminate in sex, and not in an orgasm for me.
Skin to skin touch without an expectation of sex for me is an amazing thing. When I remove the rushed anticipation and anxiety of looking forward to orgasm from interaction between us, what is left is a profound longing for her that embraces my cock and makes it ache with bittersweet need but at the same time captures my thoughts and draws them to her. The blissful and sublime intimacy of touching her skin with my palms, lips, and tongue will make me swoon.
The tender and skillful touch of my hand on the woman I adore can induce a mental state in her that is hard for me to appreciate sometimes. As I knead her shoulders, her back, her scalp, and feet, I can connect her to me in an emotional bond that is hard as steel cable. It is evident in the lost confusion of her eyes, the hardening of her nipples and the blush on her cheeks as she lies listlessly in my arms.
The feelings of my large, warm strong hands kneading her inner thighs and breasts can induce relaxation and arousal in her that immobilizes her. Her vulnerability is cast aside as she opens her mind and her legs to me. The unfolding eroticism that is clouding her mind, filtering out all rational thought and forcing her vagina to open and bloom for her pleasure and my joyous witness makes my own heart race as I watch the miracle of her feminine sexual response.
Ultimately my warm lips on the weeping mouth of her vagina will draw the wet passion from deep inside her pussy. My kisses on the silken folds of her sex, inflames the depths of her femininity, kindling a desire in her that makes the honey of passion flow from her pink cleft like a rivulet in the warmth of the spring thaw. Her growing passion forces her to shed anxiety over her body’s appearance and imperfection, making her exhibit her most vulnerable place to me with wanton abandon. As her desire grows the scent of her aroused pussy fills the air between us but she doesn’t care. For me that scent is like tossing gasoline on the fire of my own longing for her. I revel in these moments.
When I remove the anticipation of orgasm from my mind and clear headedly focus on her arousal and desire, I can vicariously enjoy the sensuality of the feeling that is invading her pussy, igniting the sensual thoughts in her mind that will ultimately consume her body. I have the opportunity to participate in the experience of her arousal and enjoy the elevated sense of desire and connection that she feels for me.
The act of witnessing her sexuality revealing its power and need arouses me and makes the precum drool from the pink slit in my hard penis in a glistening clear warm string. But I am so into her skin, her vagina, her mind and sensations that are consuming her I don’t care about my own pleasure. I am consumed by hers.
When she is this relaxed and aroused, the distance between arousal and total surrender to extreme pleasure is infinitesimally small for her. The invasion of my finger past the milky white spittle of her pussy mouth, delving into her vagina will tease her g spot to harden and make her pussy convulse. Similarly my warm tongue and lips tugging on the rigid pearl of her desire, suckling it and pulling on it gently will send ripples of white hot ecstasy rushing into the depths of her pussy, like an erotic tsunami washing away the trivia of daily life.
My tenderly erotic ministration will send jolts of divine desire up her spine stiffening her body and making her shudder in rapture.
The connection I feel for her at these times is total. Her body feels like an extension of my own. As she sucks in her tummy and moans as orgasm fills her body my cock steels itself and twitches; it ‘s as if her orgasm is holding my cock in its hand as it is plucking the strings of her erotic song. As I caress her, the thunderous bolts of sheer ecstasy are crashing inside her. I feel blessed that I not only caused her to feel these sensations but that I can hold her, assure her of my love and kiss her as the reckless abandon of pleasure is crashing inside her.
This is what intimate longing is for me. It is the thought and the act of surrendering my own sexual needs to fully engage with her in the experience of her pleasure, her sexuality and her sexual response. It establishes a connection between us that is rooted of pure devotion and adoration. The thought of it makes me love her even more than I ever thought possible.
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