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Crazy Sex story
Part-1-of-1
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Well, I guess its what I get for getting married at the age of 26. I've come to the conclusion that my wife, Amber and I are sexually incompatible, and I'm only 27.
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Allow me to explain. Amber and I met in college and dated for 5-years. The sex was good at first, not great, but good. You know, the typical getting to know you sex that is fun with pretty much anyone. As time went on, things started to slow down and after we were engaged, things really started to slow down. Now after the marriage, things have pretty well stopped. I'm so fucking wound up I don't know what to do. I'm like a dog looking for someone’s leg to hump.
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Sexually, I'm a freak. I want to do it all. I love threesomes, foursomes, orgies, strap ons, toys, hell I'm even bi curious. Porn, crazy positions, sex in public, sex in offices, face sitting, sign me the hell up. Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not going to let someone pee or shit on me but you get the idea that I'm not exactly a prude. I've discussed these things with my wife, Amber only to get the whole, "eh, doesn't sound interesting."
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I'm sure they would say the opposite, but why can’t women really love sex the way we men do? Yeah, I know, some women do, but only a small percentage, fact is, men are never more than a couple seconds away from thinking about women’s breasts, pussies, ass, or mouth.
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Women, on the other hand are thinking about how much money this pig is gonna make this year and if he doesn’t do better than last year I’ll divorce him, kidnap his kids and brainwash them against their father, rob him oaf everything he has made so far and half of his future. Tell all his old friends how bizarre and fucked up you have become.
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I just wanna find a gal who has some original thoughts, loves to laugh, and loves to orgasm, whether she’s wearing a little nightgown or nothing, or even in a cocktail dress, nylons and high heels can still manage to rub one out with me in the coat room.
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Now, my wife, Amber has the fucking life. I cook, clean, do the laundry, work my ass off at my job, and after work bust my ass in the gym to keep my body looking good. I ‘man-scape’ the hair on my crotch and take very good care of my body, no fast food, no soda, and if I drink, its only on occasion. I hate to watch sports but love to play them, not sit on the couch and watch TV all day, so, I don't think it is me in that department.
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So, I ask myself, "Maybe I suck at sex." Then I think back to some of my past partners (15-if you care to know). About 5-of them really stand out as amazing sex. I mean dirty talking, porn star sex that lasts for hours. With my wife, she cums one time and that is it! What the fuck! My past sexual hookups have been able to cum at least 7 to 8-times and that was on an off night. So, I don't think it is me in that department either.
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I compliment her, support her, buy her things and spend time with her. I've bought lingerie for her to try and spice things up. Nothing, nada, zip! I don't think she’s cheating or anything like that. I just want to know what the hell is going on! Are we so sexually incompatible that I'm doomed to a complete lack of sex until the day I die? They’re going to have to throw me in the fucking loony bin.
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Oh, one other thing. My wife and I get along very well. We don't fight and rarely do we argue. We are best friends it is just that we are lacking BIG TIME in the sex department. HELP!
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Not liking the single life, the ink wasn’t even dry on our divorce decree before Amber immediately re-married.
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The phone rang.
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Again.
It was Amber. She’d called me 4-times that night already. Even though she was slurring badly I recognized her voice instantly. I knew what she was calling to tell me, because she'd already done so 4-times that night, but I adored her so I acted like this was her first call of the night, just like I had the previous calls.
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"Yes, I know you love me. Where are you sweetheart?" I paused my video game, cracked open my next beer and prepared myself to have this conversation all over again.
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"I'm driving to your house, I need to talk to you. I'm not pregnant. I took 2-tests."
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"I know, that's good news though right?"
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"It's good news but I'm still sad."
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"Well, we can talk about that when you get here, just watch where you’re driving and be careful."
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"I'm fine, stop worrying."
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"You're drunk and all fucked up on XENIX and weed and you have no business driving so don't fucking tell me not to worry." She hated it when I'd preach at her.
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"If I wanted another Dad I'd fucking still be talking to mine, and if I wanted another fucking husband I'd be at home with him so just shut the fuck up and stop harping at me!"
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I hung up.
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Grand Theft Auto was not the easiest video game in the world and now that I was semi-sure that Amber was on her way I just couldn't seem to concentrate on the game that I'd been so wrapped up in before the phone rang. So I shut it off and rolled another joint and kicked back in my lay-z-boy recliner chair. As I smoked it, I sat and thought about Amber, and the night that was in store for me. Morosely I just sat in the dark room and reflected for a while on how my sweet innocent ex-wife could have turned into such a slut and a drug addict.
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I smoked the joint, drank a couple of beers, and simply reflected on the strange relationship that I was having with Amber since our divorce. Amber was, and always will be, The Love of My Life. Looking at her was like looking at a mirror. She was a beautiful mess, I was a horrible mess, and we shared one common philosophy; that we were going to do whatever we wanted ‘cuz’ life was too short, and to hell with the consequences. And what we wanted was each other, each other and oceans of booze and in her case, dope and pills. And now that we were divorce, hours and hours of filthy sex.
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The doorbell signaled her arrival and I staggered to the front door to find my Goddess leaning heavily against the doorframe. She was wasted and leering hornily at me like the she-demon that had first entranced me some 10-years before. Her dirty blonde hair was tangled and fell around her shoulders in a wonderful mess, and when her droopy blood-shot eyes found mine I fell in love with her all over again, for the hundred-and-first time.
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In no time flat I'd scooped her tiny frame up into my arms and slammed her hard into my hallway wall. Before she could speak a word I'd pinned her against that hall, yanked a fistful of her hair, and bit her neck until I was about to taste blood.
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She struggled against me, she always did at first, can't have the husband seeing those bite marks after all, but the struggle was only a calculated distraction so that I could tear the slutty hot pants off of her, right over her slutty boots, and toss them over my shoulder to land forgotten on the hallway floor. There in my hallway I climbed on top of her in a mad race to rut like a sex crazed jackal. She bit me hard on the shoulder while I positioned my self over her.
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Then she suddenly started to struggle as she squirmed out from under me and scrambled to her feet, racing right down the hall towards the bathroom, stumbling and bouncing off the hallway wall along the way. It was all I could do to hope that my Goddess wouldn't break her fucking leg drunk sprinting to my bathroom.
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I followed Amber, and found her in the midst of the sexiest fucking activity I'd ever seen. Naked from the waste down except for her big black boots she was puking God knows how many anti-depressants into my toilet. She was far too trashed to even care about her hair, and some of it dangled down into the toilet water while she retched forcefully.
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Without missing a beat, I moved up behind her and fucked her, vigorously and forcefully enough to probably warrant a sexual assault charge. From there we moved to my bedroom and I ravaged her for over an hour.
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After wards as we lay there gasping for breath, we realized that we were both hungry. Chicago Joe's was her idea. I'd have been perfectly happy staying at my apartment, but Amber wanted to go out. She hadn't eaten in some time and all I'd had to eat that day was a couple of pot-laced brownies. I'd been drinking heavily since about 9-o' clock that morning so eating anything held zero appeal for me. To prepare myself for the trip I'd pulled a frosty bottle of Jack Daniels from my freezer and chugged about 4-big mouthfuls without stopping for a breath. When I finally stopped and put the bottle back Amber was standing right behind me with a shocked look painted onto her pretty face.
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"Oh my fucking god that is disgusting," she slurred at me as I turned to face her.
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"Yeah, I know."
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"Are you ever gonna slow down?"
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"Well, I'll die at some point, that'll slow me down."
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"Just slow down tonight, OK? No more booze until we're back from dinner. You’re already fucking trashed and we haven't even left yet." This from a girl that was so screwed up on pills that she had to lean on my kitchen counter in order to reprimand me for my drinking. She was right, of course, I was fucking trashed but I could function. She was so fucked up on pills that every word seemed like a huge effort and I figured that since she was driving us to Chicago Joe's we'd most likely either wind up in the emergency room or jail.
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"I'll stop drinking tonight if you’ll promise me that you won't take any more fucking pills."
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"I won't."
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"Then we have a deal." I kissed her knowing full well that our ‘deal’ was as long lived as our common sense.
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Surprisingly enough, we made the trip to Chicago Joe’s without incident. Once we found our table and ordered appetizers (and my stupid diet Coke) it took her about 5-minutes to ask where the bathroom was.
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"It's around that corner, you can leave your purse here. I'll watch it while you're gone."
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She didn't like the sound of that one bit. "I'll just take it, I have my make-up in it so I'll need it." She was always so natural when she was full of shit. God dammit I loved that about her.
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"Well, why don't you just leave your pills here with me? If I'm gonna sit here and drink diet Coke then you can go without eating some pills for 10-minutes."
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"I don't have anymore pills!" She assured me with a straight face.
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"Sweetheart, listen to me. We’re both fucking wasted, but I can drink all night long and I won't ‘fucking’ die. But if you keep eating pills, you could die."
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"Shut the fuck up,” and with those sweet words my Lover stumbled off to the bathroom, with her purse.
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As soon as she was out of sight I bolted up to the bar with my diet Coke. "Hey!" I urgently flagged the bartender. "I need a glass of Jack Daniels and spike this shit too."
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With one hand I poured about half the diet soda down the bar's sink while I quickly downed the glass of whiskey with the other. The bartender filled the half-empty diet soda glass with booze, and I managed to make it back to the table about 3-minutes before Amber returned.
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Three A.M. came far too soon, as it always did with us. From the moment we’d re-connected after our divorce, we'd tick away the countdown until we had to say Goodnight, and our Goodnights lasted almost as long as our marathon fuck sessions did. As usual, we were clenched together tightly and dreading the instant that we'd have to snap away from our Dream lives and deal with the real World.
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For me it was always both terribly easy and horribly frustrating. All I had to do was let go and carry on with my Lunacy.
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Amber on the other hand had to put on her Game Face and do the Family Thing.
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Often as I replay our nights together, I remind myself that regret is for nerds, remorse is for losers, and at some point in our lives we have to acknowledge and accept who we are. Me, I’m an alcoholic but Amber is a truly horrible person. The majority of her words are outright lies, her promises are paper-thin, and she is almost as reliable as the weather. The worse thing that ever happened to her present husband and me was when we married her.
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As I watched Amber walk to her car, I thought how intoxicating her kisses were, how hypnotic her touch was, and truly alive she was when she laughed. Amber is a truly wonderful person.
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The end…
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