About a beej

I planned on blowing Mr. D tonight. I’m not sure when I came to that decision, but it might have been after the kids and I walked through the door and he announced dinner was almost ready. Or maybe it was the way the floors and kitchen counters sparkled. I told him tonight that I wish I made enough money for him to be the “house spouse” because he does this stuff so much better than me. He’s the better parent, too. More patient, more rational. (I think we’re equally loving.)

Mr. D is a great guy. I don’t say it enough, especially on this blog. We had gotten in a fight a few weeks back, and shortly after we made up, we ended up going to my parents’ house to drop the kids off for a sleepover. A close family friend was also there and mentioned to me that even her grandson speaks highly of Mr. D. “He’s a great guy!” I said. “I got mad at him for a kinda dumb reason, and he’s been putting up with my bullshit since Tuesday.”

“Tuesday?? He’s been putting up with it for years!”

I loved that line. It’s funny cuz it’s true.  (I’m trying to find the Family Guy clip of “It’s funny cuz it’s true” but can’t seem to locate the right one; anyway, I imagine my husband will appreciate the reference). I love my husband. He said his ears were ringing tonight, and I hope they get better. I hope my husband doesn’t have an inner ear infection.

I love that we love the same shows (most of the time). I love his sense of humor (except when he plays dark and twisted”Cards Against Humanity” cards, which, to his credit, he only does if it’s the funniest option; so I guess I love the lengths he’ll go to for comedy, even if it’s not my particular brand of it).

I love how clean and well-dressed he is. I love how smooth and sexy he is. I love how he rolls joints and shotguns them into my mouth. I love his love of music. I love his brilliant mind. I love how he loves our family. I love how he sometimes comes when he goes down on me.

I think great sex and lots of oral is the secret to a happy marriage. I wasn’t necessarily thinking that earlier tonight, but I was thinking Mr. D was looking very cute, and that I’d quite enjoy his dick in my mouth. I said as much when he asked how the P was doing. “Still bloody,” I said, “But the mouth’s just fine.”

After the kids went to sleep, we turned on that new Netflix show about weed. It was okay. Definitely had some funny moments, but I started going down my own stoner reverie (even posted a few possible essay topics on FB), and then I played Candy Crush. I had been curled up against Mr. D earlier, but he didn’t seem to notice my hand grazing his thigh, and in fairness, maybe I wasn’t grazing very aggressively. Regardless, that should have been his cue to ready himself for fellatio, and he seemed to miss it.

When we went to bed about an hour or so later, we cuddled, and then I turned to face the pillow.

“So no blow job then?” he asked.

“You didn’t seem to want one,” I answered.

“Whaa? When did you even try?”

“When you were watching that show! I was grazing your thigh, and you weren’t feeling it.”

I can’t remember what else we said, but I kissed him, moved my hands down, and to my surprise, he was ready to be kissed elsewhere. I wondered where that erection had been when we were on the couch and said as much. “This is rather suspicious,” I remarked.

“What are you talking about? I was just feeling all on your ass.”

“No you weren’t.”

I had no memory of these alleged caresses, so I started a stupid argument, and I would probably still be talking while giving him intermittent, tepid sucks had he not grabbed my hair and shoved my mouth down with such force that I almost came myself. It was so rough and rugged, every last inch of him inside me, my throat choking but gasping for more as he fucked my mouth and my mouth fucked back.

Afterwards, as I was spitting his spluge out in the toilet (which I rarely do because it’s actually very sweet, almost fruity), he called out, “A-1,” and I smiled because he’s a great guy and deserves nothing but the best.

Love you, babe.

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