My Cuntry is for Old Men

Chronicle of an Open Marriage #34

Hubs and I were sitting in the living room reading on our respective computers around 7 pm when I asked him how he wanted the night to go.

“What do you mean? It’s Tuesday. It’s your night,” he responded.

“Do you want to join us?”

“No. I only need to see him once a week. I’m not a sex maniac like the two of you are.”

That made me smile, and also made me glad. I like having time alone with our extramarital lover, whom I dubbed Captain in this chronicle when we started up six months ago, but lately have taken to calling Honey Bear at home.

“ETA?” I texted HB a half hour later. He usually arrives around 7:30 on a workday, but I wanted to confirm.

“Three minutes.”

“Sweet!”

And then a minute later, “I’m not fancy. Got my sweatshirt on because it’s cold!!! But I’m still soft and pretty underneath. :)”

“Oh darling, no worries. I know you’re soft and cuddly underneath and that’s what I’m coming for. I just parked a mile away…”

The thought of him walking towards our apartment in the cold starry darkness inspired me. I hurried into the bedroom and pulled off my sweatshirt, black jeans, striped socks, and shoes. I rooted around in my top drawer until I found my favorite lingerie, a sheer dark blue “baby doll” that cups my breasts beautifully, then flares out to cover my tummy and lands just below my butt. I swiped on some red lipstick in the little round mirror and was pulling on some lacy panties when I heard him opening the front door.

We live in a one-bedroom apartment. There’s a hall that goes directly from the front door to the bedroom. Lousy feng shui, I know, but the floor plan allowed me to step out from behind the bedroom door in all my sexy glory just as he was stepping into the hall.

“Hello,” he smiled, clearly pleased to see me.

He paused at the doorway to the bedroom, leaning into the living room to say hello to Hubs as he took off his jacket, keeping me waiting impatiently inside.

“There’s pizza when you’re ready,” Hubs told him from his prone position on the couch, where he lay with headphones and his laptop. He’s the cook at our house and likes impressing HB with his culinary skill.

“Okay. That sounds great!” HB hung his jacket on the coat rack we set outside our bedroom door for his convenience. Then he came into the bedroom with me — at last!

There’s a certain way I like this to go. I want to stand and kiss him first. I like to go slowly. I want to rub up against him in my flimsy lingerie and feel his tummy press into me, his hands running all over my body, which is easier to access fully when we are standing up. I want to spend time nibbling on his plump lip and tasting his wet and luscious mouth. I want to hear him breathing — to feel him breathe inside my mouth. I like him to nuzzle my neck, and whisper into my ear. He often has something exciting to say.

“You look incredible,” he whispers, and I believe him. He means it. I know by his breath and his hands and his voice and the stiffening bulge between his legs.

“Mmmmmm.”

I want to go slowly, but I’m too excited. I put my hands on his shoulders and maneuver him around to sit down on the bed. I like to stand between his legs in this position for a while and feel him cup my round butt cheeks. He likes to take the straps down on my baby doll and suckle my breasts. After a while, I peel his shirt off. Then he stands, unbuckles his belt, and lets his pants fall to the floor. On this night, he’s wearing some silky green panties underneath that I gave him. His growing member just barely fits inside.

Outside our window, I hear some neighborhood kids playing basketball. That moves me to put on some music — loud. I’ve been listening to Boz Scaggs Greatest Hits Live lately, recorded in 2004 at the Great American Music Hall in San Francisco. It’s a great album for fucking. There are bluesy songs like “Ask Me ‘Bout Nothing But the Blues,” and a few that sound country, which HB prefers, including one that makes me cry (“I Just Go”), and some poppy numbers with a happy, driving beat. So I put on Boz, and take a moment to drape a red scarf over the bedside light, which hides my wrinkles and makes me look more beautiful, I think, although HB never makes me feel less than spectacular.

Then we climb on the bed and start fucking. Usually, we start with me on top. I like to see his stiff cock standing up straight before I climb aboard it. Then I sit up tall and grab my butt cheeks, pushing my breasts out and watching HB’s face fill with pleasure. Later, I’ll bend over close and lay atop him, clamping my mouth on his. Then we’ll roll over and he’ll get on top. He puts my legs over his shoulders, or around his waist, or flat down on the bed. He lifts my lingerie so he can see my sex and his plunging inside it. He gives me ravishing looks.

At some point, he comes, making a chuffing sound that alerts me that it’s happening soon. Afterward, we cuddle up and pet and hug each other and whisper and laugh. And sometimes, he handles my labia and clitoris in ways that bring me to climax, too.

I’m not used to coming and don’t expect it every time. I get immense pleasure with or without a big O. But still, I’m trying to increase my orgasm frequency, and Honey Bear is helping me in that quest.

On this night, I have one. And afterward, as we’re cuddling, he tells me that he cries often. I tell him that’s sweet, and nothing to be ashamed of. Then we hear pots clanging in the kitchen.

“Are you hungry?” I ask.

“Yes. I could eat.”

We go out to the dining area together and sit around the table with Hubs, like a family. I’m still wearing my lingerie, and Hubs can’t take his eyes off me. We talk about dates we have planned for the future — a night of dancing, a sleepover, a beekeeping class. And when I stand up and move behind HB to put my arms around his neck, Hubs pulls right up behind me and does the same to me, and the three of us meld together in a group spoon/hug.

How is this working?

I honestly don’t know. And sometimes I get panicked, feeling that surely god or the universe is going to punish me for having too much fun.

In my last update, I announced that was taking a break from Honey Bear, because I felt myself falling in love with him, which alarmed this formerly monogamous wife of nearly 40 years.

I planned a two-week break, and only lasted one (I like having HB near me too much.) But it did the trick. I was able to stop my obsessive thoughts about him, and the pressure I was putting on all three of us to escalate the relationship by moving in together.

But have I stopped loving Honey Bear? No. Not by a long shot.

We text each other daily, and usually see each other for sex and more three times a week. Yesterday, Honey Bear had a hard day at work, and I had a hard day with my adult children, which I shared over text.

My day was a little hard too, w family stuff. Middle Child lost his phone and Youngest and I fought over his plans for the house and later when we were discussing it more he cried a little! Poor baby… plus I got up early to go down to the suburbs and be there for a stove delivery. And Youngest was hungover and dozing on the couch, and his wife told me he was drunk and puking the night before, plus Hubs doesn’t want to hear about it because it stresses him out. And Middle Child has a hearing Friday…It’s a lot!!! I want to be there for all my loved ones but I wish they were less trouble! Hahahahah!

I’d rather just lie around kissing you and Hubs. :p

Young people have so many problems. Old men are chill. :p

Thanks for “listening” though you’re probably just skipping over it! Hahahah! No worries, HB. xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

Honey Bear had a funny if politically incorrect response, which maybe gives you an idea of why I say that my cuntry is for old men.

No darling, I read every word and I’m sorry you have to put up with all that. what caused your son to get so drunk last night? His wife? Lol just kidding. Life‘s problems can be very difficult sometimes. If I was there right now, I would not even ask you for sex. I would just comfort you.

But if you decided to jump my bones, I would not fend you off…

Young men are problematic

Meanwhile, a young man who approached me six months ago when I was on the apps is still coming around, textually. He and I had many hot text exchanges, but after making a date to meet up in real life, he disappeared. Then the next time we set up a date, I realized I didn’t really want to follow through. I wasn’t feeling it. I still told him I would meet, expecting him to disappear again. And when he did disappear, I was relieved.

Yet he’s persistent. Just yesterday, he sent the text: Hungering for you!

But even if he is for real this time (which he surely isn’t), why would I want to put myself through the uncertainty of meeting a stranger? Yes, he has a nice-looking face, body, and cock — if the pictures he sent are really of him. But pleasing sex is a whole lot more than a hard body. Speaking of which, I told him my age and sent my own pictures, and he wasn’t put off by that, but how do I know that this much younger man would actually like me in the flesh? Or that he wouldn’t fuck me frantically, without regard for my pleasure or level of desire, like the other young man I met on the apps. It’s concerning.

Besides, Honey Bear is already in play. He has proven that he knows how to please me. He’s here for me when I reach out, three times (or more) a week. And he isn’t playing games.

My takeaway from all this is that I prefer old men — two specific old men in particular. And at the moment, I’m not looking for more.

Wish me continued luck!

What happened next? Read Chronicle of an Open Marriage #35. Find all of my stories about opening our marriage on the list below, or about sex in general on this one. Get an email whenever I publish. And have a stupendous day.