Clit Blocked Yet Again

I was trying to get my groove on a quiet Sunday morning.

Alone in our bed. Hubby had long ago woken up and left me alone on my side, still sleeping. After two-plus decades of marriage, we rarely went to sleep together or woke up together.

So I decided a little masturbation would be in order.

I love touching myself. It was an essential response to a purely dead bedroom for a decade now, but I also have self-pleasured since puberty. No hang-ups for me. Toys, fingers, lube. Whatever gets me off. The only thing I like better than masturbating is sex.

I’m in my head, I was imagining a lover — what he might do to me. What he might say.

“I love licking you, babe.”

“You taste so good.”

“Open up for me like a good girl.”

“I need that mouth and tongue.”

“Give me your ass.”

My imagination is pretty darn impressive, if I might say so myself. First, he’d push open my thighs, almost roughly, to attack my pussy with his tongue. Then, groaning, he’d make his mouth and breath vibrate on my clit. Finally, he’d reach up to fondle a soft mound of tit.

He’d listen for my sighs. “Love hearing you,” he’d whisper as he’d cum back up to me with my cum all over his mouth and beard and kiss me hard. “Taste yourself. You’re so sweet.”

“Fuck…” I’d groan. “I’m so ready. Please fuck me,” I’d beg.

At this point, I’m rubbing my pussy pretty hard with one finger, and I can feel the wetness start to spread. So I take my pointer finger deeper into myself and bring my moisture up to spread it around.

“Babe, I’d fuck you every day if I could,” as he slid up my body with his willing hard cock ready for me. I'd gasp as he’d hold me down and start pounding me. “Take it.”

“Yes, please. I need you.”

“This dick is yours anytime you want it.”

I’d groan. “Yes, deeper. Harder. Make me clench around you.”

“I can feel you, baby.”

“Make me cum,” I’d cry.

God, I wish my lover was here…watching me. Helping me cum.

Instead, I hear footsteps stomping down the hallway. DAMN.

Hubby barges into the bedroom.

I quickly pull down my PJs and cover them up with a sheet. It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t look at me or guess what I’ve been doing.

“Aren’t you getting up?” he demands.

“In a bit,” I respond. Mood broken. Please leave, I beg in my head.

Please. Let me finish!

All my joy in masturbating has now been dashed. I can’t imagine starting again. Listening to him in the bathroom brushing his teeth with his electric toothbrush whirring away.

“What do you have planned for today?” he asks after spitting into the sink.

“Nothing really.” Well, nothing now, you idiot.

“Go to the gym later, meet my lover and get some much-needed fondling and pussy licking in his car, lol.”

Can you imagine if I said that?

My guy is always ready to touch me. My hubby is not. He walks as far as possible from me and shrinks against the wall in the hallways if we pass simultaneously. Three feet is far too close for comfort.

My lover holds my hand anytime he can. Touches the small of my back when we are walking together. Leans an arm over me if we are seated close together.

"Baby, you know I can't get enough of being close to you," he says.

I don’t think that’s happened in 23 years of my marriage. Masturbating at home is my only outlet. I don’t get touched — let alone sex.

So, being clit blocked yet again on a Sunday morning is tough to handle.