Myopica

Consciousness seeps in slowly at first, and then in a sudden wave. Warmth presses into my side and thick curls of hair tickle my shoulder. There’s an arm sprawled across my chest and a thigh over my legs. I must have been sleeping deeply because I can’t recall my own name, let alone that of the woman half draped over me. Soon enough, I come back to myself and remember the entirety of my life.

It’s strange how sleep can muddle me enough to forget Tara, my wife of a decade, but such is the danger of taking a nap. It’s a toss-up whether I’ll wake up feeling refreshed or like I’ve been hit by a truck made of bad decisions.

But we’d both been worn out from working too-long hours and wrestling with kids, so a nap was a necessity.

When Tara’s parents offered to take the kids for the day, we couldn’t get them out the door fast enough. We reined in ambitious notions about housecleaning, or something more fun—such as fucking each other’s brains out—and instead caught up on much needed sleep.

Unsure how long we’ve been out, I lift my wrist, bringing my watch up to within an inch of my face to make out the digits telling me it’s 2:33. My eyesight is fucking terrible—nearsighted enough I’m considered legally blind without corrective lenses.

We have a few more hours until the kids are home. I squint at the blob of pale white framed by dark brown that is my wife’s face and I can’t tell how asleep she is. She doesn’t stir or lift her face to mine, so I assume she’s still pretty out of it. I close my eyes and settle into the sheets, but even though I’ve been exhausted and consciousness was a heavy burden only moments ago, I’m painfully awake now.

I try laying there, enjoying the closeness. The sensation of her against me, warm and pleasant as it is, isn’t enough to stop my mind from wandering or my skin from prickling with nervous energy. Between my depression and ADHD, sitting still with my own thoughts isn’t something I can manage for long.

*Maybe I’ll just distract myself with my phone.*

I’ll need my glasses though, because otherwise I’ve gotta go cross-eyed to read the screen. I reach to the bedside table, feeling around. My fingers brush the metal frames before they slip away from me and clatter to the floor.

*Shit.*

Tara groans, stirs slightly, and in a voice heavy with sleep, asks, “What time is it?”

“A little after 2:30.”

She groans again, wrapping her arm around me tighter.

“You weren’t planning on getting out of bed, were you?”

“No, but I couldn’t go back to sleep. I was going to fool around on my phone, but I dropped my glasses.”

She sighs.

“I suppose I’ll let you look for them,” she says, lifting her head.

I slide out from under her and twist to reach over the side of the bed. Fumbling around blindly among the snarl of charging cords for various devices, I can’t find my glasses.

With a frustrated huff, I say, “Too bad I need my glasses to be able to find my glasses.”

Tara giggles.

“Let me see if I can help.”

She reaches for her bedside table to retrieve her glasses, but then I hear a familiar clatter.

“Shit,” she says with a laugh.

Her eyesight’s better than mine, but not enough to make finding her glasses easy.

“I guess that means we are trapped in bed until the kids are home and one of them can search for us,” I sigh, feigning defeat.

I have a spare, outdated pair in a drawer somewhere in the bathroom. I’m sure Tara has one squirreled away somewhere as well, but I’m not looking to escape the bed yet.

“Oh, no.” Tara’s voice is thick with mock horror as she rolls back towards me. “Whatever shall we do?”

“We’ll have to find some way to entertain ourselves until then.”

I reach toward her, wrapping my fingers around the back of her neck, and pull her in slowly. I can’t make out any of her features, so I’m giving her plenty of time to tell me if I’ve read too much into the playfulness in her voice.

Her lips meeting mine is all the confirmation I need. What starts as a gentle kiss shifts to something more searing when she crawls on top of me, our tongues soon tangling. She grinds against my hardening cock, a soft moan escaping her lips. With my boxers and her thin underwear the only thing between us, it doesn’t take long for the heat of her to reach me, driving me onward.

I clutch the bottom hem of the t-shirt she stole from me to sleep in and pull it up. She sits back, letting me draw it over her head, and I toss it off to my left. If I could see anything but blurs of color, I’d have a fantastic view of her spectacular breasts. But at the moment, I can barely discern the subtle shifts in her skin tone that are her pink areolae.

I draw her nipple into my mouth and cup her other breast as she clutches the back of my head. After firming up both nipples, I lie back and Tara lets out a frustrated groan. Though her groan turns into a surprised squeak when I grab her thighs and pull her up my chest.

She doesn’t resist me repositioning her, bringing her cloth clad pussy to my mouth. I pull her underwear to the side and flick my tongue up her slit, causing her thighs to quake around my ears. There’s no need for sight. Every dip and furrow of her body is etched into my memory after all our time together. I suck on her inner lips, warming her up before making slow, teasing passes over her clit.

Her moans tip from pure pleasure to more needy and I switch from drawing out her orgasm to driving her towards it. Her hands wind into my hair as she rides my face, more taking her pleasure than me giving it. Soon her breathing shifts into a pattern I know so well.

Her hands fly from my hair to the headboard and her thighs clamp around my ears. The tension in her frame relaxes, and I lie there, only moving my tongue in soft arcs that elicit little shudders from her. After a while, her hips move with increasing fervor until her second orgasm of the afternoon sends her collapsing on to her side, leaving me staring up at the blurry ceiling.

The silence is broken only by our panting breaths until I startle when her fingers slip into the fly of my boxers, and she pulls my cock out, grasping me in a tight fist.

“Fucking put it in me,” she demands.

“Yes, ma’am.”

I roll over on top of her, positioning myself between her thighs, her hand never straying from my cock. She tugs me, insistent as she guides me into her. A shock of pleasure rolls through me when my head pushes her open. Even as slick with liquid heat as she is, the clenching of her inner walls makes for halting progress.

“Having trouble relaxing?” I ask.

“Just let me—”

She doesn’t finish her sentence, pushing me back a little. Then she unceremoniously spits into her palm and rubs it up and down my shaft before pulling me back into her. This time, I glide in on a soft sigh from both of us. Once I’m buried in her, her hands go to my waist and she pulls at me, begging me to press into her, grinding against her and delving even deeper.

I arch back, questing for the angle that hits where she wants and needs it. My vision is too blurry to see the look on her face, but I know when I reach my goal by the way her body shakes and her breathing changes.

Almost sitting back on my heels, I thrust in and out of her in long, slow, but forceful strokes.

I lick the pad of my thumb, bringing it down to draw gentle circles around her clit, and she moans her approval. Tara’s body is too much of a blur for me to make out what she’s doing, but if our history is any judge, by now she’s pressing her palms under her breast, controlling the amount of bounce, with her thumb and forefinger reaching up to pinch her nipples.

I close my eyes and delve into the sound, feel, and even smell of her. Her excitement fills the air with a heady aroma. Her pussy pulses around me as she writhes, her thighs clenching and unclenching. The telltale hitch in her breathing hits and she comes apart on my cock.

As her orgasm fades into aftershocks, I plant my hands on either side of her head, lean forward, and kiss her.

“Are you ready?” I ask.

“Uh-huh,” is all she manages.

Slow and steady may be the most reliable method to send her soaring, but my needs are best met by a more visceral pacing. And it’s not as though she gets nothing out of it.

I unleash all I’ve been holding back, my hips thrusting hard and fast, racing towards the climax that has been simmering since we started. Her nails dig into my back and she gasps out, “Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me,” over and over.

Pressure builds at the base of my cock, an explosion suspended until the last moment when nothing can hold it back. Any sense of pattern or rhythm gone, with the last brutal thrust, I fill her as I crash into my orgasm.

Letting out a long breath, I say, “I think I’ve made a mess of things.”

“I think I helped,” she replies, her tone hemmed with grinning.

“We might not have thought this through. No way to clean up.”

“Where’d the shirt go?”

Squinting, I turn in the direction I’d thrown it.

“No idea. Oops.”

“Well, we needed to remake the bed, anyway.”

“True.”

After I pull out, we clean up. Fumbling around without our glasses, we strip the bed and put on fresh linens, both clad in nothing but underwear.

When I finish righting the covers over the mattress, I walk around the footboard and wrap my arms around Tara, kissing her.

“That was fun,” she says.

“Making the bed?”

At this distance, I hope she can see my sarcastic smirk.

Her hand cups my package.

“I was thinking before that.”

“Yes. Very fun.”

“Fun, but very sweaty. I need a shower.”

“We could shower together,” I suggest with a grin.

“Tempting, but I don’t want to lose track of time and get interrupted.”

“I’ll set an alarm.”

She laughs, and even blurry, I can see the way she cocks her head to the side, considering.

“Sounds like a plan,” she says, taking my hand and pulling me towards the bathroom.