When the Mood Strikes

He certainly isn’t the most romantic in the traditional sense anyway, but he does get my motor purring with all the little things he does every day. They are easy to take for granted, especially because he doesn’t do them because he thinks they are romantic, but if you’re paying attention, it is obvious. It is in the way that he wakes me every morning with bratty kisses that cause the hair to stand on my legs and the goosebumps that he is going for. He isn’t so much about the institutions as he is about being in the moment, and he believes that each moment should be lived like there is no guarantee of another and that therein lies the real romance. It’s the real appreciation of what you have right now instead of worrying about the hereafter. He’ll get me flowers but prefers plants. He has great taste in jewelry but doesn’t believe in extravagances, especially when the minerals used are more coveted than the love they’re supposed to symbolize. He cooks, cleans, and does laundry, and though that might not be an attractive quality most look for or would brag about in their man, it is the reasons why he does those things that make him sexy as hell. He knows that the more he does, the more quality time we have, and therein lies the romance. Most might say that he isn’t sensitive or thoughtful, but I know him as a selfless giver who cherishes me, our children, and life, not to mention how that love carries over into the lovin when the mood strikes.

When he makes love, it is like a drug. You need to be careful, or you will get hooked. I squeeze my legs together hard now, like a junky would smack their veins, just thinking about it. He’ll say it like it is all about his wants and needs, but who would believe that anyone’s sole purpose is to just please? Again, one can start to take it for granted and become very spoiled, but the truth is evident when tested, and you realize that it wouldn’t work unless we are both equally vested. He spoils himself too by taking and doing what he wants with me, and he makes it very difficult for me to return any favors, but when he does, I too can understand why he does what he does. It is a total power trip that is equally pleasing as the pleasing itself. To watch him give up and in to me and the pleasure is such a turn on, and I see why he is addicted, but I’m still not convinced that the giving is really as good as the getting. If there is one place that I don’t care to dominate, it is in the bedroom, or wherever, when the mood strikes.

I love it when the mood strikes; don’t get me wrong. The challenge is not to take it for granted when the mood does strike, even when behind our locked bedroom door, after a hot shower, and in our California king or those tried and true positions, or the same old boring bed sex as we have tagged it. We can’t complain about wherever or whenever the mood strikes, even when it is also premeditated and less spontaneous than fantasy often portrays, because how spoiled would that truly make us? They aren’t tried and true without reason; we love to be clean and comfortable when getting down and dirty, and it isn’t like the mood doesn’t strike wherever else it does. We get around; how else would we know what tried and true means? I can only imagine wherever the moods will strike when all our brood are out of the nest for good, and God already knows how many times we’ve already come to scarring their impressionable little minds, and if they only knew, the chorus of “EWWWS,” we would hear. Hey, when the mood strikes, you gotta bite, and that brings me to our most recent mood strike.

We had a small window between the kids’ soccer and volleyball; we weren’t clean and, quite the contrary, hot and sweaty from our workouts. We were far away from the sanctuary of our bedroom when this particular mood struck, and we surely tested our luck; thankfully, it didn’t take long to fog up the windows of our van. We were in the middle of our walk and started talking about our bedroom antics from the night before, and we got all hot and bothered again and decided we’d finish our workout in the van. I was still riding the high from the night before, and he was saying how his back was sore, so I suggested that he let me do all the work. That is when he asked what time it was, tapping his wrist where a watch would be if he wore one. I was quick with a quip and replied, “It’s time to get ill,” as we bee-lined it for the van before the mood left. Thankfully, the park where we parked was mostly sparse, and I’m sure we believed our limited window of opportunity would expedite our actions anyway. He wasn’t playing either as he went to the back of the love bus and dropped his linen and started his grinning, as he says, before the auto sliding door even closed. Oh, he was obnoxiously happy to see me, as he waved his appreciation like a flag pole and demanded, “Come here”. The mood was in full erect, and I was already wet.

It’s his smirk that makes me work, and I was just so happy to see him so happy to see me as he just sat back with one arm stretched along the back bench and the other hand wrapped around his thick manhood beckoning me on. I’m on my knees begging him please before I know what I was doing, as I also relieve his heavy burden by wrapping my hands around my dearest friends and showering him with kisses. A little flavor never hurt anybody as I took him into my mouth in awe of his magnificence. He was sweaty and sweet and not how I would normally describe the meat I eat, but I couldn’t get enough of how thick and hard he was to swallow or how he started to drive my head down with a handful of my hair. He was so fucking turned on and I was loving how he was getting down right dirty as he drove me faster, deeper and harder until I tasted his real salty goodness. It was just the pre-show as he pulled my mouth off him and kissed me hard to let me know. “My turn,” he ordered, and I tried to dispute, but he wasn’t having any of it as he placed me where he wanted and yanked my shorts and panties off and pushed my legs open like Dirty Harry. Hey, who am I to deny him when the mood strikes, especially when he is in his element? This man lives to eat me, and I live to let him.

He picked up my hips and brought me to his hungry mouth. The windows were already steaming up, and it was hot as all get out while I made more puddles than not. I was already so wet, but nothing went to waste with him as he drank me and kept the faucet running. I was immediately cumming from my anxious anticipation and his extraordinary thick appreciation, and his growls of gratitude let me know just how excited he was too, well besides the obvious extra blood flow. When he came up all covered in me looking all mad determined and shit, I couldn’t help it and shocked even myself when I told him what I needed. That made him even madder as he maneuvered me for a running start. When he rammed inside me we both were like two dirty sailors as we talked gangs of shit. We were dropping more f-bombs than Eddie Murphy as he used my shirt as leverage to pull me to him. It was so hot to see him lose his fucking mind that I was constantly cumming and daring him for more, and I thought he was cumming when he looked to wince in pain, just to find out that it was only the rug burn on his knees. He withdrew and sat next to me winded, and beckoned me again with his flag pole in hand. Our window was closing quickly, but I was too determined not to finish him and straddled him before lowering myself onto him without mercy. Even though the windows were steamy, it would have been easy for any bystander to make me out, and I think that it turned us on even more. I didn’t even recognize myself as I rode to break him back, and he sure wasn’t complaining either. I think all we could articulate was “fuck” and some other animalistic noises until he came louder than I could ever recall before, and I slowed to a stop, prouder than I could ever remember. We were such a hot mess as we put our bottoms back on, mopped up, and downed all our kids waters before opening all the windows and maxing the AC to clear our sex from the air until the kids came out from practice and asked what was wrong with us because we looked like two Cheshire cats. 

Happy Hump Day!!