Homecoming times four

Home. I am finally home. My body is in a bit of a rebellion against me because Friday, in Sydney, it was 108F and now, Sunday morning, I am waking up at home to a full frost and a temperature of 27F. It’s crazy in that respect and also because last week where I live was ravaged with storms and the streets to the left, right, and behind my house look like Mother Nature threw a tantrum and there are still giant oak trees laying across roads and homes. Axel was without power for almost three days here and until about 3am this morning there was a nice roar of saws and the beeps of trucks backing up until about 5am as the power crew worked to get power to the streets around me.

Anyway, over the years, Axel and I have adapted to a homecoming routine that is probably exactly what most people would think it is not. It’s not a very lovey, touchy routine because my attention is almost always immediately given to Stella as she squeaks, cries, and sings me a song when I have been gone a few days or more and, as much as I love my husband, there is no better greeting than this. But, with Axel, we hold off on the touchy feely, the immediate 100 percent time together, because we have each learned that not only does it take me a bit to transition back into being at home, it also takes him a couple of hours to adjust to me being there as well since I come in like a tornado at times.

So, I got home, we went to dinner, I showered the airplane filth off of me, and, from separate ends of our giant sectional sofa we watched the last few episodes of Agents of Shield and each wondered how Blair Underwood can still have the same body he had on LA Law while easily now twenty something years later. We went to bed around 10:45 and as Stella settled under the covers between us, there was some polite touching until I fell asleep, which took maybe, many 47.2 seconds.

That lasted until almost 2 when I woke up and realized that we had been holding hands as we slept, which I loved, and, before I knew it, Stella was relocated to the chair with the warm fluffy blanket and I was the one below the covers waking Axel up with what I like to call the perverted 2am blowjob (patent pending) which led to what, in my head, at least, was our own little backwards version of Thumper’s sex and denial (while this is not the best link describing it, for those new to this, here is a nifty little link where Thump talks about not having any say so in the use of his penis)

I say that because at that hour, I was just just a big penis to him and I would orgasm for his amusement only if and when he decided if he wanted me to because, at that moment, it was clear that, although I may have started it, this was his rodeo. Said rodeo was further evidenced as he  wanted to be on top, so he pinned my arms down above my head (something I amuse him with because I am way stronger) and, to the rhythm of the hammers of the utility crew outside, he proceeded to climb up on me like I was Sea Biscuit and proceeded to fuck himself while I essentially just watched and felt myself being used. Now, during this, he asked me of I wanted to come and I said that it was up to him, since, well, that’s how we apparently roll things these days. Of course, as you know, for him, it’s not about the denial but the control, so he said I could as long as I knew that I would have to also come this morning, this afternoon, and if the jet lag doesn’t kick in, again tonight after we see the Scotts before it’s time for the Axel to reappear (after my scheduled massage tomorrow morning) (not traveling this week). I was immediately turned on and, of course, well, let’s just say it didn’t take too long for me to decide.

Now, time to hit the Tumblr.



Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s