Lost Smile, Found Pleasure

The evening hadn't gone as planned, me failing to elicit a genuine smile from my beloved Angela, and seemingly unable to satisfy her in any way. Time after time, I uttered the wrong words, snapped at her or the kids, or acted insensitively, so that by the time bedtime rolled around, I felt quite wretched about myself and even about our marriage. Which was slightly annoying, since I’d been hoping we’d be making love tonight after a two-week dry spell.

As usual, at bedtime, we took a brief walk to exercise the dogs, checked on the sleeping children, made a list of tomorrow’s household chores, and finally slipped between the sheets shortly after midnight. I’ve slept nude since our wedding night, and she pulled on a knee-length tee-shirt. She placed a novel on the nightstand for a relaxing read, then turned to snuggle in against my shoulder. It was now time for confession.

We pray together almost every night, out loud in each other's arms. One of our few good habits. And tonight, in addition to general praise and thanksgiving, after invoking His blessing on our eight children, imploring His wisdom for our country’s leaders, asking for courage and safety for our many missionary friends, begging for extra grace to be good parents in a Godless age, and for blessings on our local church and its overworked underpaid pastor…in addition to all this, I confessed my bad attitude to the Heavenly Father. I asked Him for forgiveness of my selfishness, of my failure to live up to the vows I’d made at our wedding.

I prayed for grace to learn to love my wife of 24 years the way Christ loves His Bride the Church, confessing aloud that without Jesus, I was nothing. I told God, choking back tears, that I was no more worthy to be married to such a wonderful woman than I was to receive forgiveness through Jesus’ blood, that there was nothing I could ever do to have earned such a beautiful gift of either my wife or my salvation. And I thanked Him over and over for His grace, which had given me the unmerited favor of both these precious gifts. “Thank you for forgiving me, Jesus,” I mumbled, “I sure need it.” Amen.

Angela, in turn, whispered her own prayer, remembering relatives I had missed, taking time especially to mention those who were ill or suffering. "In Your Name, Lord, Amen."

“Hop on,” Chris said.

“Hop on?”

“HOP ON?!?!? Where did that ever come from? She'd never said that before.”

But there was no question about her meaning. Within a span of about three seconds, she’d tweaked my soft penis into a raging erection, flung off her tee-shirt, rolled onto her back, and pulled me by my best feature to the entrance of her sweet womanhood. She gave me just enough time to position my elbows and knees around her naked limbs like a good missionary before gripping my butt cheeks and pulling me deep inside the secret place of her sex.

Lest the reader think me an insensitive lout, or my wife a sex-crazed insatiable nympho, let me emphasize that this was not our usual style of romance and lovemaking. Normally, I would spend a great deal of time leading up to the grand entrance, with prolonged kissing, touching, bosom-fondling, leg-massaging. I would have locked the door so she could fully relax without fear of a mid-coital intruder, turned out the light to ease any self-consciousness, rubbed a little K-Y on her clitoris to ensure her comfort.

I would have normally explored her delicate folds with eager yet restrained fingers, allowed her the opportunity to get well-lubricated, to take my penis into her mouth if she felt the urge. Then I’d wait for her to signal her readiness, and offer her the position of her choosing, and then use my fingers, lips, or one of several of her vibrators to bring her to an orgasm. Then I’d usually lay her gently on her back and use the pressure of my middle finger against her G-spot to cause two or three more climaxes, pinching and squeezing her nipples though the fabric of her rarely-removed nightshirt until she’d pushed my hands away to signal she’d had enough.

And then, only after she’s been satisfied, will I allow myself the selfish joy of penetrating her and pumping away into the delirium of my own orgasm. And believe me, we find this to be a very joyful, loving, and satisfying way to express our affection.

But tonight was not like that at all. Something delightfully different was going on between us. Somehow penetrating my lovely wife after my prayer for forgiveness brought us into a true one-flesh union that only comes once in a blue moon. As I started to stroke with my hips, I truly lost track of the separating line between our entwined bodies, and there was no longer any "He" or "She." My penis was hard as a piece of granite, yet it had melted into the velvety flesh of her vagina. Her love muscles were tightening around my driving phallus, and yet were as soft and tender as rose petals.

And her clitoris, oh her beautiful little clitoris, untouched by human hands, neglected by my arousing touch, now so hot and swollen against my shaft that it felt like it was actually inside me. In fact, in a rare moment of insight and self-control—just as my eyes began to go foggy and my balls started to twitch—I pulled all the way out and allowed my glans to frolic in the nest of her pubic hair and tickle its female phallic counterpart for a moment till my head cleared a little.

And now Angela grabbed me again, plunging me as deep inside as she could get me, pulling on my hips in a rhythm she matched with her own grinding, gyrating pelvis, reaching up to rub my nipples and then her own, staring down at the spot where our genitals were welded together in their act of pure love, then closing her eyes and allowing her neck and spine to arch backward, lips slightly apart, and her breath coming in short little gasps.

Now the sweet pink glow started its tell-tale path down her exquisite throat toward her rosy nipples, her nails dug deeply into my shoulders, and our bucking together became more furious, and now we were climaxing together as one single entity grinding and pulling pushing erupting shooting spurts of hot sperm into our body quivering raking fingernails across naked shoulders craning our neck down to nibble a heaving swollen breast pressing our chests together and feeling the beating of our one heart even as the pumping and spurting continues and moaning and gasping and crying aloud for joy…

Crying aloud for joy? Angela never, ever, makes a sound during sex. Now, as we are finally over taken by exhaustion and by the sweet sadness that accompanies the knowledge that our bodies will eventually need to disengage lest I collapse and suffocate her, as we smile at each other in the light of the still turned-on lamp, as I observe the flash and sparkle in her loving eyes, it occurs to me that it is this sheer abandonment of her groaning out loud that has made tonight’s lovemaking so special.

It isn't just the stunning mutual climax, which for us is pretty unusual. It is rather that she has spoken audibly to me. Just as I have uttered aloud a prayer of confession and contrition, she has given a guttural word of forgiveness and unconditional Biblical love. Articulated eloquently in a moment of sexual unity and oneness of body and spirit. How I love this woman, God’s great gift who is my wife.

The “secret” of Christian marriage? Confession and forgiveness. If Jesus can forgive me, so can she, seventy times seven. Amen.

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Lost Smile, Found Pleasure

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