Vacation Innovation

First time writer, here. We married young more than 50 years ago and are midway through our eighth decade. We’re grateful that the fires of physical passion still burn in us! Nowadays they’re more like bright-coals-on-the-hearth and with a few lapping flames than blowtorch-hot episodes as in our early years. But, OH – the memories!

We are simple folks sexually, and happy as clams about it. We weren’t compelled to experiment beyond obvious that suggested by our major body parts (fingers, hands, mouth, lips, and eyes.) Oh yes, and romance, and proper preparation of minds and hearts for the most passionate interludes. 

I’d like to think that some MH readers will resonate with our vanilla-ish sex-capades and not begrudge the lack of lustful language, or absence of multiple orgasms in our encounters. (Not throwing shade; it’s fun to read about that, but, frankly, it’s never happened to us.)

My submissions are mostly remembrances about Vacation Sex during our “parenting-young-children” years. You know, when kids were always in close range if not underfoot.

Here’s a recollection: if there is positive response, I’ll post more.

Vacation Innovation by EighthDecadeLovers

Years ago, when young and hormone-fueled, the prospect of vacation brought my [hubby’s] sexual interest to a real head. (I know.) Nothing like an imminent getaway sharpened my hunger.  I was so predictable! The very first night’s stop on any trip we took found the buzzy little peen in my pants virtually desperate for attention – by one darn means or another – before we slept. Yes, patience is a virtue. But Vesuvius is a volcano.

As we rolled down the highway, mental pressures rolled off with the miles. Conversely, hydraulic pressures within me shunted hot blood freely through wide open gates. I drove, mile after mile, fat and full. The horn section in my pants could have filled the ranks of a marching band.

But vacation sex is a problem when young children occupy the bed next to yours in your one hotel room. Even “quiet sex” is not silent. You hope and pray your children are asleep before you start heavy rustling and noisy breathing under your sheet. You hope to avoid them sitting up and asking, “Mommy, what are you and Daddy doing???”

As necessity is the mother of invention, so neediness sparks innovation. I once had such a full tank of juice screaming for release that my darling herded me, naked, into the empty bathtub (after tucking the little ones into bed on the other side of the door), sat down beside it, reached her arm over the side, and mercifully pumped me to a satisfying, rapid, and incredibly happy, ending. Her practiced moves produced an explosive first blast that shellacked my chin and bare neck like a super-soaker squirt-gun shot. She didn’t let up on the gas either until I’d left a sticky trail of sperm soup from collarbone to belly button in a joyful series of receding spasms.

It was in moments like that I would look her in the eye, sigh really BIG, and declare with appropriate gravitas, “I, TOO, have LIVED!!”

To which she would smile with bemusement and answer, “That so?”

“Trust me!” said I.

Over the years, my unflappable woman blessed me with more sexual pleasures in the midst of inopportune circumstance than I could ever describe or repay. Of course, I was obliged to try. Such quickies as my bathtub blast, were not usually one-sided affairs. It’s just that stirring my loins to a rapturous release necessarily required more vigorous (and therefore, more potentially detectable), actions than did my own quiet ministrations upon her flesh.

I could always, say, stroke-rub-tap and touch my wet little clam’s softest bits till stirred to a thigh-clamping climax without her – or I – making much commotion. But intercourse under the covers? Or on the floor on the far side of the bed? Or going down on one another? Probably our puritan upbringing, but those bold sexual interactions always felt too risky to us and, especially, to Princess P. If I thought the risk worth taking (and it was usually I who was willing to throw caution to the wind when climbing Mt. Horny), she had a standard reminder: “If we get caught, YOU’RE going to explain it to them, not me!”

That said, my Pussy Princess surprised me one night during vacation when the kids were tucked under the covers in the bed right beside us. I’d crawled into our bed hungry for some surrepititious stroking under wraps, but Mrs. Twitching Buns startled me with astonishing intent. After listening to the regular breathing of the mini-me’s bedded next to us, my lover pushed the covers down and sat up cross-legged facing me. Quickly, she tugged the blankets around her back fashioning a kind of bulwark to shield our activity from view of the bed next to us.

“What’s THIS?” I wondered. I didn’t dare to hope!

Then, in a (quiet) blink, she hooked her fingers under the elastic of my shorts and yanked them down over my pelvis. She left them parked just below my perked-up penis. (At that point it was a wonder that my bugging eyes and bright smile in the dark didn’t wake the kids on the spot.) Without a word, but in sensual, deliberate moves, she cupped my ball sack with one hand, tilted me vertical with her other hand, leaned over and dropped her open mouth over and around me. She closed her lips and drew me inside deeply with sweet suction and teasing tongue strokes. After a couple slow bobs, she let go long enough to whisper fiercely, “You have to be QUIET!”

Who, me? Mr. all-in Yell-Guy when my orgasms build? DEAL! Given what she had just started doing to my crotch-y bits, I was ALL IN on being quiet. Sexy-Lips paused, in our darkened room, as if contemplating how next to proceed. Well. if we could not risk me pushing my excited penis into her pouty pussy to fill her up, and, finally, empty me out, then she would recreate that most exquisite entering sensation for my now pulse-bouncing peen with the two lips under her nose.

She plumped and pursed them into oval shape as if to whistle. Licking them, she leaned over and guided the head of my penis straight into her soft pucker. Did I mention soft? And a bit wet? Briefly, she denied me entrance while pushing her lips partway around my head. She wiggled my skin-tight little flesh-saddle around in her moist lips, and darted a pointy tongue through their narrow opening to tap dance on my tip. Ooo! Eee! What sharp little neural jolts of sex sensation her darting tongue set off!

Quickly, then, she relaxed her lips just enough to let my shiny, purpling head push on inside to slide up against her soft inner cheek. She swirled her flattened tongue around me, adding more shivery jolts.

On the reverse motion her lips constricted and she tugged upward on me before she let me pop out only to nestle me back into position for another plunge. *Pause, pucker, place penis in puffy oval. Push down, swish, soften and relax until it slips through. Suck, tilt and tongue-swirl the smooth shiny head. Constrict, tug upward and resist. Then… release and repeat, release and repeat…*

Again, and again, with her labia-mimicking lips my most sensual lady bestowed her best swollen-pussy imitation and summoned a gusher of semen from my body. I think it was a cupful. [Note: exaggeration for effect.]

Huhhh! Hummmm! Hooo! HUHHH-UHHHNGH! I huffed, wheezed, and panted as QUIETLY as I could. Yikes! Will I ever stop squirting? Oh, Oh, OH! Hun, that felt SOOOO GOOD!!

OK: what actually happened… I’d grabbed myself and pushed her back at the last possible second. (My timing in this was always split-second and unerring.) At the same time, Spicy Lips snatched up the hand towel she’d brought and nimbly caught the fluids that blasted, spurted, then finally oozed out to run messily and hot down the back of her hand. She squeezed and milked my pulsing penis, like a farmer milks a cow’s teat, and worked out the last pearly drop.

After milking me dry, Maid-a Milking dabbed the tip with the towel and gave my spent, shrinking peen head a soft kiss for good measure. I imagined her little smile in the darkness as she used her thumb and two fingertips to gently lay my softening flesh to rest against my still rising and falling abdomen. (La petit mort, indeed!)

She was ready for sleep now. The very next evening, I gave her wonderful body loving moves of my own, kids or no kids.

Our Lodge was built against a tumbling mountain stream. After bedding the kids down, my Little Love Nugget slid the balcony door open and walked to the railing. She wanted to enjoy the kind of “water music” that our splashing mountain stream was so good at making. We specifically chose this facility, paying a little more, for our watery “Extra!”

But that’s another anecdote to follow… Next up: Balcony Bliss.

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