Raging Hormones

I don't know, ... there are a few times I think maybe I should have just ignored him, continuing to sleep late and doing less work around the house. We could have been just like our parents, with their marriages lasting for over sixty years. They were dour old couples, sniping and complaining about each other. And in some ways, those dour old couples would probably have less stress than I do now during these eight- or nine-week periods. But they didn't have the options we do with modern medicine.

Where my husband and I were headed wouldn't have been nearly as much fun as we're having now. It was his sniping and complaints about not enough sex which started the ball rolling! And although I must endure his anger and bitching, well, for two out of every three months, it's worth it! I'm just balancing the bad with the good.

Dave and I married shortly after high school over thirty years ago. We had been a couple for so long in school, everyone knew we were perfect for each other, and destined to be together. We had the usual trials in our marriage over the years, but always got through them. He was my "one and only" sex partner, and I seemed to satisfy all his needs ... until lately. It didn't happen suddenly, but our issues built slowly over those last two or three years, when he eventually complained I was no longer doing what he needed.

We still did everything else together, almost business as usual. Living in this small rural town, we'd go out on date nights about twenty miles away for dinner and a movie, dancing at nightclubs, or to the local high school plays or football games. On weekends, I'd go into the city shopping or get my nails and hair done. And Dave would go out with his local buddies to their gun range shooting once or twice per month.

His shooting club was a bunch of his fellow computer geeks from work and a few other guys they met online. But on those shooting days, they were the 'Good Old Gang' with six-shooters, dressing up in cowboy boots and Stetsons. And Dave taught me to use that handgun. I only fired it a few times, learning enough to be safe when handling the gun in the house, since he insisted on keeping it handy in the living room.

"Burglars avoid houses, when they know the owner has a gun," he claimed.

I think burglars avoided our area because the county Sheriff was elected for his zero-tolerance policy and was rumored to 'look the other way' when someone else was dealing with a known criminal. So, no one bothers the houses around here.

I insisted that if Dave wanted the gun out in the living room, it must always be unloaded, with the ammo kept in a locked box. I wanted to ensure there were no accidents when the kids, or now the grandkids were around, or when anyone else was visiting. And I learned to tell when it was unloaded just by looking at the revolver cylinder's empty holes from the front.

But that was his toy, almost like a security blanket. We might be sitting in the living room, watching TV, and he would be casually cleaning his gun. I just shrugged thinking "That's life in the country."

***

After Justin (our youngest) left home to go off to college, I lost interest in the house and all of that 'family' stuff. I don't know why. It just seemed like with no kids at home, when I came in from work it was 'Why bother?' The kids had always been my incentive to do things around the house, setting the example for them to keep their own homes neat and clean! My husband mostly did his part to help, which I appreciated. But it just seemed like there was now less importance to any of it. Almost like, "If I don't do it, Dave will handle it, or it doesn't really matter."

I know, all of the arm-chair psychology experts are thinking "See a doctor" about it. Or "It's depression due to the empty-nest syndrome." Or maybe "It's menopause, are you getting hot flashes?" When I talked to a few girlfriends at work, Rhonda piped in with "It sounds like you need pellets. They did wonders for me." I didn't even ask what she meant by "pellets", because we all know Rhonda's a slut and we don't pay any attention to her advice.

Well, I already went through early menopause, so I'm done with that. And I did talk to my regular doctor about my lack of energy. She said, "It just comes with age. For a fifty-year old, you're otherwise in good health and great shape. Just keep up your exercise regimen."

The only problem with the exercise regimen is that I am in great shape, and it gives my husband ideas. He gets suggestive and demanding about once or twice per week wanting sex. With my issues of dryness since menopause, sex is now uncomfortable for me. And it's not just bothersome. It's messy, and sometimes even a little painful. So, I just don't want to do it anymore!

It was just life, as we were getting older. I was getting older and losing interest in the boring routines of the same old sex and getting lethargic from lack of energy. Dave just didn't seem to be getting older at the same pace, his sex drive diminishing, but still higher than mine.

Then that fateful day started the ball rolling ... and the aftermath.

'Be careful what you wish for, Dave!'

Problems

He came into the kitchen from his Saturday morning at the range, setting his revolver on the table along with the locked ammo box. I was in the kitchen, bending over to get some frozen fish out of the back of the freezer, when I felt it. He quietly stepped up behind me and was rubbing his crotch against my legging-covered ass. I just jerked my butt to the side a little, saying "That's really annoying! I'm trying to get things ready for dinner."

"Dinner could wait," he suggested, as he again tried to rub his obvious hard-on against me. "And I'll take you out to that Italian place you like, ... later."

So, he's trying to buy me, like a whore! Now, I felt like having sex about as much as I'd like to stick a frozen fish in me! "I'm not feeling it, Dave," I replied angrily.

"I need it, Carla!" he insisted.

"No, you don't need it, you want it," I corrected him. "I took care of you just a few days ago."

"That was three weeks ago!" he replied in a raised voice.

It seemed like it was yesterday to me. But, whatever! "You can take care of it yourself," I pointed out. "I told you, it's uncomfortable for me!"

"I want sex with a real woman," he said a little disappointed.

Real? And just any woman? He didn't say my name, like I'm not a real woman! I didn't say it, I know what he meant by that remark. It just came across like waving a red cape in front of a bull! And my anger was building.

"I want to feel it slide inside a woman," he said, as he ignorantly doubled-down on his 'any' woman remark!

He raised his right hand to my face, running a finger over my lips, and I angrily jerked my head away. "I'm not giving you a blowjob!" I almost shouted, knowing what he meant. "I shouldn't have to do something I don't want to do, just to make you happy. What about me being happy?" Then I had to throw gas on the fire with his implied 'any woman' by adding; "Or are you threatening to go out and find it somewhere else?"

"Are you telling me to?" he asked, dropping that bomb on me.

"Maybe you should go fuck someone else!" I said angrily. But I know he'd have problems finding another woman, unless he's willing to pay her.

So, here we are warily staring at each other, ... Stalemate!

Dad sometimes called it a 'Mexican stand-off,' when he watched those old western movies. A group of men, all pointing guns at each other, and waiting to see who would shoot first. Or equally matched gunfighters, staring each other down.

The word "Happy" are the guns Dave and I were pointing at each other, and now we wait. Only one of us can remain standing with a "Happy" gun in hand. The other must back down or pull the trigger. And I know it's coming!

"If you LOVE me," he began ... as he fired that bullet!

"Bullshit!" I quickly shouted, interrupting the rest of his argument, shooting back with my own gun. "If you love ME, you wouldn't make me do something I don't want to do!"

And everyone loses, shot by those 'love' bullets!

I know it's only sex. He wants to rub himself inside a wet hole for a few minutes until he spurts out a shot or two of thick goo. Then he'll lose all interest for anymore, crack open a beer, and melt into a recliner to watch TV. I don't want to have to deal with the mess, and I usually hate the taste! If he could just find some other woman for a 'side piece' with occasional sex relief, it would take the pressure off both of us. At this point in our fight, I don't know what I want! But I know I don't want to be the only loser in the fight by appeasing him!

He fired tonight's love bullet first! Now, I definitely don't feel like touching his dick.

"I'm going to read my book," I sternly advised as I stormed out of the kitchen. "Don't bother me, and you can fix your own damned dinner!"

*****

It takes a few days after arguments like that for the wounds to heal, in both of us. My husband probably masturbated once or twice because his stress levels seemed lower as he relaxed. I hoped he'd forget about it. But I did feel just a little guilty. He does do things around the house, and he makes more than enough money. And my job adds enough for us to have our very comfortable life. The routines just aren't exciting me, and I don't like sex anymore. His 'needs' are now conflicting with mine.

***

That fateful day came, when I was sitting in a massage chair at the nail salon, waiting my turn as Glenda worked on another customer in the adjacent chair. The nail stylists get to know their regular customers, and we socialize in that relaxing environment.

Sitting there with my eyes closed, I heard Glenda ask the other woman, "So, how are the pellets working? How long have you been on them now?"

"It's fantastic!" she replied. "It took two or three weeks for the first set to kick in. But I'm three weeks into my second set, and I'm never going to stop taking them. I'm more energetic, sleep better, and my husband reaps the benefits almost every night, ... when he can get it up. Otherwise, I need my toys."

Opening my eyes, I looked over at the rather attractive woman, and asked, "I heard someone else use that term, 'pellets'. What are they? Are they a prescription you take?"

"They're slow-release hormone pellets they insert under the skin," she said. "I was feeling down all the time, uninterested in everything, and having trouble sleeping through the night. A friend recommended I try hormone replacement therapy, and it's great!"

"Does your doctor prescribe them? Or do you have to go to a hospital for it?"

"No," she said dismissively. "Go to a health spa and set up an appointment for a consultation. They'll give you the paperwork for a blood test. Then get the blood test done at any test center, and the results are sent to the spa. When you go in for your appointment, the spa doctor will go over the blood work with you. If your estrogen and testosterone levels are low, the doc can insert pellets within minutes right there to boost those hormones. It costs a few hundred dollars each time, but they last three months. You don't have to contend with any pills, patches, or shots. I just feel better and more active!"

"You said your husband reaps the benefits?"

"Oh, hell yeah," she replied. "I get so horny; I can't keep my hands off him."

That's exactly what my husband, Dave wanted; ME, more interested in sex. And thus started my decline toward debauchery!

Hormone Pellets

Dave makes enough money as an IT consultant. And with my para-legal job, we had more than enough for my own 'girlie stuff', you know, the nails, hair, etc., to keep him interested in me. We could easily afford the four hundred for the first set of pellets, just to see what they were like. So, I thought I'd surprise Dave ... IF they had the same effect on me.

I was amazed at how easy it was. The doctor went over my blood work and the risks. She explained that some doctors are still debating that there might be a slightly elevated risk of breast cancer, which is why most doctors never talk about it as an option. But people need to make their own choices when considering the potential 'quality of life' improvements.

"So, do you want to try them?" she asked.

"Okay, let's do it," I agreed.

"Pull the back of your pants down and bend over," she said, and less than ten minutes later, I was out the door, hoping for the best.

***

As the woman in the nail salon said, it took a few weeks before I noticed any difference. I found I was sleeping better through the night and getting more done around the house. It was a gradual change and took those weeks before I 'connected the dots' that it might be the effects from the hormones.

I finally noticed it when I looked at Dave one evening, and I started feeling wet, ... down there! I realized I was hoping he'd make a pass at me for sex that evening. And we did, eventually, when we went to bed. Lying beside him, I couldn't resist running my hand down from his chest to feel his member, then it progressed from there. After that, we were doing it every few nights, maybe once or twice each week. I think that's exactly what Dave wanted, and this went on for weeks! Then toward the end of the three months, I started feeling tired again. Things between us ground to a halt, and we had another argument.

***

At the ninety-day mark, when I returned to the health spa, I was feeling as tired as I was before those first pellets. I hoped another dose of pellets would bring me out of this funk. And sure enough, it took just over one week before I jumped Dave when he came home from work. I mean jumped him in a good way. I was horny again!

Things were a little different this time. Those feelings of wanting him were returning every two or three days, and I was the one initiating sex with him. He loved it, ... until after a few more weeks, then he didn't!

From my point of view, Dave changed! I couldn't count on him to get hard more than twice each week. The rest of the time, I just couldn't get him excited enough, and he was getting annoyed when I tried. Maybe the novelty of the new, exciting me turned him on when we started. And when that novelty wore off, I was wearing him out.

We'd be watching TV and I'd start thinking about his cock. Then I'd slip off my chair and crawl over to him, giving him my most seductive look. I'd do all the work, unzipping his pants and pulling them down and off so I had access to his balls. Pushing his legs apart, I'd take it in my mouth, sucking to try getting him hard. Then I'd suck his balls and even that special spot under them! But sometimes, after ten or fifteen minutes, my jaw and neck would start aching, and he still wasn't responding!

On nights like that, when Dave couldn't get it up, he began heading to bed early, trying to get away from me.

I was usually more energetic and not feeling tired. So, I'd stay up later, sometimes pulling out a few toys and get to work while watching porn on the big screen TV! It wasn't every night, just once or twice per week. With a toy inside me, I'd think 'Dave's in bed! Darn-it!'

I could hardly wait for those nights when he'd be ready.

***

The two days a week Dave was up for it were great.

I'd see his revolver on the side table and ask, "How's my cowboy?" If I saw a bulge in his pants, I'd toss a blanket on the floor.

"Lie down, your cowgirl wants to ride you tonight."

He'd sometimes go down on me. But there were also many times I'd just drop to my hands and knees on a blanket while he pumped into me from behind, as I'd used a small vibrator on my clit. Or I'd use a large Hitachi Wand on myself, sitting back in my chair, and he'd pump his cock into my mouth, even trying to push the head into my throat.

I never learned to deepthroat him. And in the past, I always stopped him if he pushed too far. When he'd touch the back of my throat, I'd gag. Now with the pellets making me so horny, he'd push, and I'd gag, but I wasn't as fast pushing him away. He'd try pushing it at the back of my mouth, trying to get it into my throat, again and again. Although I kept gagging, I was willingly trying to get his cock as deep as he could shove it into me!

Once, I even cleaned out my behind, and I was playing with a vibrator around my back door, when I asked him to lube up and fuck me in the ass. It hurt going in that first time, but it was an itch I needed my husband to scratch.

Then after almost eight weeks of this hormone high, I started feeling tired again. But this time it seemed worse. I was restless at night and tired in the mornings. I may have felt that way before that first set of pellets, but it just seemed normal back then. Now, it felt like I was dragging a heavy weight around for the last week, and I knew it didn't need to be this way!

The day finally came for my appointment for the third set of pellets, and although I was still physically tired, I had hope that it would soon be relieved.

Number Three

Now six months since that first set of pellets, my husband had indeed reaped the benefits during the peaks. Two-thirds of the time, we had great sex whenever he wanted, when the hormones were most potent over about eight or nine weeks. It was only those last two weeks as they were wearing off that we started arguing again, when I was no longer "feeling it."

It was a learning experience for both of us after I explained to him what was causing our latest argument at the end of that second set. And he excitedly encouraged me to go back for the third set of pellets. He even marked the calendar looking forward to it, almost as if he was expecting a present shortly afterwards.

This time, things progressed faster. On the third night after the doctor inserted the pellets, the small incision hadn't even healed completely, and I attacked Dave. He had planned to go to bed early that evening, still waiting for me to become more energetic. But I surprised him when I put a porn video on the TV, and I insisted he stay up long enough to fuck me!

I wore him out over the next three evenings. Then he started more often taking a shot of sleep aid shortly after dinner, just so he could get a good night's sleep without responding when I climbed into bed and started stroking him.

I was feeling frustrated and having to depend more on my toys!

On those days when he was passed out in bed, imagine the scene: A horny woman sitting naked on a blanket in the living room, spreading her legs wide as she puts them over the arms of the chair. Then sliding a rabbit vibrator into herself, pushing it in and out, twisting it to make better contact with her clit. As the feeling builds, she starts slamming that rabbit in using both hands as she pounds herself hard, trying to cum! Tossing it to the side in frustration, she'd shove her own fingers inside, three, four, add the thumb trying to push them ALL into herself, desperately trying to achieve that ultimate orgasm!

Watching a video on the TV, I'd see the porn actress with two guys pumping into her from both ends, and I'd get so jealous, wanting a cock to suck at the same time!

One evening, when Dave was ready and I had him on his back on the living room floor, I was bouncing up and down on that magnificently hard member, squeezing my tits as I approached my orgasm. When I glanced at the side table, I noticed his revolver, and just blurted out "I wish I had another cock to suck! Maybe you should invite your gun club over some evening."

"No fucking way, Carla!" he shouted. "You're not fucking my friends" and he began thrusting up harder into me, almost as if punishing me for even thinking about it.