There is a Time and Place

“If I were to tell you I might be pregnant to you already, how would you feel?”

“Really? Do you mean that?”

“Darling, it takes about a couple of months to be sure of these things. I was just asking a hypothetical question.”

“Oh, I see. Well, firstly, if you were pregnant to someone else, I should be rather upset. Secondly, if you were pregnant to me, I should be delighted. How would you feel?”
“To follow your pattern, firstly, if I were pregnant to someone else, it would be strange, because sexually speaking there isn’t anyone else and there’s not going to be. Secondly, if you would be delighted if I were pregnant, then I’d be over the moon.”

“Wonderful. We are in complete agreement. Pity we can’t get married.”

“Robert, I think what happened between us an hour or more ago, is about as “being married” as you can get.”

“Yes. Good lord, is it really over an hour ago?”

“Yes.”

“Dallas, I think we should go and do some more baby making in that case.”

He led me back to the bedroom, but this time I was not going to let him have the initiative. I pushed him onto the bed and on his back. Lowering a breast to his lips I said, “Suck me, darling.”

He began with my nipples, but soon he was avidly drawing more and more of my breast into his mouth, his tongue washing it with his saliva. It felt as if he wanted to consume me, and I think that was in a sense what we were both trying to do. It was the longing for oneness, for wholeness.

I withdrew my breast from him, and sat so as to lower my vagina to his mouth. He knew what to do, and did it with complete abandonment, thrusting his tongue into me, licking and very gently nibbling my clitoris.

Then once more the tremors began, first at a distance, then bursting upon me, reducing me to a weeping shrieking demon. As I shook with the intensity of my orgasm, Robert clung to my thighs, dragging me to him. I responded with my hands behind his head.

I must have drenched the poor boy with lubricant, and as I calmed down after my climax, I gave him his reward. I took the crown of his sex organ into my mouth and began to slide my tongue over it. He began to give ever increasing in volume groans, and sensing his orgasm approaching I took more and more of him into my mouth, speeding up my movements.

Suddenly he clutched my head firmly and took over the movement himself. His first burst of semen hit the back of my throat and I swallowed. Then he was gushing into me and I could not take it all. It flowed round his shaft and out of my mouth to cascade along the outside sheath of his penis and settle in a pool on his lower abdomen.

When he had finished, he lay back with a sigh of contentment. I took my mouth from his penis and lay over him to kiss him, mingling our fluids in each other’s mouths, tasting each other.

After while I lay back and laughed.

“What are you laughing at, Robert asked, puzzled at my response to what we had been doing.”

“Sweetheart, I thought we came to bed to try and make a baby. You don’t make a baby with what we’ve been doing.”

I laughed again and Robert joined in.

“In that case,” he responded, “Give me ten minutes to recuperate, and we’ll start manufacturing.”

“Ten minutes!” I exclaimed. “Bet you can’t manage it again in under half an hour.” Wrong again. He managed it in seven and a half minutes.

As I write, Robert and I have been lovers (I almost said, “married”), for ten years. Our “baby making” produced three beautiful children. Unfortunately, we had to stop after our third because I was getting past the time when it was safe for me to have any more.

I hope you will rejoice with me when I tell you that Robert was never really convinced that sexual intercourse is only for baby making. He is proving that very frequently.

There may be many, even among you, my readers, who frown upon the relationship Robert and I have. It may be genuine moral outrage, or, as I have discovered, it is often jealousy, that motivates people to condemn us.

A point I want to make is one that may sound hopelessly old fashioned and sentimental. I have heard a lot of married couples refer to each other as, “My other half.” Sometimes I am sure that it is authentic, but most times, I think it is a cliché used to cover up a less than satisfactory relationship.

In Robert, I truly found my “other half,” and as he has often said, he has found his “other half” in me. There is a completion as far as we are concerned. I believe there is an “other half” for everyone, someone with whom we are destined to find our fulfillment.

Many people are prepared to settle for less, and spend their lives wondering what is missing. But I am sure there is a time and place when the “other half” breaks into our lives, even when that “other half” has been with us all the time.

I really must stop my philosophising. It’s bedtime and Robert and I have a few things to attend to.