Yogurt

The yogurt is going to go bad. That's all I can think every time I open the fridge door.

What possessed my husband to buy a gallon of yogurt at the grocery store? Smoothies. He said he wanted to start making smoothies. It would be good for us. It took him approximately two smoothie recipes to figure out he either doesn't like smoothies or doesn't know how to make them or both. I already knew I didn't like smoothies. The yogurt came in two half-gallon tubs that were bound together by a little plastic bra thingy. I diligently ate a bowl of it every day until the first half gallon was gone, but by the first tub was empty I couldn't bring myself to open the new one and start all over.

I'm sure any other person would just throw the yogurt away. But any other person probably wasn't raised by a crazy mean grandmother who survived the depression and considered wasting food a crime against humanity forever after. She told me about her baby cousin in Germany starving to death in a concentration camp once, when I wouldn't eat my lima beans. She's probably rolling in her grave over good dairy being willfully neglected.

I spend the afternoon outside gardening, because I can't stand to look at the fridge anymore. By gardening, I mean smoking a joint in the hammock and watching the water run on my plants. I feel a little giddy when I hear his heavy booted feet come around the corner. I won't have to face the yogurt alone. I'm less giddy when he leans heavily on one side of the hammock, threatening to dump me in the patchy grass. I bail out and cling gracelessly to his shirt while I get my legs untangled and on the ground. When I'm standing, he kisses me. I love his kisses, even though he's sweaty and dirty and his whiskery face smells like the cigarette he's not supposed to smoke after work and the chips he ate for lunch. I love them even more when he kisses, kisses, kisses up my cheekbone and temple and across my forehead just above my eyebrow. I fist my hands in his grimy shirt and make appreciative noises, but he stops anyway and heads toward the back door, hauling his toolbox and lunchbox and a bag full of a week's worth of dirty work clothes. I follow him in.

"I'll put that stuff away. You sit down. Want a snack? How 'bout some yogurt?" He sits gratefully but I know the yogurt is a bust. I can't help myself getting it out of the fridge anyway.

"No thanks babe, we ate after work." I open the yogurt and spoon some into a bowl. When I pick up his smelly boots to put them outside, I drop it in front of him.

"It expires in two days. We need to eat it." He gives me a look. You're obsessing, it says. I stare hard back. Of course I am. It's what obsessive compulsive people do. He takes a grudging bite of the yogurt and I drag the heavy duffel bag toward the laundry room like a carcass. It smells about right. When I get back to the kitchen, he's pushed the yogurt away.

"I'm going to take a shower. Are you coming?" We shower together a lot, and I miss that when he's gone.

"Is that all you're going to eat? There's a half gallon of it left." He makes a growly noise in his throat and looks angry and exasperated and defeated all at once. He grabs to bowl in a vicious swipe and eats the yogurt in like, four giant gulping bites as he steps from the table to the sink to drop the bowl in. It's sort of sexy to me.

"Happy? Are you coming, or not?" I nod and stand, but what I say is,

"What about the rest of it?" He's pissed now. This is not how Thursday nights are supposed to go, he says with his eyes.

"Sure," he says, spoon still in one hand while he wrenches the fridge open with the other. "We'll bring it." It's stupid to bring it, I think. It's already about to expire and the warmth of the bathroom is going to make it go bad faster and there's no way he's about to eat it all in under 90 minutes. Maybe we're just putting it out of its misery. I say none of this, of course. I didn't wait all week for him to get home just to start world war yogurt. So I follow him to the bathroom and undress silently while he strips and starts the water running. I have to relight the joint in my pocket to keep from cringing when he sets the yogurt, spoon on top, on the counter next to the sink.

Even though I said I'd be showering with him, I actually sit on a fluffy towel on the floor and watch him rinse and wash himself while I smoke. Soon the bathroom is steamy and smoky and probably even the bacteria in the yogurt are feeling right with the world. That's when I finally get in with him.

We hug and cuddle under the spray of the shower for a few long moments. Then he stretches and says he'll dry off while I wash and steps out. I miss him, I wish I'd gotten in sooner. I point the spray towards the tiled wall so I don't flood the bathroom and open the curtain so he can watch while I shampoo my hair and wash myself. I turn the water off and run a razor up my legs as fast as I can. When I reach the tops of my thighs I turn my back to him to squat and shave my pussy. You'd think he'd like to watch that part, but it freaks him out to see a razor clumsily wielded amongst that tender flesh of mine he loves so much. Especially if I nick myself and bleed, no matter how much I tell him I don't even feel it.

"Eat some of that yogurt." He picks up the spoon, looking like he has no intention of doing anything with it. I turn back to my work.

"Go on. You bought it. It's good for you, remember? I practically ate that whole other one by myself." I set the razor aside and turn the water back on to rinse the shaving cream off.

"I like the way you look like that." He says, as water and froth stream down my thighs. My heart twangs. He doesn't say this kind of stuff very often, and I live for it.

"Like how? The shaving cream?" He shrugs, and the shyness actually drives him to dip the spoon into the giant yogurt tub. It looks preposterous in his hand, like that oversized popcorn carton at the movie theatre that you only see the six hundred pound people carrying. I shut the water off and just as I'm about to reach for the towel cold stickiness splatters from the left side of my face to my right thigh. I open my eyes and I can feel it clinging to my cheek and lips.

"Like that." he says, and his voice is all throaty and heated. Creamy yogurt is dotted across my left breast, down my stomach, over my freshly shaved pussy, and there's a thick glob sliding down the inside of my right thigh. As it warms to my body temperature it liquefies and runs with gravity down my body. I must look like I've been hit with a massive load, because his cock has stood up to have a look as well.

We lock eyes and I drag the thick trail of yogurt up my thigh with curled fingers to rub it over my clit. It's warm now, and sticky but slick all at the same time. The creamy lubrication feels good, even though it burns where I'm freshly shaved. He makes a noise. I bring my left hand up to rub and fondle my left nipple, slightly sticky with drying goo. I push my boob up so I can lick the yogurt from the slope of my own cleavage. That's all he can take, he doesn't want to be left out anymore. Man, spoon, and yogurt join me in the waterless shower.

I wonder what his first move will be but I don't have to wait long.

"Open your mouth", he tells me, scooping up a spoonful. I drop my jaw and play my tongue along my teeth and lips in what I hope is a seductive manner. He raises the spoon and drops a sweet, cool glob into my mouth, making sure to let it drip over my lips and chin. I hold a gob in my mouth, playing with it the way the porn stars do with a big load of cum. The yogurt tastes a lot better, I'm sure. His mouth meets mine then, and our tongues mingle in the warm gooey confines of my mouth before he closes his mouth over my bottom lip to run his tongue along it and suck the yogurt away. I'm feeling pretty darn creamy elsewhere by now.

The obsessive voice in my head says at least we're using the yogurt.

My senses are singing. The pot's got my brain flooded with feel-good anyway and now there's hot, cold, slick, sticky, sweet and tangy all happening to me at once. He keeps dropping yogurt from the spoon like wads of cum across my tits, ass, face, hair, back... and his cock is jutting out, throbbing to the beat of his heart. I scoop up some yogurt out of the tub with my fingers and drop it onto the fiery skin of his prick. He jumps and groans. With my fingers ringing him tightly I spread the wetness up and down his shaft. The slow pumping makes his toes curl and he pushes me to my knees with a big hand in my sticky hair.

When I take him in my mouth, I'm surprised. The yogurt is sweeter, but the tacky tanginess mixed with the taste of him is similar to sucking my juices off of him midway through a session of fucking. That idea turns me on and I suck hungrily at his dick. He drips cool yogurt copiously over my face and the base of his dick in response. I pull away long enough to lick my lips seductively. Warm yogurt runs down his balls into my cupped hand and I smear the sliminess back into him. I suck his dick until my thighs cramp and he seems like he's fighting the urge to come- or the urge not to come, as the case may be. I'm relieved when he yanks me to my feet.

The yogurt's nearly gone, and I smear the last of it in handfuls over his chest and shoulders. He divides a glob between his two hands and pulls my leg between his own so we stand perpendicular. He starts by using his the four fingers of his right hand to massage the creaminess into my pussy. I like to have cool things put against me there and he knows it. Cold, slick, and creamy, delivered by his big, slightly rough, familiar fingers makes my legs weak. I lean into his sticky chest and cling to his arm.

Then his left hand comes up. Left fingertips meet those from the right hand at my center and both hands stroke away from each other, so the left spreads a fresh load of wet and slimy up the crack of my ass, and the fingers from the right curl to dip into me tantalizingly before dragging nubbily over my sensitive flesh. My knees threaten to give way and I moan lustily, digging my nails into his bicep. He builds me up with slow long strokes this way, until I'm muttering into his shoulder that he should eat me, fuck me, use me, pound me, bang me, fuck me, lick me. I nearly fall over when he pushes me away from him and drags me toward the door.

"We can't go in the room. We'll make the bed all messy." He looks at me like I've lost my mind, then reaches around me and yanks violently on the shower curtain. The rings rip through the thin vinyl. By the time I get to our room he's got the bedding thrown on the floor and the shower curtain roughly tucked in over the sheet. He lays on his side and reaches his hand out to me over his head. When I take it he pulls me over him until I'm planting kiss after kiss on his sticky cock and balls and he's using his arms curled around my thighs to plant my pussy squarely over his face.

He licks my pussy with long firm strokes and I suck needily at the head of his shaft, using my tongue to massage and press the precum out of him. The saltiness complements the sticky sweetness and I take him deeper, applying more suction. We get lost in each other when we're like this. Everywhere our skin moves against each other is slick and tacky at the same time. We ratchet each other up. Dragging my fingers lightly along the inside of his thighs and over his ass makes him press his mouth against my clit and moan. The moaning sets me off and I cram my mouth down on his dick. He brings his hands in and teases eight fingers along the sides of my slit. I squeeze his balls. He licks my clit hard and trails his tongue pointily up between my folds to push it in where the wet heat seeps out of me. I redouble my cock sucking and dig my nails into his scrotum. His octopus fingers massage me, pulling me open and kneading me closed in light circular motions.

I can't think enough to keep using my mouth. I release his dick and lay my cheek down on it, begging him with high moans and hip thrusts to keep going. He obliges. When he trails his tongue even further backward, to my ass, it makes me uncomfortable, but soon his fingertips invade the place where his tongue was and he's stroking me the same way he did before, but just a little deeper, so he's stimulating every inch of me and his tongue is sliding and nudging against the pucker of my ass. He loves to fuck me there, though I hardly let him because it's so intense for me. One of his fingers buried in me can push me into an orgasm so hard it makes me see stars, his cock is so big it's like taking a cane up the ass.

I tilt my hips then, pulling away from him so his mouth is over my clit again. His hands part ways and one follows the path his tongue made and the other pushes deep into my pussy, making me clench and whimper. The first finger on the other hand itches to be inside me too and probes inquisitively at my tightness. As I hump his mouth my cheek rubs heavily up and down the hot ridge of his rod pinned under my neck. He encourages me up and down against him with his hands, bringing his mouth to meet me.

It feels natural to take gasping breaths and hold them for a long time as sensation builds and a sparkle in my skull tells me I'll break the crest any second. He's pushed, pulled, led me to enough orgasms that he knows my cues and he doesn't let up, moving rhythmically, rubbing my clit hard with his tongue, and persistently invading my pussy and ass with progressively deeper pushes of his fingers.

I break apart then, into a million sparkling pieces that writhe and clench around his fingers while the rest of me seizes, goes perfectly still, and relaxes limply against him with a series of high breathy moans. He continues his ruthless exploration of my openings and it feels good for approximately forty seconds after my orgasm. Then it borders on pain and I clench and fight to pull away, begging him to fuck me.

When I roll off him he takes a position behind me on his knees. I get on all fours in front of him and wiggle my ass until he presses the head to my opening. With a quick backward push he's buried to the hilt inside of me and I drop my chest to the sticky shower curtain so I can reach between my legs and fondle his hanging testicles. In the post orgasmic glow every muscle and joint of my body feels loose and relaxed and I know I'm so ready for his cock he'll be able to pound me as deep as he likes without hurting me.

For awhile I bump back against him, arch my back, moan and squeeze his balls, but what he seems to like even better is when I fold myself up and relax completely, letting his jarring thrusts against my rump rock me unhindered back and forth. He fucks me faster and faster like this until I think he's going to shoot his load any second, and then in an instant he pulls away and bids me to ride him.

Being ridden is his favorite and I wouldn't mind one bit, except the last thing my tortured muscles want to do after being wrung dry is support my weary tormented body in vigorous exercise. The best method, I've found, is to give it everything I've got from the first, and my enthusiasm will usually drag him over the top before my legs give out entirely. He lays flat on his back and I straddle him. I kiss and suck at his neck for a long moment while I get my breath and the stars pass from my vision. When I'm ready I give his cock a brusque rub and raise myself to a squat above him. I point the head of his staff at my opening and drop myself onto it in one motion that makes him groan and squeeze my hips. I like his big hands holding me tightly like that. I plant a fist on either side of his ribs to support myself.

When I start bouncing up and down, up and down, the pleasure it brings him is obvious. He likes movements that bring me far up off his cock with just the end still inside, then drop me heavily back onto his prick with the slap of flesh meeting. As my thighs begin to burn I thrust faster and faster and he helps lift me up off his cock with his hands on my hips. I can see him move toward his own orgasm. It's like someone- well, me- is slowly tightening the wires that hold his bones together until he's rigid and slightly curled and his breath is coming in hoarse gasps. My legs give out seconds before he reaches his peak so I drop to my knees, replacing the up and down movement with a rocking, back and forth grinding that's easier to maintain and works him even deeper into my sopping pussy.

As I ride him I work my left hand up to the top of his head, where his hair is just long enough to wrap around my fingers and clench in my fist. I tilt his head back and use the leverage to ride him fiercer and faster.

The last straw, for him, is my right hand laying itself over his throat. My hand is so small, its fingers so slender against the vulnerable flesh of his neck that a single firm tightening of my fingertips makes him pull me tight down onto him as he arches and bucks against me, breathing several long moans into my neck while at my opening I can feel his cock throb and spurt it's load into my depths. When he relaxes, I slump against him and trail kisses across his face the way he did me only an hour and a half that feels like a lifetime ago.

As we lay silently, listening to one another's pulse and respiration return to normal, the voice in my head rouses long enough to make an observation.

Good thing we used the yogurt, but the shower curtain's ruined. We'll have to take a bath.