There are a few moments in a marriage that make it into the “remember when…” bag of memories that are pulled out when you both need a laugh. These moments always seem funnier in retrospect than at the time, and make for good story-telling. Like the time I shot cum out of my nose as I fell of the bed trying to get to the sink to spit it out (I know some of you cannot relate to the need to spit out cum, but the point of the story is that I fell off the bed…and that I shot cum out of my nose). Mr. D and I laughed hysterically.
Or the time we role-played and he put raw ginger up my ass (intentionally), and it burned like hell.
Or the time…just a few days ago when…
So our sex life has been less that stellar lately. I initiated sex beginning of September, and he never initiated back, then school started and my focus shifted, and then we both got sick…so it’s been stagnant. But the other night, when we went to bed, it appeared we’d found a spark. He’d initiated by going down on me, usually a sure-fire way to get me quickly wet, but after so much down-time, it just wasn’t doing the job.
His fingers felt foreign and the insertion almost hurt. But, in true “poor communicator” form, I said nothing, not wanting to ruin the moment or upset him. I just wanted him inside of me. Unfortunately, I’m quite aware of how pedestrian he often thinks my sexual desires are, and I didn’t want to request missionary sex, when I knew we’d probably get there at some point, anyway. The thing is, it is the only position that really gets me off, and I can be patient. But for some reason, because the normally very effective oral pre-work wasn’t working, I wasn’t getting wet enough. We attempted to have sex, but I was too dry and it just didn’t feel very good.
It wasn’t turning out well. So, he went back to lubing me up with his tongue. And this time, he added a little back-door action with his fingers.
Now, normally, this is a good way to not only make me uncomfortable, but also to get me pretty wet. However, for some reason, I began to feel a rather unpleasant warmth in my anal region. I ignored it, thinking that maybe it was just because we were out of practice and hadn’t done this in awhile.
We went back to fucking, but the warmth turned to an unbearable burning. I was tearing up, and finally had to ask, “Did you wash your hands after cutting the peppers tonight?”
So, yeah…turns out pasilla peppers, while not especially hot to eat, burn like the devil when applied to one’s anus.
I began to cry, and he prompted me to go in and wash…but that didn’t help. So, in a stroke of old-school genius, he ran to the kitchen, broke out the butter, and in a less rape-y version of “Last Tango in Paris,” bent me over the bed and began slathering me with and inserting fingers covered in butter into my asshole to dull the burn.
I finally ended up in the shower, cleaning off the butter…me with the soap, and him with the shower head giving me a tender, loving enema of sorts.
Our love-making was pretty much over at that point. But, hey…at least we came away with a humorous tale.
And a helpful public service announcement…wash your hands and under your nails thoroughly after handling peppers, onions, and other burny-type foods.
Please. And thank you.