It was a Tuesday. Buck likes Tuesdays. We tend to do more fucking than lovemaking on Tuesdays.
I liked Tuesdays, too. Oh, don’t get me wrong–I do like our lower and slower lovemaking on Thursdays or Fridays as well, but Tuesday fuckings were just so otherworldly.
Inside the walls of our seedy lovenest, we weren’t a fifty-plus couple with a house full of kids. We weren’t business owners. We weren’t bank employees. We weren’t landlords. We weren’t soon-to-be politicians.
We were very simply lovers.
We could have been the young couple that made out in the back of Buck’s car behind the high school.
We could have been the newlyweds in the one-bedroom apartment, that more often than not didn’t have air conditioning or hot water.
We could have been the young parents creeping away from their full brood for a hotel rendezvous that reminded us once again of why we had wanted children.
We could have been all those things.
And we were all those things.
And now we were two fifty-pluses that walked away from their very demanding business lives and family lives twice a week to fuck each other silly.
Oh, sorry, one day a week we make love.
But not every week.
Sometimes we fuck both days.
I had lunch with my good friend Barbra not too long ago. Lots of Irish Coffees.
I shared with her what Buck and I were doing.
She laughed until she spewed Irish whiskey and caffeine all over the floor next to her seat.
She loved the idea that we had decided to have an affair with each other instead of going elsewhere for our middle-aged affirmations.
“Dian, I think it’s wonderful that you and Buck have been reminded of what brought you two together in the first place!”
“Love?” I questioned Barbra.
“Lust, baby. Pure lust.”
I smiled at that. “Barbra, you’re absolutely right. When we’re together in that hotel, there are no other problems that cross our minds until we walk back out that door.”
“That’s the way it should be, honey. If more couples did what you two are doing, there would be a lot less ‘gray divorces’.”
“Gray divorces?” I asked.
“Gray divorces. Couples over fifty-five, hitting the empty nest age, and deciding it’s easier to start over than rebuild with the one you started with.”
“That’s so sad!”
“It is. A bunch of saggy-baggies trying to act young again. It’s not attractive.”
“Oh dear. I hope we’re not becoming like that,” I marveled.
“Oh, honey, who cares about you and Buck? If Buck lights up like he used to when you walked into a room, and you continue to have that just-been-fucked smile on your face all the time, who cares what others think?”
That made me grin ear-to-ear. “It is pretty nice, Barbra,” I confided.
“Damn right it is. Now how about another Irish Coffee?”
But I digress.
You didn’t come here, dear reader, for just a rundown of family life, did you?
You came for the sex. So back to the sex.
As I mentioned before, our last round of fucking at the DoubleTree started with me sucking Buck’s cock.
Deepthroating as a matter of fact…