Joy and Pride

What brought you joy today? What made you proud? My chalkboard asks, nudging me gently. One of the many idiosyncratic habits I’ve formed in my thirties is curlicue-ing mantras onto the board in my kitchen. The goal: to find happiness in the monotony, and peace in the chaos.

My inspiration comes largely from the women I’ve been surrounding myself with lately: Women who have mantras, women who get up at 5 a.m. to do yoga before work, women who drive to the coast to sip rosè at sunset. These women challenge me to run a 5k with them every month, but would never judge if I missed one because of a certain blush-colored indulgence. These women inspire me to be proud of my accomplishments, no matter how trivial.

Like handjobs.

Yes, handjobs. I have never, ever given a handjob.

I find them incredibly intimidating, I feel like I don’t know what I’m doing, so I always stop after a few strokes and guide the dick somewhere else, near-paralyzed with fear of what to do with my hands.

Sucking dick never felt intimidating or embarrassing, I never felt unsure. But for whatever reason, handjobs make me feel like an inexperienced, awkward teenager. I decided this fear had to be overcome. It was the unwritten chalkboard goal that my Paleo-friendly, yoga-pant-wearing self had to annihilate to become the confident 30-something woman who took on challenges fearlessly.

I expressed my new goal to my partner after a couple drinks, and then we were off. With a few shots of tequila on my end, and too many beers on his, we gave it a post-college try. Emphasis on try.

It wasn’t perfect the first time. In fact, it was painful, for both of us. My determination combined with his acquiescence to a goal he found downright silly, led to an over-pressured night of tugging and terror. The videos I had watched previously to guide this experience (yes, I am that ever-prepared, overachiever) proved unsatisfactory in giving him the whirlwind of a handy I’d imagined. He was hesitant to give too much direction, seeing through my facade of confidence, and I was overeager to please (and we were both a little drunk).

After the first, excruciating session, my tequila courage ended in tequila tears when both hands started cramping and no semen was in sight. We hugged it out and vowed to go to sleep and try again later. That night we cuddled, he rubbed my back, my face on his chest, all forgiven.

The next day, an unspoken and unfinished job was on both our minds. The second time, we promise to openly communicate, and to lubricate less with booze and more with actual lube.

“Show me how you cum,” my partner proposes, turning the tables on me, as he pulls my vibrator from the drawer, the one he’d just gotten me weeks ago. The vibrator was another first for me, I didn’t think I’d like it, I thought it would be too intense. I was wrong. I love her. I named her Violet.  

I lie back on the pillows, with him facing me, and he pulls off my underwear, pressing his bent knuckles down the outside of my thighs. Coming back up, he starts kissing at my knees, then the inside of my right thigh where he traces his lips and tongue, the other thigh with his fingers. He turns on Violet, and gently lays her on my pussy. He rubs her softly against my clit, slow circles, watching with intensity. His eyes are on my increasingly wet pussy, mine are on his hardening cock.

My legs spread wider of their own volition, my hand traces up my stomach to my breasts, squeezing, and I trace my fingernails over my erect, blushing nipples. I completely forgot the night before, and the purpose of this night. That must be his intention.

Before long, he takes my hand and places it over his. We move together, looking into each other’s eyes, then back down to watch. He leans back then, to watch his hand guide mine up and down, in and out, before sliding his hand away completely to watch me. My knees spread wider so he can see all of me. I move Violet, rubbing her below my clit and back up in a slow wave. I look him in the eyes as I touch myself, moaning, biting my lips, moving her into my drenched and aching pussy. I watch as his dick grows harder, as his hands grab it, pulling up in the same rhythm that I’m touching myself. My hips are grinding now, I am going to cum, and he can tell. Moments before I do, he replaces my hand with his on Violet. He wants to make me cum with her.  

“Show me,” he says, and I put my hand over his and guide it. Slowly up to the top, then slowly down, entering me slightly. Back and forth, in a little motion. I have to slow him down a few times, he is getting so excited. I come ecstatically, knees clamped around his arm, my hand pulling his hand more, hips writhing up and down, quivering, shaking, moaning. He keeps going until I have to pull both him and her away. I look up at him, smiling, then sit up and take his lips in mine. Now I have only one goal in mind: to make him cum as hard as I did.

I am ready, and still very aroused, high off the exhilaration of showing him—I realize this was his intent the whole time, to show me it’s okay to direct and be directed without getting self-conscious, and to show me the pleasure of making your lover cum while you stand as an observer. This man continues to impress me.

I straddle him then, kissing his lips, cheeks, neck, and chest eagerly and fiercely. I feel so much love, appreciation, desire. Reaching between both our bodies, my hand travels down the middle of his torso to encircle him in my palm. I press my body tightly to his, rubbing my hard nipples on his chest, my wet pussy on his hard dick.

More often than not, our sexual encounters start with him teasing me with his fingers and lips until I’m practically begging him to penetrate me. I get turned on thinking of that first, deep thrust that sends pulses to my belly button, as I dig my nails in him, pulling him in further. This time, I had already cum, but I get wetter with my sense of power. Using just my hands, not letting him enter anywhere else, I feel in control.

I settle between his thighs, sitting on my legs, knees apart, giving him a view when he looks down. He is hard, wet, ready.

Despite this though, I insist on using lube this time. Rubbing it between both palms slowly to warm it, I then slide my hands down from his head to his balls, cupping and tickling them, then grazing back up, squeezing at the top and back down. He lets out a groan and thrusts his hips up for more and my pussy squeezes in response.

I keep one hand moving on his shaft and head, adding pressure as it goes down, trying to simulate the pressure he’d feel if he were entering me for that first glorious time, over and over.  

My other hand pushes his balls down, my middle finger stroking his taint, pushing the hardness I feel there. I keep that motion, I’m thankful for his direction for exactly the right kind of pressure: tight, but not too tight, paying extra attention to his head and balls and below.

I find a rhythm quickly; I’m shocked at how naturally it happens after all the anxiety I’d felt before. Coming must have relaxed my mind. I find myself imagining that his penis is a part of me, that his head is my clit, that his balls and beneath are my pussy opening. I picture this as my hands move up and down, massaging, rubbing, squeezing. I feel my own wetness increase, and I feel his cock harden even more, his hips thrusting in response. The more I keep going, the less direction I need. He is going to cum, and it turns me on so much to watch myself make it happen.  

I look into his face as I rub him. My whole body moves up and down like I am riding him as I stroke. I want him inside of me, and I can tell by his writhing that if I mount him, he’ll come instantly. If I put him in my mouth right now, he’ll fill me with so much cum I couldn’t swallow even if I tried.  

These are the thoughts that move my hands, my body. These are the thoughts that evoke the sharp pulse upward of his hips, the deep moans, the hooded eyes, the release as his cum comes out in three quick, hot bursts. I felt my pussy pulsing as I watch.

I smile at him after, and he smiles back. I collapse into the side of him, shoulder under his arm, head on his chest. We both laugh a little, in a satisfied, exhausted kind of way. He turns his head to kiss me, I meet his kiss with my lips, put one thigh over his so he can feel my wetness.

I absolutely know what brought me joy and pride today.