We're at our favorite restaurant; it's a sweltering summer day. I eat hamachi nigiri as my wife eats curry udon. The translucent, bright red chunk of flesh is permeated through with moisture; its heady odor gives way to a refreshing succulence as my tongue presses the delicate fibers against my palate. This is my favorite dish because it reminds me of my wife's vagina, to which I'm addicted.
My name is ___. I'm 38 years old. I'm a simple salaryman who works at an office. My parents, each year around Easter, always asked me when I would give them grandchildren. This year, they finally stopped. I paid my respects at their gravestone last week.
In a previous life, my wife entertained people on the Internet. I don't understand much about that culture. When I look at these old videos of hers, something about her seems so different. She seems happy, energetic. She laughs in a way I rarely hear her laugh with me.
She's sometimes told me stories of her coworkers and how, one by one, they moved on, by way of marriage or injury. After a life of ignoring and being ignored by men, and a career of putting on shows for men, she finally felt the pangs of loneliness most women would have felt a decade earlier.
We accepted long ago that children were an impossibility given her age. Consequently there is an ease, a tranquility, about our lovemaking. That night was a night we've had uncountable times before. Our kisses begin haltingly, with awkward pangs of uncertainty and fatigue. But as we continue to touch each other the years melt away and it's like we are two youthful birds in the bloom of spring, coyly fumbling in the underbrush.
After two years of marriage she's no longer shy in how she asks for sex. She guides my hips to the angle she prefers and breathes deeply into my neck, letting me know I'm reaching the right spot. I place a finger into her vagina alongside my penis and she squirms with pleasure.
With my finger I rub, lovingly, the walls of her flesh while my penis pushes deep into her abdomen. I try to look down at our groins, past the folds and furrows of our aging; I want to look at my penis, glistening with her moisture as it thrusts in and out of her.
She takes my face in her hands and directs my free hand to her soft, plump breasts. I take my finger out and offer it to her, and her lips curl around my finger, her tongue gently kneading, as she takes it in her mouth. It's a ritual we have done many times before.
I pull out of her and for a moment look in wonder at her face, shining with sweat, cheeks flushed with arousal. Her smell makes me dizzy. She knows the light-headed, hungry look in my eyes and knows what it means I am going to do next.
She spreads her legs and I dive headfirst, headlong: my mouth, nose, teeth, lips, tongue - all bow and pray in devoted worship. Wiry black hair crowds into my nostrils and tangles into my teeth.
I deeply drink the odors of her groin. I make sure she orgasms twice before adjusting my hips, pulling her legs up, and penetrating her again. She's so wet and soft that I ejaculate instantly.
I massage her calves while she recovers from her orgasms and soon we are sitting cross-legged on the futon, touching each others' bodies and laughing, playfully, like newlyweds. I can feel the heat radiating from her cheeks as drowsiness takes over us both.
We're at our favorite restaurant; four months have passed. My wife isn't eating anything today; she was too nauseous. The pregnancy has been very hard on her body.
I'm worried sick about her health. I sometimes hear her gently sobbing at night with anxiety. I touch her shoulders and pull her close, but even as she burrows into my arms I can tell she's shaking.
My eyes water with guilt during the times I can't sleep and whisper that I need a sexual release. I weep when I see her take my penis into her mouth, without even a single gesture of arousal, wrapping her tongue around my glans, the tender inside of her cheek around my shaft.
I exclaim my love for her when I ejaculate into her mouth, only able to guess how uncomfortable it must be for my semen to flood her throat. She stumbles to the bathroom to spit my semen into the sink; she's too nauseous to swallow it.
Feeling awkward about her protruding abdomen, she stops me when I lower my head to worship at her temple; I tell her I don't care about how her body looks. I desperately want to make her feel pleasure. At length she relents, pressing her warm back insistently against my chest as I hold her from behind, eventually orgasming from the pressure of my fingers before falling asleep.
We're at our favorite restaurant. My wife is holding our eight-month-old girl. I'm eating miso with nori. After a lifetime of bad diets, I need to eat healthy so I can be the energetic father she needs.
The doctors were extremely worried if everything would go well. Our child was premature, underweight at birth, and we spent harrowing weeks waiting at the hospital. We don't have sex anymore and we aren't sure when we will start again. But it doesn't matter to me.
She rests her head on her hands and gives me a weary, yet warm smile. I sense a deep satisfaction and peace within us both. Our baby begins to wail, and my wife bounces her up and down in her arms, beaming with joy, singing her a tune to cheer her up. "La-li-on.. la-li-on.."