Confessions of a Kinky Wife

‘You don’t have to be infallible,’ I whispered, stroking his hair. ‘You don’t have to be perfect. That’s your hang-up, darling, I know, but you really don’t have to be this flawless individual.’

‘I want to be,’ he gasped. ‘I wish I could be. For you.’

‘I know, I know. You are, darling. You are perfect for me, because you try so hard and you make me so happy.’

‘I get it wrong, though. I get things wrong.’

‘We all get things wrong. We’re human. We can’t help it. I don’t care if you don’t always make the right call. I care that you’re doing this for me because I asked you to and you love me and you want me to be happy. That’s all that matters. Really and truly. All that matters. We love each other, don’t we?’

‘God, of course, of course we do.’

‘So you don’t have to be infallible. You don’t have to be all-knowing. You just have to do what you do out of love. Just do that and it’ll be all right. Always.’

He took a deep breath, recovering.

‘You don’t think I’m turning into a monster?’ he asked.

‘No!’

‘You still think I’m sexy?’

I laughed, through a little haze of tears. ‘You moron, of course I do. Because you are.’

He prodded my chest. ‘Who are you calling a moron?’

I prodded his. ‘You, sarge.’

‘Come over here and say that.’

‘I already am over here.’

‘Oh, yeah. So you are.’

In a second he had me pinned to the sofa and screaming while he tickled the life out of me.

‘Stop, stop,’ I begged. ‘Don’t, I’d rather you spanked me than this!’

‘Oh, yes?’ He laid himself down on me, full-length, our noses tip to tip. ‘I think I’ve had enough of that for one evening. But you might prefer this instead.’

His mouth covered mine, robbing the breath from my body. We writhed together, legs twisting around legs, hands in hair, pelvises grinding while we kissed and kissed until our lips were sore.

At one point we rolled together off the sofa and on to the rug, knocking the half-full coffee cups off the table, but for once Dan didn’t fret about the stain.

Instead he picked me up and carried me into the bedroom. Our clothes came off slowly, the removal of each garment interspersed with much more kissing and touching and linking of limbs. Once we were naked, he slid into me without meeting any resistance and we took it slowly, revelling in each thrust, each bump, each new burst of sensation. We didn’t look away from each other once and we still kept eye contact when the slow build of pleasure crested into orgasm. I loved him so much I thought I might die of it. I know it sounds mushy and lame, but it’s true, and I know he felt it too.

I wanted to feel his heart beating against mine for ever.

30 August

I left him snoring in bed when I went to work the next day, and he was on a night shift so I didn’t see him when I got in.

A lot of the kids had had their GCSE results while I was on holiday, and work was frantic with discussions about their next steps, phone calls to local schools and colleges, helping with CVs and job applications. Last night’s débâcle and its aftermath didn’t have time to muscle into my consciousness until I got home.

Even then, it seemed like a storm in a teacup, but I texted Dan a smoochy little love note all the same, in case he was still het up about it.

He texted back, ‘Just you wait till I get home,’ which made me smile and think that perhaps he was over his mini-crisis.

Of course, he didn’t get home until I was grabbing my handbag and swallowing down the last of my toast, on the way out, so I was glad I hadn’t waited but had simply gone to bed at the usual time and got a good night’s sleep.