This is an experimental sex tape, from when our old camera used to be new (expressed in digits, that should be the year of 2009). We were so unprepared (for the photographic artistry) that we’ve kept (forgotten?) our socks on all the time. It was late November, early in the morning, immediately after the kids had left the building. Then I’ve turned the key in the gate and the worlds went apart! As we often do, we’ve rushed in bed to fill the shortly ensued silence with our lovemaking noises.
If you had never tried screaming an orgasm away, or just coquetting a tickle out loud, then don’t waste a minute!, because pleasure is tripled when coming back in hollering echoes.
Was the neighbor hearing how the air turned into music? Well, in spite of his hearing aids, or probably because of them, I can tell that he often happened to broom the sidewalk near our window, or hedge some green along the fence, quickly after I commenced to vowel under Don’s tongue.
Not sure if I have told you about the lingual skills of hubby. This film stands as a living testimony, visible and audible, to the profound titillation that I obtain from his tongue.
We further swapped our sixty-nine to a classic pounding – which I had to bravely endure more than I’d wished to (juiced friction is great up to one point) because it helps him stay fit.
2009 has also been the year of my menopause. Taking away a scare but also bringing in a new host of uncertainties, and discomforts – more or less real. The sting of his beard on my labia, extrapolated to fantastic dimensions by my mind. The rhythm of his gentle dick, augmented to clobbering proportions by the menopausal imagination of mine. Still, I think that the birth-related surgical artwork (or the memory of it) makes the case for why I’m not a fan of prolonged pounding.
Eventually, I was delighted to wash my lasting clitastic minutes by giving him some head (from down under), kissing his prostate (he thinks that I was kissing his ass) and drinking his hot and sticky stream of white healthy nutrients.
A foolish but sound #realworldsex amateurish tape of ours. Spoken in my mother’s tongue and diligently translated to English in subtitles. Wondering if the vocals are indeed adding to the cheerfulness of a lovemaking film. Oh men, wondering not about you, as I know your answers already. But, dear sisters, how about us putting everything on display, and on loudspeakers? Not just the images of our intimate moments, yet also the music of our exaltation… or the loose beat of a sphincter…
Oh my, what a menopausal year that was!