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John Brownstone and I are adults, capable of being apart, willing to go our separate ways at times. But fuck, we really don’t love it. We’d rather be together as much as possible. But when opportunities present themselves, and one of us is given the option to go on an adventure, we send the other on with our love and well wishes. And we wait for them to come home to us again.
This time it was my turn to travel without him. A week away, three time zones and an entire country apart, and for a few days, what felt like a world away. He stayed home, did the dad thing, kept the home fires burning. I flew off, stayed up late, drank lots of coffee, and had fun in my own way.
By the time the trip was coming to an end, I was ready to be home. Maybe a to-do list, emails, and whiny kids waited for me, but so did he. And he represents a life I love.
I walked in the door, a few hours of sleep, a few hours of driving, and a desperate need to pee. Dragging suitcases and bags with me. The dog barking.
“Welcome home, babygirl.”
I didn’t know he could move that fast. He crushed me against his chest. First a hug, then a kiss. Then another, longer, lingering kiss. He devoured me, and I let him. Grateful for it.
The next day work and kids began again as if I’d never been gone. Bills to pay. Errands to run. Work to do. Kids to raise. I ignored my slight jet lag, forcing myself to get through the week. Laying in bed at night, we could barely muster the energy for a kiss, let alone kinky fuckery.
“Welcome home, babygirl.”
He told me every day how happy he was that I was home. Even when I found another funny, silly, or eye-rolling story to tell. Even when I found another souvenir I’d meant to show him. And even when we realized my iPad was missing, possibly lost forever, and my mood spiraled.
This is why I don’t travel without him. And why I don’t travel. How did I lose an iPad that I’ll never be able to replace? Fucking hell.
It’s not the word. It’s the tone. I know it’s a signal that I need to stop the spiraling thoughts, calm down, attempt to think clearly, and forgive myself for being human.
By the end of the week, he’d solved the mystery of the missing iPad (lost in the Portland airport but already headed back to me). My mood improved, even though my energy levels stayed at rock bottom. I’d been home for four days and we’d had no time or energy (although plenty of desire) for kinky fuckery.
When would we fuck? Why didn’t I feel an overwhelming desire for kink? Were we falling into a sexless rut…again?!
The sun wasn’t fully up, and I hadn’t slept well. But when I felt the bed dip and heard the familiar rustle of the nightstand drawer, I knew. My conscious brain didn’t catch up until he grabbed my hips and pulled me close. I arched my back and hips, opening my body instead of my eyes.
With a single stroke, he sunk his cock in deep, and we both sighed. It had been too long. This felt good. Neither of us needed fancy tricks or kinky fuckery. All we needed was the familiar.
His orgasm surprised me, arriving sooner than usual. A groan of pleasure catching me unawares. But it was the contented sigh that made me smile.
“Welcome home, babygirl. I’m so glad you’re back.”
Me too, Daddy. Me too.
Welcome to Masturbation Monday! And yes, we’re as sappy, cute, and adorable as you can imagine. For actual smut, you know where to go!