Brenda and Steve were the type of couple that had boring sex and knew it. Neither tried to deny it either. They did what they knew and what they didn’t know wasn’t much to brag about. When Steve would go out to the bar with his buddies, he’d rave that his wife gave good head, but left the nitty-gritty details to their dull imaginations. Brenda called her man “studly,” and praised his size in both public and private, but having a large sword doesn’t mean he knew how to use it.
In the beginning, this was fine. They were both just out of high school and both virgins. Neither had the experience to say otherwise. The logic of sex was infallible: put it in the hole. Thrust. Repeat. Sweat it out.
Good Catholics through and through, their primary mode of operation was a stolid missionary position. Steve humped like he’d been pulled off the assembly line. He operated in total silence, lasered in on the task at hand. His primary objective was to not ejaculate within the first five minutes of entry.
Brenda, meanwhile, was a moaner, even when she didn’t come. She more than made up for Steve’s lack of noise in the bedroom. She grunted like a quarterback on the receiving end of a blitz. “Jesus mercy!” she would pant. “Bless us with five beautiful kids. We ask you in his name, amen.”
Steve slid out and rolled onto his back, spent in more ways than one. Within minutes, he snored.
Whatever their method, it worked — for a time. They topped out at two kids, a boy and a girl.
Middle age passed in a blur of work and childcare. Steve got a job in a factory and worked ten hour days. Brenda succumbed to the constant chores of motherhood: bathing, feeding, disciplining, and chauffeuring their kids everywhere. It left them exhausted.
In bed, they spooned. Occasionally, Steve would awaken in the middle of the night frisky and in the mood. He rubbed her peach until she squeezed her legs together and pushed his yearning hand away. He’d lie there stiff as a board, waiting for her to reciprocate, until he grew impatient and finished himself off into a dirty sock left beside the bed.
Before they knew it, the kids were grown and out of school. Steve had grown large and soft in the middle, his big belt buckle a metal stamp on his prodigious beer gut. Brenda tried Pilates for a while, which kept her arms more or less taut and her butt more or less firm…until they weren’t anymore. Still, their love remained intact. Aging suited their sensibilities; they slipped into their 50s like wearing a comfy old shirt for Sunday football.
One evening, Steve was about to roll over onto his wife and assume the position. Her knees kicked up out of old habit, and her ankles fit into his waiting hands like stirrups.
“Steve?” Brenda gazed up at her man with adoring eyes.
“Yeah, babe?” Steve was distracted trying to get his sail to rise.
“Do you think maybe you can…choke me?” Her lips creased into a hesitant smile.
“W-what?”
“Just like a little bit, maybe.” She reached up to place a hand on his face. “Just put your hands around my neck and squeeze.”
Steve leaned forward to where they were belly-to-belly, face-to-face.
“You sure about this?”
Brenda bit her bottom lip and reached between her legs to touch herself. Then, she guided Steve’s hand to her moistening peach. “I don’t know that I’ve ever wanted anything more.”
“Don’t we need like a secret password or something?”
Brenda giggled. “A safe word.” She had been doing some reading on the internet.
“Oh.” He paused, thinking. “But if I’m choking you, how you gonna be able to speak?”
“I’ll tap your arm here, like this.” She gave a three-fingered tap to his wrist. “Otherwise, I’ll say ‘bluebells’.”
After years of working in manufacturing, Steve could no longer hear so well.
“Blue balls?” His face grew red. “What kinda joke you playin at?”
“Bluebells, hon.” She stroked the salt and pepper hair on his chest. “Do this, will ya? For me?”
“All right, all right.” He kissed the crook of her neck and once more assumed the position. She guided him inside and he began to thrust. One hand went behind his lower back for support and the other, as was his habit, reached for one of Brenda’s boobs.
She took his hand and led it up, brushing against the humid space between her breasts, across her collarbone, finally stopping at her throat.
“Now, just…squeeze.”
Steve’s fingers pressed gingerly against the soft flesh. He could feel her windpipe widening and constricting to allow the thin passage of air. As he gripped tighter, she gasped, and he felt submerged beneath an ocean of warmth that drew him down deeper inside.
Brenda began to gyrate her hips in a way that soon had Steve reeling with pleasure. He closed his eyes and squeezed tighter. Brenda orgasmed three times in rapid succession, something that had never happened before. In recent years, she felt lucky to get off once.
The oxygen deprivation had her feeling dizzy. She tapped Steve’s wrist thrice, but he was lost in the moment.
“Bl-uugh,” she gasped. “Behhh.”
Steve opened his eyes to see Brenda’s rolled into the back of her head, which dangled like a marionette. Concerned, but at this point irreversibly in the act of coming, he pulled out and showered her face with sperm. It was something he’d never dared do before. This time he couldn’t help himself.
Brenda opened her eyes in a flash, breathing hard and heavy, and felt the cooling ooze sliding down her cheek.
“What happened?” she asked, touching her face. “What did you do?”
“The only thing I could do, hon.” He collapsed on the bed beside her and kissed her sticky lips. “It was an emergency.”
“My hero,” she smiled. “How did you know what to do?”
“Oh…I heard about it on the internet.”
“Praise the Lord,” she said. “We should do this again sometime.”
