We hadn’t had sex in three years. Or maybe it was four or five. A long time. Too long. And to think that at one time, too long ago, we couldn’t get enough of each other. Risk of heart attack? Maybe that was it. We didn’t discuss it. But this morning I woke up with my cock in her mouth. Her eyes, deep and lewd and loving, held mine as she sucked. “Oh honey,” she said, clamoring on top of me.

It wasn’t how I remembered. Frankly, I don’t know exactly what I remember, but now it was as if I were fucking air. Air laden with moisture, to be sure, but there was something empty about it. “Yes, yes, yes,” she chanted. “Make me cum. I need to cum. Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.”

I wanted very much to make her cum. We banged together, fast and hard. I could feel our groins smashing each other, but where was the succulence of her cunt? The rhythmic clench as she came?

She stopped. “Did you cum?” she asked. It was not quite a question, not quite an accusation. And I wasn’t sure of the answer. She lifted off of me and wandered outside.

I donned a robe and followed her into the ruined garden. On the far side near the wall was a culvert. Frail butterflies gathered and swooped. Some fluttered their way into the rusting iron pipe. My love bent low and lifted one of the stones fallen from the crumbling wall. “Watch out for snakes,” I warned. “Don’t be silly, there are no snakes here,” she replied. But no butterflies either, apparently. She peered into the dark hole.

I crouched behind her. I couldn’t resist.

Oh God was it good!