Morning Sex and Coffee

I think I’ve said it before — I’m generally not a fan of morning sex.  I’m not a fan of waking up so being woken up before I’m ready by someone groping and grabbing just irritates me.  My head spins around like the girl from The Exorcist and it’s not at all pretty.

We used to have a lot more morning sex when things were new and we couldn’t keep our hands off each other and I was uber obedient and good and sweetly submissive.  But, yanno, we’re heading into our ninth year here and while the sex still rocks I’m not exactly sweetly submissive anymore and the heady feeling of waking up with someone has turned into….  ”ugh, I have to wake up? mmfpthph. waking up sucks, give me five more minutes, stop groping me, whimper whine.”  By the time I’m ready to wake up he’s already up and doing stuff and his morning sex mood is gone and I get the evil eye half the day.

But sometimes, the stars and planets and moon align perfectly right and he wakes me up with petting rather than groping and my pussy is twitching before he even touches it and…

Then?

Morning sex is the most fantastic thing ever.  Lazy and soft and quiet and warm, unfocused, cool, rumpled sheets and skin gliding against skin, a warm breeze teasing thru the window, a reconnection that sets the whole world back on it’s proper axis.

And then, an hour later, the coffee…  it tastes so good, like not only have each of my nerve endings been awakened but my taste buds, too.

This is shaping up to be a really, really good weekend.