As the title states, I'm not really sure what to call this. A dedication to my wife, a diary of our love and sexcapades. . . who knows. What I do know is it's about a journey of discovery, connection, love, and exploration. Some details WILL be changed, but the impact of those details, not so much. There's some backstory before the fun stuff. It'll be worth it, so I'm not going to give you any shortcuts.

We'll start with trigger warnings. I'm not going to sugar coat anything here folks. My wife has been through some shit. Me, much less. Think Sunday Showers, me - to the encyclopedia of Every Hurricane to have smackith'd Florida residents - her.

Child Abuse

Sexual Assault (against male and female alike)

Injuries from Sexual Assault

Gang Rape

Sex Trafficking

Suicide

Domestic Violence

Eating Disorders

Now - to start things off, I'm going to tell you all a little bit about my wife and I so you can better understand where we're coming from throughout this.

Myself - CJ. People pleaser, people watcher, terrible social skills, MEGA CHECK. Only child, check! Discovered porn at an early age, check! Super Perv Powers Activate! I read people. Upon first meeting, some people I can tell who they're thinking about when they smile. Others, I can read like a book. Others still, their life plays like a movie in front of my eyes. My wife was one of those last ones.

Wife. Forthwith to be known as Maze - Terrible family life as a kid - ***understatement*** of most epic proportions possible. Abusive parents and family members of all kinds. Attempted and threatened suicide due to all of that and sexual assault by a family member. Sexually assaulted and Gang raped multiple times by different groups before the age of 18. Fled the state into multiple other abusive relationships. Escaped with six-month-old child. Then we met. Almost forgot - eating disorders - yep. those, too. Has lost about 1 1/3 of me (when we met) since we met.

Dating websites can help connect people. Specifically, it was very good at connecting people who got bored enough of their pathetic lives (Hi, this is me.) to spend dozens of hours answering questions about potential partners. I answered 600 questions over several years on a platform, so that when finally got back on, and I matched with my now wife. . . we matched at 99%. I figured that was pretty good. She was hot as fuck, seemed interesting, and the numbers spoke volumes as to how we'd get along. I forgot to mention, I like the numbers. You can thank my crazy math teacher in middle school for that somehow - I would literally eat food I was allergic to on Monday so I could have my mom take me home for the afternoon, math was my first subject after lunch.

We spent two months texting, chatting, and even a few phone calls before we finally met. TOTALLY not a date - was totally a date. Yeah, it actually worked. I was severely underdressed, jeans and a Ghostbusters t-shirt. I shit you not, I about died of embarrassment when she walked in. She dressed like she wanted me to be well and fully aware that she was aware that she had all the assets to please, regardless of whether I was an ass, tits, or lips man. Here's the thing, though. In the months leading up to our meeting, she told me a lot. She gave me a small picture of all the people who had raped their way out of her life, the lies they told her and themselves to make them able to sleep at night, the years of self-doubt, self-loathing, suicidal thoughts. . . I had an idea of a lot of it. I wasn't ready, however, for when I was presented with ***literally the most beautiful woman in the world to me*** to also have her life play in front of my eyes in a split second. If I said I was ready for the things I saw/felt through her eyes in that moment, I'd be lying.

I felt the pain of straw as it stabbed and scratched her so hard she bled on the floor of the barn as he held her down, doing as he pleased without a thought for her. I felt the hollowness she felt as she woke up in the hospital bed bandaged up. . . slowly replaced with dread as she realized she was here. I felt the seed of hope in there somewhere. . . that yearning for the days when she could really begin to heal, and the realization that that day was so. far. away. I felt them tear the thin wall between her holes as they took what they wanted. I felt the anger, loneliness, and connection she felt as she returned to what she hoped would be a better life for her and her baby. I felt the calm as she restrained her first sub that wet himself in excitement. I saw her strength, her fragility, and her sense of self. A totem burnt, hacked, bloodied and bleached. . . but still standing strong. She'd been to and through Hell more than once, and was too strong to be pulled down into the pit to rest.

I'll be honest. I already knew I wanted to marry her and spend my life with her. After that moment, though? I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life doing my best to make it so she could see herself through my eyes. So she could see the golden stiches in her scars. The beauty in her indefatigable, no bullshit nature. Yada yada - I proposed 2 months later and we were married within 7 months.

Most stories of teh sexyness you find are rife with super duper horndoggery. Our marriage has spurts. The fact that that we've been married 18 years and she was pregnant for quite literally 8 of the first 10 years should tell you more about my 'batting average' than anything. It sat at about a .935 until she had her tubes removed with our last kidling. Maybe 10 times out of the first 10 years where she wasn't pregnant and we attacked each other with no clothes on. . . she DIDN'T get pregnant. She as fertile as jungle and my seed's as good at knocking down tiny doors as a shrimp is at kicking. While I could happily ravage her 1-2 times daily, Maze has the appetite for 0-3 times a month. . . sometimes. Let's talk about one of those times.

I, for one, am blind to even some pretty . . . forward advances. Short of Maze grabbing my cock and/or staring into my soul while licking her lips, I'm clueless as to when she's in the mood. As I think I mentioned earlier, she's also not in the mood often. What is my solution? Regularly letting it be known that she can use my face as a seat. Light, but sensual touches everywhere from the nape of her neck to the callouses of her feet, (totally not a foot fetishist but would happily put my mouth on her feet if it made the slightest positive difference in her mood) to the impossibly soft yet scarred cheeks (any set applies here, perverts) I so adore to kiss, knead, slap, and fuck. Lips, too. Jesus.

Today was one of the days Maze and I were on the same page. Sometimes, your partner's touch isn't just electric, sending shivers of current, erupting goosebumps along highways you can barely imagine existing across both of you with even the simplest of light touches. . . but it sets you on fire. One touch of hers on the crease between my thumb and index finger ignited the desire. . . the NEED to feel her skin on my skin. As much of it as I can as I do my very best to forget she's anywhere or anything but touching me. I molded her hand into mine, pulling her to me up off the couch into a kiss, grabbing her ass and pressing her into me. The older kids were at school, and the youngers silence either meant hell was about to break loose or they were fast asleep in their room. I didn't care either way, I just had to get her naked, I had to make her cum, and it had to happen post-haste.

As we were holding onto one another, the trip from the couch in the front room to the bedroom wasn't a smooth one. Even with her incredible clumsy ass, we managed to get into the bedroom without running into anything we couldn't see, didn't step on any kids toys big enough for us to let our pain be known, and she didn't let my lip out of her teeth. Did I mention she likes to bite? She likes to bite. It is uncommon for me to not have bite marks. Sometimes, a bit of my thing, usually at least doesn't bother me. Sometimes, though, she bites too hard. This day's bite marks lasted for weeks.

This was the first time she realized I was strong enough to **A.** Launch her over the pile of clean laundry at the foot of the bed and **B.** Tear her panties off for quicker access to eating her out. **C?** Her touch had awakened in me a thirst for her pussy juice that would only be sated by making her cum so hard for so long she could no longer use her hands or her arms for anything. No more claw-like grabbing at my head, trying to turn my nose into a tattoo needle to tattoo her groans of pleasure above her clit. No more pulling me away because the sensation is too much. . . No more pincering my head into place with her thighs. Just the sweet taste of her on my tongue, and her total surrender.

This was the first time Maze achieved sub-space twice in one session. All of her supreme bratty-ness had gone. Her habit of trying her absolute best to not use her words now a moot point, because we both knew all too well that she had no desire to do anything in this moment. Slowly brought back to reality, after some minutes she whispered "Fuck me. . . Fuck me. . .please?" as she rested her hand against my cheek, as a few exhausted/relaxation tears glistened from the corner of her eyes.

My dick is a strange character. Sometimes hard for entire shifts at work for no reason at all whatsoever, sometimes the hottest things in existence can't even 'lift' his length/hardness past anything resembling 'not quite flaccid.' Dr. StrangeCock is an unfortunately very well-fitting name for my penis. Thankfully, there is something that will, without fail, get me hard as a rock. Pleasing my wife. As I'd just finished making her cum to the point she could no longer try to push her fingernails through one side of my body and out the other, my cock was still very much hard enough to make an attempt at pleasing her further.

As horny as we are. . . when we are horny, we often find ourselves in Missionary. I love looking into her eyes, but I have the feeling that she's getting tired of the position because I can last a loooong time without a pillow under her ass or some variation to the position. The sensitive spots of Dr StrangeCock get massaged just enough to keep me hard and entertaining most of the time. Only when I'm stuck in my head do I lose out quickly. As usual, my eyes were glued to hers, and how wide open her mouth was. Was she grabbing and kneading at her own tits? Yes. Did I get the hint and alternate putting one of her nipples in my mouth to suck and nibble, perhaps even the occasional bite? Also yes. Missionary this time was enough to get us to our destination once again, her eyes rolling back in her skull, and her body trying to relax into nothingness.

Often, when Maze cums, her friend Rheumatoid Arthritis locks her hands into claws. Gripping me, the sheets, herself, or her magic wand against her clit. Tonight was no different. My first step in aftercare, breaking her death grip and massaging her hands -often while I have yet to pull my now-spent cock out of her was more arduous than usual. My cum instantly began leaking out of her as I made my exit. Without thinking, I leaned down and quickly lapped my tongue into her. Attempting to taste and clean up our mess quickly, without pulling her too far back into the primal moments we'd just shared. Holding her close, massaging her, and whispering how good a girl she was for cumming for me for so long and so hard multiple times. While we didn't beat her record that we had set years before, this night was just as memorable to me because of the way she smiled as she fell asleep in my arms. This was the one and only time she hasn't woken up when I got out of bed to return to my bed in the other room. Yes, I sleep in a different bed and room, as I have Restless Leg Syndrome and snore up a storm. Still working on ways to deal with that, as we both miss holding each other close throughout the night.

It took awhile for you to find me
But I was hiding in the lime tree
Above the city in the rain cloud
I poked a hole and watched it drain out
- Trevor Hall - The Lime Tree