On the Dishwasher

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A simple task reminds Renae of making her choice and a first time.

© SouthernCrossfire – 2023. All rights reserved.


With the senior vice president of Renae’s firm having been in town for the past two days for meetings and planning sessions, the local branch managers were hosting a breakfast for him before he left to return to Chicago later in the morning. She worked late in her downstairs office the night before, saying that what she was working on had to be done by morning, so Martin read for a while until she came to bed and started nibbling on his ear. Being just over six months along with their first child, her sex drive had rarely been higher so the evening improved greatly at that point with his book being forgotten.

She was up early that morning and kissed him goodbye before he left for his morning run. “I look forward to seeing you tonight, my love,” she said in her sexiest voice, kissing Martin’s neck and licking his ear lobe, sending shivers all over him and giving him an idea.

“God, me too,” he breathed as he slid his hand down and cupped a cheek over the dress. “Say, if I were to skip this run, you think you might have time—”

She shut that idea down with a laugh, another kiss, and a stroke over his running shorts that was more torture than invitation. “Tonight, sweetheart. Now go.”

As expected, she’d already left for the event by the time Martin got back from his run. He got a glass of water and started drinking it when he noticed an envelope on the kitchen countertop above the dishwasher rather than their usual spot for notes on the refrigerator door.

It was very unusual for Renae to use an envelope for a note; in fact, Martin couldn’t remember such a case and it worried him. That it was sealed was even more worrisome; on the front, she’d written only “Martin,” in as neat a handwriting as he’d ever seen her use. Some say that women’s handwriting is typically better than the average male’s, but that wasn’t true in Renae’s case. He sometimes teased her about possibly having some chicken DNA in her family due to her usual scratchings.

An errant whiff made him pull the envelope closer to his nose for a good sniff that told him she’d probably used a dab of his favorite of her perfumes on the seal instead of her tongue. Martin knew that Renae could do wonderful things with her tongue when she wished; he was glad to think she hadn’t wasted the effort on such a mundane task.

His eyes closed as he inhaled more deeply, thinking of having held her tight in his arms so many times in the past, enjoying the smell of that perfume as he enjoyed the delights of her body and tried so hard to share the best of his own with her. With her belly getting bigger, they’d started using some alternate positions and he didn’t hold her as tight as in the past. That made him recall their doggy-style love of the night before, when they were slow and steady, allowing her breasts and tummy to sway gently until they were close. Then, she propped a pillow under her tummy and spread her legs further for their closeout, telling him to give it to her. Martin did, with harder, faster thrusts, the boom-boom-boom sound of their bodies slamming together, and the higher pitched sounds of his balls slapping hard against her swollen clit each time.

Martin’s memory not quite played out, he took yet another deep sniff and imagined her sweet breasts pressed against him as they snuggled together afterward, holding and kissing each other after their sexes had pleasured each other so well, the feel of her, so soft and inviting when he initially entered her and so deliciously wet and gooey afterward when filled to overflowing with their cum, and seeing her pulse and their cream run out afterward—

He shivered at the memory.

Realizing that his dick was rock hard and that his hand was unintentionally straying too close to it, he pulled away but was still smiling as he opened his eyes, remembering how she’d let him wash her up afterward and thinking how he hoped their evening might play out again tonight. As their little one inside her grew, they knew they probably wouldn’t be doing missionary or cowgirl, their usual favorites, for a while, but she really liked doggy-style sometimes, too, and with some pillows stacked under to help support her…well, maybe, he hoped, she’d be good with it again that night.

Using a paring knife from the block on the countertop to slit the envelope, Martin opened it and pulled out the letter, seemingly dabbed with another drop of that delightful perfume. Opening the letter, he saw it was more than one page…and that it was typed.

“Thank goodness!” he said to himself on seeing that, glad that he wouldn’t have to spend half the morning deciphering her handwriting. His apprehension returned then, hoping it wasn’t bad news as he started to read.


My dear Martin,

Good morning, my love! I love you so much and Maltepe Escort appreciate all you do for me and for our little daughter to be. Thank you for loading the dishwasher last night too; that was very sweet of you and reminded me of another event I want to share with you.

It was ten years ago this month that we celebrated our first six months together as a couple, even though we weren’t an “official” couple through most of that time. I don’t expect you to remember that, of course, but I mention it since it was a point that I recall so well as I started to think in the long term rather than wondering if we’d still be together the next week. It was about that time we started to realize we really wanted to be together again, every day if we could, and that we weren’t complete without each other.


Relieved it wasn’t bad news as he’d feared, Martin thought back to the time she noted, his mind running through the dates and confirming that she was correct with her timeline…and that he’d have never thought of it in those terms. She was also correct about how they’d come together; their early relationship was very tentative, with Martin wondering…and spending too much time doubting…whether he might actually have a chance with her, and her probably wondering if she’d want to take a chance with a guy like him.

Their first date was the worst; she was so nice, so sweet, and so beautiful, whereas Martin was a bundle of nerves, fumbling with everything, wondering if he was making a coherent point. Then she said that she wouldn’t have sex before marriage and it was like a weight was lifted from his shoulders and the rest of the date went better until near the end when he realized it was coming to an end and he wasn’t sure if he would get another chance with her. As he was telling her goodnight, Martin asked, “May I call you again?” and he saw the doubt and hesitation in her eyes before she gave a tiny nod and replied, “Yes, please.”

Each date afterward as they slowly got to know each other, he would give her a little kiss goodnight and ask once again if he could call her. Each time, she would say, “Yes, please,” so formal, so rigid-like, until one night after their kiss, which lasted longer than normal, that she gave him a smile and said, without hesitation, “Call me.”

Martin wasn’t sure if his feet touched the ground his whole way back to his car that evening. The next date, the kissing started long before they said goodnight.

He pulled the letter back up to his nose, took another whiff, and continued reading.


The problem was that coming from strict fundamentalist families and considering ourselves at least somewhat religious too, we were, putting it delicately, rather restrained. As we got to know each other better and became more comfortable with each other, we both greatly enjoyed our sessions of kissing, hugging, and tender caresses, but we were always careful to not to go too far with our physical intimacy, stopping our explorations where our clothing began despite the great temptation to continue on.


Yes, Martin’s parents had drummed into him the necessity of avoiding fornication, what they said was the terrible sin of having sex out of wedlock, and he’d struggled so hard to avoid it through college, probably ending up as the only 22-year-old virgin on campus by the time he graduated. Oh, he’d had a few close encounters, a couple of girls who’d taken the initiative and gotten their shirts off and his hands on their breasts, but he drew the line at the waist, and those two and another girlfriend went by the wayside as a result.

Not wanting to be alone forever, he kept dating and kept trying. When he met Renae—at church on a Sunday shortly after she moved to town to start her new job—and she agreed to a dinner date, he dreaded having to tell her about his “no sex until marriage” requirement. What he didn’t know until their discussion during that dinner was that Renae was a virgin too and that her family had been even more strict than his own. When she revealed that to him and told him that he wouldn’t be, as many of his friends said, getting lucky with her unless they worked out and actually got married, he felt like the luckiest guy in the world but then also the most apprehensive until she agreed for him to call her again.

Another sniff, a little one this time, and he continued on the page.


Our plan on the particular evening that I mentioned, that six-month anniversary of our time together, was to have a nice dinner at the restaurant where we’d had our first date, but there was a big game in town that weekend and the crowd flooded every restaurant in town as soon as the game ended, which was just before we arrived, of course! We were disappointed to find the wait was hours, not minutes, when we arrived, so I invited you back to my little apartment with a promise of cooking dinner for us.

You Cevizli Escort didn’t know but there wasn’t much in my fridge and I fretted all the way home about what I might fix without it turning you off and sending you away from me, possibly forever. Yes, I was, putting it mildly, rather insecure and was doing my best to break that shackle to become the woman that I wanted to be and also one that could love and please you if we were ever to be together.

On arriving, I had you open a bottle of wine—


Martin’s parents had been strict teetotalers too, and he never drank a sip of alcohol until Angie, one of his girlfriends, introduced him to beer and wine. She was drunk the night she took off their shirts and her bra, and he’d had at least a couple of glasses of wine, which probably lowered his usually rigid inhibitions. He enjoyed touching and kissing her ample breasts and nipples for a little while before he realized that if he kept going, he wouldn’t be able to stop there, particularly since she was teasing him, begging him not to stop. She cursed at him when he did and broke up with him the next day.

While they never went further and while Martin still didn’t really care for beer, Angie introduced him to a life-long appreciation for wine and he believed, despite his efforts, that he would remember that—and her big boobs—forever.

Shaking his head to try to clear that thought, Martin picked up reading where he’d left off.


—while I raided my fridge and did what I could in the tiny kitchen, worried all the while that I was going to get sweaty and turn you off. I cursed my insecurity in my mind and did my best with what I had; what I whipped up was passable at best, but you were so sweet. You praised my cooking and kissed me until my head practically spun before insisting on helping clear the table. Then you sent me to the living room to sit down and enjoy my glass of wine while you loaded the dishwasher.

Martin, that was, without a doubt, the sweetest thing I’d ever had a guy do for me, so I peeked around the corner into the kitchen and watched as you went to it. You held up a knife or spatula or something like that, looked at it quizzically, and then laid it down in the top rack before turning to pick up something else.

A little over eighteen months out from your time on the college rowing team, you were as trim as could be in your khakis and that button down shirt. Your muscles seemed to ripple below the fabric as you reached in the sink and then bent over, stretching to put each piece in the dishwasher rack. While our original intent had been for me to go into the living room and cool off for a minute or two before you came in, I was getting hotter and more bothered by the second as I watched you and saw that minute or two stretch close to ten. I finally understood what my friends meant about their husbands, boyfriends, or lovers, how they saw them and could go on (and often on!) about wanting them.


Her words reminded Martin of that event, long put out of his mind as one of the most mundane of happenings, but he smiled, having never known that she’d spied on him or that she’d so enjoyed what she’d seen. He’d been in a somewhat similar situation with his male friends, joining them in wanting to spend time with some pretty young lady or another…and then having to listen to them bragging about which girl they’d had sex with the night before, that they’d screwed or fucked or, all too often, fucked over, and him trying to keep from being interested…or jealous of them in their freedom.

Martin closed his eyes for a moment and took another little sniff of her perfume on the letter before looking to continue.


While I’d begun to question it weeks earlier (or maybe even months about you and years earlier for my situation), it was in watching you trying to be nice and to please me, just in loading those dishes in that tiny washer that evening, that I realized I wanted you, not only in the long term but then, that moment, not months or years down the road. I believe that we’d each silently debated going further in the preceding weeks and, despite what you said, I knew from the desire I saw in your eyes that I’d been the primary holdout.


It was true that he’d been thinking of being with her emotionally, physically, and even sexually in the weeks leading up to that little dinner, but his parents’ warnings pushed back hard, so deeply ingrained in him that he feared he’d fail if they were to ever go further before marrying, that he’d turn her off with his indulgence in the flesh and that she’d never want to see him again. At the time, he didn’t know she’d been having similar thoughts, keeping them to herself just as he had with his own.


My parents had instilled their sense of, shall we say, excessive morality in me and I respected their “piousness” and opinions, but, yes, I’d questioned Atalar Escort their beliefs for a long time, wondering if their rigidity made sense in the modern world and, more importantly, if those were right for me and if I needed to continue to be confined by them.

As I peeked into that kitchen watching your efforts, I was amused by your cluelessness and equally impressed by your fortitude, your determination to finish getting everything in that little dishwasher for me despite the fact that I knew at a glance that it wouldn’t all fit, particularly since you’d even loaded the clean things that were sitting over to the side (there because they wouldn’t fit in the cabinet). Yes, I knew you were intent on doing it for me, wanting to do something nice for me because you cared and I had tears forming in my eyes at how sweet it was as well as how funny.

Martin, I’d already seen how much you cared, both in your eyes and in your actions over the months we’d dated and it had become even more apparent in more recent weeks as we grew closer. Thinking of that and all of the commotion churning in my mind, I realized what I wanted, what I needed to do, both for me and my needs and for you. Yes, sweetheart, it was then and there, peeking into that kitchen, that I decided to do it. I knew it was my choice, not my parents’ and not anyone else’s, and I made it.

When you picked up the dishwashing liquid from atop the sink and started to pour it into that little cup, I quickly entered the room, trying to keep from laughing and to keep my resolve up before I chickened out. Stepping up behind you, I put my hands on your waist and reached up to kiss your neck, giving it just a little peck.

“Sweetheart, that’s plenty,” I said, tipping the bottle upright. “Say, why don’t you close the dispenser lid and shut the door, okay? It’s really noisy so I’ll start it later” or something like that. You did as I requested and I immediately slipped my arms around you and pushed up against you, trapping you between the dishwasher and my yearning body.

You started to turn toward me, intent on taking me in your arms, I’m sure, but I whispered, “No, my love, be still,” as my unsteady hands undid your belt, fumbled to unfasten the button on your khakis, and lowered your zipper.

“Renae,” you started in warning, but I shushed you, pushing down your pants and underpants, freeing your much-wanted manhood—my mother’s term for it—in my presence for the first time. I then had you turn toward me—a difficult task since your pants were still gathered around your ankles—and I discovered that your penis—your cock or dick as my friends all called it—was much bigger than I’d allowed myself to imagine.


Martin’s heart was racing as he read her words, bringing back the memory of that night. In truth, he had wanted her so badly, having realized just a short time before that if she were to ever say yes, he would be helpless against her wishes, even if he wanted to resist, to continue waiting. His heart had been racing back then, too, as he realized that she was serious and that she might break through or even discard some of their boundaries. At that moment, he didn’t care.

No, not “care;” he actually wanted her to.

His hand almost unsteady, Martin took another drink of water and turned to the next page of the letter.


I pulled my sweater over my head and dropped it to the floor in front of me; you must have thought it was an invitation to remove my bra because that’s just what you did, with less hesitation than I was exhibiting, if I remember correctly.


Martin laughed on reading that. Having played with Angie’s big breasts and having briefly cupped Linda’s much smaller ones, he was shocked to see Renae moving their relationship forward, particularly with her offering her sweet delicacies, C-cups he later learned, and so soft and tender in his hands that he couldn’t resist them….


You held and kissed my boobies for the first time with such abandon that I almost forgot my intent. I let you continue holding me, touching, caressing, and then kissing and suckling for a time as my hands encircled you and, though I didn’t know what I was doing, I began to slowly rub against you and then pump in response to your movements because it felt natural. When you smiled and gave a pleased moan, it gave me the confidence I needed to keep going.

However, it wasn’t long before I started to feel strange, nearing something I’d never felt before. It was, I’ve since learned, the onset of a building orgasm due to your play but having been so restrained to that point, I had no idea at the time. Because of that, I was worried that I might become ill and not be able to do what I wished for you, so I whispered “Enough” and dropped onto my knees on that sweater, which was the real reason I’d removed it in the first place, on the floor in front of you.

Your cock was so big, so hot and veiny, and the head so purple from my stroking that I reached out and kissed the tip to cool it even as I continued to run my hand up and down it. So soft and resilient but so hard and silky too, I was amazed and wanted to love it with everything I had.

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