My most arduous sexual experience

I've been having fun taking story ideas from an ALT friend for an erotic story. I should be re-writing that, but I need a break. So I'm goofing off in order to share a personal true story. Don't expect to be aroused. I wasn't. And that brings us to today's topic: can a man still get an erection during bad sex? I found out that the answer is yes.

Back when I was in the Army I was stationed in Germany. I was being deployed all the time and with practically no notice. Consequently, it was impossible to plan much travel around Europe. I just never knew if my deposit on travel tickets was going to be lost because of another last minute mission to Bosnia or not.
But I got an opportunity to take a weekend bus trip to Paris, France. My wife and I were very excited. I grew up speaking French and I'm very fluent and wanted to practice. We both looked forward to getting a guided tour of the romantic City of Lights. But we ended up participating in what I can only describe as a tourist death march. (As in: "If it's 7:50PM, it must be the Moulin Rouge.")

Loaded onto a giant tour bus Friday night, we slept in our seats and woke up with stiff necks the next morning in Paris. Then it was a series of lightning visits to all the major sites of the city. But there was so much to see that it became ridiculous. Our able, amusing and flamboyantly gay German tour guide, Franz, would announce things like: "next stop the Louvre museum. Dear people, you have 45 minutes to fit in lunch and a visit to the exhibition halls." If you've ever been, you know that it can take 2 days to enjoy all the art in the Louvre. 45 minutes is patently ludicrous. And yet we kept up this relentless pace all day and into the night. And since Saturday was New Years we didn't crawl back to our hotel at the outskirts of Paris until 3:00AM. I was exhausted.

I was over-stimulated from the pace of our whirlwind sightseeing. And then the evening's drinking and socializing had sucked out my last reserves of energy. I wasn't drunk, but I was so tired that I couldn't walk a straight line without veering off and hitting some corner of furniture. Keeping my eyes open actually hurt. All I wanted was some sleep. And I didn't even expect it to be very refreshing since our wake up was going to be 6:00AM. But it didn't matter.

I stripped out of my clothes and brushed my teeth like a robot. As I stumbled out of the bathroom I saw my exhausted wife sprawled out on the bed in her favorite red lingerie. My heart sank. All I wanted was sleep but now I knew she had other plans. At that point in our marriage, if I saw that lingerie I knew that my wife was trying very hard to send the message: If you see this, I expect you to be turned on and ravishing me within seconds.

Normally this gambit worked, but not tonight. God no. Not tonight. The idea of sex never looked so unappealing. Lazlo's hierarchy of needs demanded that my first priority be sleep. Nothing else mattered. I groaned audibly while standing at the foot of the bed.

"I'm just as tired as you", my wife scolded. (I was so envious... She got to say this while horizontal and with her eyes closed.) "But we might never get another chance to come back and I don't want to live life knowing that I missed a chance to make love in Paris."

What can a husband say to that? So what followed was the worst sexual experience of my life. It came perilously close to marital rape since my utter physical exhaustion demanded sleep so insistently. And yet, I somehow managed to produce a serviceable erection. Not that I know how. My wife must have absently stroked my balls or something - but she had it so easy. She got to lay there unmoving, on her back with thighs open and half asleep. The bitch.

Normally love making was so inventive and but now I was trapped within a British sex joke. (I seem to remember an apocryphal story about Victorian women being advised to "think of England" in order to make sex tolerable. But as an American, that advice was no good to me.) So it was torture to move my hips and maintain some kind of erection. But it was understood that this wouldn't count as "love making in Paris" unless I released some cum.

I wouldn't go so far as to say that I actually felt any orgasmic pleasure, but I did ejaculate. I don't know how it happened, but I did, and it can't be seen as anything but a miracle. Duty fulfilled, I pulled out, rolled over and slept the sleep of the damned.

It was hard to enjoy Sunday and our return bus trip to Germany because our entire tour group was so strung out from the pace of operations. But at least my wife and I loved enough of what we saw to come back on our own. After leaving the Army we managed two very leisurely and genuinely romantic winter vacations in Paris.

So that's my story. Although, like any real war story, it's hard to discern any meaning or moral point to the tale. Some people survived. Some things were destroyed. (Such as the red lingerie, which now had a bad mental association.) But I suppose it does prove the point, that a guy really can cum despite a complete lack of arousal. And if there has to be a lesson, I suppose it could be this: some things are not worth finding out.