It’s 9:30pm. Sunday night. I cooked dinner for the last hour. We ate as a family. Now I’m helping our children clean up the kitchen and get ready for bed. It’s the first school night after a much needed two-week Christmas holiday.
My husband has conveniently made his way to bed after dinner and is asleep already. He isn’t helping me with our family’s evening routine. He’s snoring hard, and it’s looking less and less like we’re going to make our commitment to having sex today. Nothing has changed. My anger creeps up fast.
It’s our unresolved issue starring me dead in the face. I think I’m scrubbing the pans harder than usual. Our son is talking to me, unaware of the voracity my inner dialog. I can’t hear one word he’s saying.
The kitchen is clean. The kids are asleep. He didn’t even tuck them in. “Is everything ok?” my husband asks mid-snore as I climb into bed. Is everything ok? I’m sure it’s just fucking fine for him.
“No,” I respond. I’m sitting up with my robe on. “I feel angry.”
“For what?” His question sounds genuine. I think he really doesn’t know.
“It’s the same stuff, babe.” I start recounting my issue. He starts rolling his eyes. I attempt to make him aware of a broad, fundamental problem. He defends his action as if they exist in a vacuum. And then the pop.
He throws something against the end table. Pow. I jump a little. Nothing broke. He used to never throw things.
The fight got louder. He sat up in bed.
“You’re mad because I was 15 minutes late and accidentally fell asleep tonight?” He’s snarling his words and yelling loudly. The entire house is probably listening with dread, maybe even covering their ears with tears. “You were mad last week because I didn’t answer your fucking call and didn’t pay you any fucking attention. There isn’t a fucking problem here. You’re just picking fights. That’s all your fucking doing.”
We used to never yell. This is all new. I’m so scared.
“You don’t understand me,” I respond as calmly as I can. “Please stop yelling at me. The kids are asleep.”
“I understand just fine. You want to make mountains out of molehills. And don’t fucking tell me what to do.” The look on his face could kill. Is this why his ex-wife left?
He’s not budging. Neither am I. This issue keeps coming up. Weekends mainly when he has free time to do whatever he wants and chooses to spend it doing his hobbies leaving crumbs for me and our family. We stare at each other for a few minutes, nostrils flaring.
“It’s not just going to go away,” I say finally breaking the angry silence.
“Well, this isn’t the way to bring it up to me.” He’s lying back down now and no longer yelling.
We haven’t had sex yet today. I’m not sure if we can. I’m not sure I even want to. I’m not sure he even remembers. I feel so angry and alone. “I wanted to make love tonight. That’s why your snoring made me angry.”
“Well, we could have been fucking instead of fighting this entire time.” He pulls the covers up to his face and turns away from me.
“You were asleep already,” I remind him.
“Yeah, well I’m sorry I worked hard today and am tired.”
You worked hard on your hobby. That’s what I wanted to say, but I didn’t. “Can we try to have sex?” I hate myself for asking. I’m so weak now.
“I don’t have a mad on/off switch, sorry Dear.” It’s final.
I pull the covers up to my face and turn away from him. Disappointed, I stare at the wall. I failed. We couldn’t commit to having sex everyday for a week, much less a year. Besides, lots of sex isn’t solving our issue. It’s just growing his inflated ego. What was I thinking? Despair again. What happened to that gentle man I married?
I feel like a child again or maybe how I felt in my first marriage. I’m stuck with a brute. We’re not partners. I’m just his wife.
Silence. Twenty minutes passes. I’m trying to sleep off the sadness.
Just then my husband moves. His arms wrap around mine. I feel his heat on my back. It’s our pretzel position. I let him in without hesitation.
“Thank you for hugging me,” I said finally.
“I’m sorry, honey. I tried really hard this weekend to do everything right. We really need to resolve this in different way. You know I don’t respond well to your anger. You have to be sweet to me. I love you and will do anything for you.”
“I love you too.” I sigh and let his words and embrace take me in fully.
I thank God when I feel his hand caressing my thigh, my hip, my waist before venturing to the warmth between my legs. It feels so fucking good, so right. I moan a little. This is what I want.
He leaves my side and disappears under the comforter. I can feel his lips on pussy. He’s licking her slowly, intentionally, lovingly parting my goddess lips and nibbling on my clit. She is so sensitive. Each lick sends a yummy warm pulse of ecstasy through my body. I pull off the armor and open myself to his pleasure.
His big throbbing dick enters me from behind. I moan. Thank God. “I need you, fuck, I need you.”
“I need you too, Stella,” he’s rocking me and massaging my g-spot with the head of his dick. I melt more. He kisses my neck and runs his hand through my hair. I’m secure. “I know what you need, my queen. You were just mad because you thought you weren’t getting my dick. I like that. My horny little pussy having a little hissy fit.”
“I don’t know,” I whimper. The independent woman in me hates what he said. Your dick doesn’t control me. It’s not my medicine. My hurt isn’t a hissy fit. The vulnerable goddess yeilds to the truth. “My body feels so good right now, so much calmer. Your body soothes mine.” I don’t care how weak it sounds. Making love tranquilizes me. Submitting to my king is my greatest power.
He’s pumping my pussy slowly while lovingly rubbing my clit with his rough fingers. I feel sedated like a baby nursing her mother. I’m completely powerless to this and it’s perfect. Nature’s medicine maybe?
“Ssh, relax.” He spreads my legs wider. “That’s my good girl. Feel that dick. Enjoy that dick. That’s your dick.” He’s deeper and thicker now. His steady voice is intoxicating. “You got my dick off three times yesterday like a good little whore. But you didn’t cum, did you?” He kisses my neck and reaches in to kiss my mouth. He smells divine. Masculinity made flesh. “My little whore needs to cum, doesn’t she? That’s what all of this is about.”
“I do. I need to cum. I was mad that you didn’t seem horny tonight.” The truth comes out. I’m used to being pursued constantly by my horny husband. I’m used to being the one to say no.
“Next time just put your pussy in my face and tell me to lick it, tell me to get it ready to fuck. That’s what you do. I just want to please you, Stella. Don’t get angry, just tell me I have a job to do.”
The swirls of pleasure start. One wave after the next pump through my body, and I feel delirious. My head is spinning and I feel drunk on his love.
“I need to get all of your cum, my king. It’s my job.” Submission complete. I’m convulsing now. My tight little hole is lubed with liquid desire. She’s slurping on his dick. She wants to get him off. She climaxing, and I’m moaning forgetting that the entire house is listening.
“You’re getting every drop of my cum this year.” Slurp.
She opens up wider to let him in deeper. “I want every drop for the rest of my life.”
He bursts inside of me. She gobbles it up. She can’t get enough.