I’m afraid, dear reader, that this blog is getting boring. Why? Because the passion and dissonance of our married, the very elements that make tango a romantic dance, are simmering into a beautiful, comfortable loving pie around here.
Yesterday was the second day we missed having some sort of sexual intercourse in January. And like the first time, it happened not on a day of aggravation or distance, but on a day of connection and warmth and true love between us.
“No sex tonight,” my husband said as he disrobed and climbed into bed next to me. It was 11:16pm and I’d been waiting for him to join me in our goddess palace for an evening rendezvous.
Was I horny? Absolutely not. I’m at the tail end of this drawn out visit from Aunt Flow, and I can’t wait to pop up on the other side feeling sexy again. However, we made a pact to have sex everyday, so I’m trying to keep up. Surprisingly, it was HE who said no. Not me. My husband, the one who wants to make love constantly, is the one who said he could “wait for tomorrow.”
Exhaustion is definitely setting in over here. We built up to our tango competition, putting every ounce of energy in last three days into some sort of preparation, execution or clean up box.
I spent the better part of yesterday tidying up our home which had looked like a big fat suitcase exploded in it. There were panty hose hanging from the ceiling fan and makeup dust all over the countertops. My husband’s entire pants collection was mopping the floor. The tie collection fell into the sink in our closet. A few beer bottles dotted the landscape.
I dream of the day of having a full-time housekeeper again. We got rid of my assistant when the last one went rouge trying to blame us for her gym accident. Financially it didn’t make enough sense to budget for another one until I had more money coming in from my star work to justify it. I’m doing my best to make do without the help.
We do have a housekeeper who comes in weekly to clean our home. We do have a yard guy comes stops by weekly to cut and edge the lawn. We do have a full-time bookkeeper who is around everyday, but she only handles finances and the occasional errand. I’ve found apps for shopping and shipping and whatever else I can delegate to a random person, but cooking is still on me for the time being, and so is the damn laundry.
But boy do I love ironing. Have I told you about that? Yes, while we wearing preparing for our competition, I pulled out the ironing board and went to town on all of our clothing. There’s something so gratifying about pressing a hot iron onto wrinkly fabric and witnessing the instant result of perfection.
When my son was in pre-school and kindergarten, I used to iron his clothes every morning. Can you believe that? I’d take his little khaki pants and catholic school polo skirt and run it through the hot press just so he could dump paint and jelly and glue on it.
Now I rarely iron. Most of the fabrics just don’t require it and the current setup of our laundry room isn’t conducive for a permanent ironing board, which is a must if you wish to iron daily.
But I digress. The point of this post is to tell you that I learned something very real about my husband over the weekend. It’s something he’s been telling me with his words since we met, but hasn’t been able to show me in actions until now.
My husband truly wants to make love to me only when I’m horny. Really! And the reason it has taken five years for me to witness the truth of this statement is because we’re fucking a lot now. He is in a state of sexual fullness that he’s never felt before, not from his first wife, not from his clubbing single days, not from our first five years. Never!
And in this fullness, I get to witness how he acts when his fuck cup is entirely full. He doesn’t need a mercy fuck, he doesn’t need a quickie. My husband needs me to desire him back. He needs me to be just as horny as he is now. And he’s willing to forgo a day or so of no orgasm in order to achieve it.
Wait, what?
“I promise, I won’t masturbate babe,” he whispered into my ear last night as he curled up behind me in our puzzle piece position. His muscular arms held me into his chest, his hands cupped each of my breasts. He kissed my neck and smelled my womanly scent. “You get all of my cum, Stella, every single drop. And I’ll save it for you tomorrow. Goodnight, sweetheart. I love you.”
Within moments he was asleep. A few minutes later so was I.