Yesterday felt like a blur, like I was carrying around a heavy block of ice. My body was weak and my emotions were numb. Depressed may be what some people call it. I tried to do my best with it since it was Mardi Gras Day after all.
My husband came home at some point during the day and flashed a shy smile my way. I could tell he didn’t have the energy to fight with me. I think he blew me a side ways kiss too, testing the waters. I snickered. A part of me wanted him to jump me, pound me, make me surrender to his power, and beg for my love. But that wasn’t the part of me who responded.
Whatever, I said without words tossing my head the other way.
Surely it wasn’t what he wanted either. I could see a slight deflation in his pride as he closed the door behind him and left. Not many words were said. War was still on.
Why? I haven’t a clue. I absolutely despise spending my precious time in some state of drama with my man. The battles of late have been deeper than any battle before. Our marriage is shifting, and all of the sex hasn’t really helped, I hate to admit. Perhaps it’s only clouded my judgement, no, it’s flavored my discontent causing my heightened states to be highly sexualized. I find myself simultaneously aching for an intellectual debate while also aching for his body. Just put it in me already.
That’s what he did this morning, waking me up before my alarm to his warm body pressed up against mine. He caressed my side, my hip, the dip of my waist and the roundness of my breast. I could feel his sex growing. It had been days since his dick felt the inside of my body. We missed two in a row, a first for 2019. Our missed day count is up to 9 now. March isn’t looking so good.
I kept my eyes closed and focused on the breathing and the sensations. I need his body even as my soul yearns for more. She needs connection, purpose, attention. She’s in the desert of loneliness, squeezed between the realities of family and the dreams of her wild heart. I need more. I need more. I need more.
The chanting echoed through my mind as he tousled my nipple whispering sweet nothings in my ear.
“You are so beautiful, Stella. I missed you so much.”
Moments later my body opened and let his monster dick inside for a sweet tight little ride. I knew he was in desperate need of a woman’s touch. Our needs are different, of course, and you know I’m still not touching my clit.
Is all of this discord my angry clit’s making? Shit. I hadn’t thought about my lack of an orgasm affecting my mood in such a drastic way. My body is also running without his cum too. No wonder I feel heavy and weak. The drug that sustains me has been in very short supply.
Fuck, that’s nonsense, I’m a strong woman who can go weeks, months, years without sex, if need be. My feelings are real. I need more than a dick to heal me. I need some excitement, novelty, adventure, purpose. I need something else to write about. Perhaps, I’m fucking bored.
I seem to find everything wrong with him when I’m not happy with myself. It’s as though I’m seeking meaning from our relationship instead of from my life in general. Our marriage can’t save me. My husband is but a life partner. He’s not superman or a god or even a crazy fan. His happiness isn’t wrapped around mine. He’s just a man doing the best he can.
I wish he’d climb on me, but his sore back prevents that position from being comfortable right now. It’s my favorite position, though. Fuck that pisses me off that he’s planning to go to martial arts class tonight despite his back not being fully healed. I feel instantly unimportant, like his class is more important than my satisfaction during sex. I’m pretty sure if I’m going to have vaginal orgasms, it’ll be in missionary. He’s just a man, Stella, I keep saying, he’s just a fucking man.
So I climbed on him. We kissed only a few times and caught eyes maybe once. Something inside of me feels dead, but I don’t want to talk with him about it. I tried yesterday and failed miserably. I met him down at the property where we’re building the resort. He was alone and working in his place of solitude away from the emotions running amuck at home.
He apologized for everything, everything, everything and hugged me tight saying he didn’t want to fight and that he loves me. The words were right, but the connection was still severed. I felt transparent as though he couldn’t see me through his own bruised ego and to-do list a mile long. Dressed in a beige head to toe coverall uniform and peering at me through the shiny blue lens of his fishing costa sunglasses, he leaned up against a trailer, propped his leg up on the fender and listened as I attempted to bare my soul.
He doesn’t get it. Hell, I make no sense. The words coming out of my mouth sound like a jumbled up pile of random intellectual thoughts strung together on the string of changing emotions. I want the world, I need a partner, I’m tired of being alone. He just wants some peace, maybe some pussy today, and to fix his broken tractor. We’re so different.
Finally I left, said I was sorry for bothering him and would let him get back to work. I walked off alone, back to my car some 50 yards away wondering the entire why he didn’t walk with me. When I got to my car and turned around, I felt a yank at my heart when I saw him heading towards me with what looked like his hand in the air. Does he understand me? Is he trying to stop me? Does he actually want me to stay?
No. Just a rake in his hands and barely even a smile on his face.
I raised my legs to a swat over him this morning, his favorite way to cum in this position. He loves to see my pussy and my breast while he fucks me. His eyes studied me like he was wondering where I was and what I was thinking. I was quiet and emotionless, like a sad sack of despair. Who am I? What am I here for? Hell if I know.
Finally he gave up the search and settled on an orgasm. Pounding me harder, he cam a river inside and we both relaxed into a comfortable breathing match.
When I rolled off of him, I closed my eyes and wept inside, no tears. I cried them all the day before. I think he looked at me again wondering where I was, or maybe I’m dreaming that he did. Maybe I hoped he did. But there’s nothing left to say. I don’t have any solution, and he’s not going to save me anyway.
To myself I prayed that God would give me a reason to get up today. I thought about buying flowers for a friend. That’s a great idea! I got up and got ready. On the toilet, blood dripped out along with his cum. Relief. I might finally be done with this sadness.
I grabbed my purse and said goodbye. He didn’t ask why I was leaving so early. Of course not. I’m invisible but I’m free. I’m as alone as lonely can be.