My husband returned home from a full day out at the property. He’d been on the tractor all day smoothing dirt and getting ready for more to arrive. When he came in, we chatted as he bathed. Our conversation was a bit uncomfortable and lacked its usual flow like neither of us were interested or perhaps crazy about what the other was saying. I understood him at least, yet I questioned whether he understood me.
Sensing the dissonance, I hopped off the counter and went back to the living room to read giving him the space to both finish his bath and decide to join me. I waited 10 minutes, then 20. At some point I did see him walk by the open bedroom door which meant he did know where I was.
After yesterday’s realization about our marriage roles, I was fully prepared to not go to him out of some respect for myself, but the article I was reading truly wasn’t getting my attention. I really was just playing a game. Sometimes you have to do that to break your own bad habits and test the waters of a connection. I got more irritated by the second.
Finally I got up to see what had his attention in the bedroom and found him dead asleep in bed. I poked him and he jolted up like a loud alarmed had sounded in his ear.
“What?” he said looking at me cock-eyed.
“You fell asleep,” I responded trying to not sound judgmental.
“So.”
“Well, I thought we were going to have some romance tonight,” I said sounding like a desperate little girl begging for attention.
He said nothing and looked around the room. Did he know what day it was?
“It’s 9:13 on Saturday night, babe,” I answered his unvoiced question. Perhaps I also wanted him to understand my discontent.
“So, what? I’m tired,” he said.
I stared at him for a few moments. He got out of bed and sat on the chair in our room. I moved closer to sit in front of him.
“What?” he barked at me, “stop staring at me.”
“I’m not trying to stare, babe, just trying to figure out what’s going on.” I got up and moved to the other side of the room. He said a few things but I don’t remember what they were. I made sure not to look at him. Finally I said, “Look, I can see that you’re tired. I was hoping to spend some time with you tonight, but I’m not going to sit in here any longer and stare at you or the wall. I’ll go find something else to do with myself. If you need me, you know where to find me.” I left the room and made my way to the living room sofa.
Did I expect him to follow? Yes, yes I did. Did he? No, no he didn’t. I turned on the TV and flipper through some channels pretending to read the show titles but I was seething inside. God, do I feel invisible. What the fuck? He’s a self-absorbed ass. I was angry.
Just then I saw the lights go off in the room and heard the door shut. He really did just go to the sleep. Wow.
Shaking the feeling, I called to my son to make some popcorn. At least a decision has been made. We’re getting our double digit card tonight because he’s so tired and I’m going to watch Black List on Netflix. Cheers to a fabulous Saturday night.
Twenty minutes into the show, my husband appears out of nowhere and plops himself down on the couch.
“I’m sorry, Stella,” he said looking up at me like a shameful dog.
“For what?” I asked shoveling popcorn into my mouth.
“For acting like such a jerk to you.”
I flicked him a kernel. “Thank you for apologizing.”
He chewed. “I love you and don’t want to treat you that way.”
I flicked him another kernel. He curled into my arm and pretended to be interested in the show.
We made it back to the room like young lovers and attempted to make great love. I was on the end of my period and not feeling sensual at all. Of course, it didn’t help that my husband seemed to be forcing his desire as if the natural spring of goodness had run dry. It was the second time that I actually thought that my lack of orgasms might be affecting more than just my pleasure. Was it affecting his too?
He put me on my back and tried to please me in missionary. I felt nothing. He turned me to put my butt in the air and it felt better, but still not orgasmic. He eventually came inside of my pussy and literally fell onto the bed with his dick still inside of me. I feel with him and we cuddled for a few.
I have no idea why my husband works himself the way he does, why he gives every ounce of energy to his projects and saves almost none for me. Perhaps I picked the wrong time to go clit-free. Since then he hurt his back, we found during Mardi Gras, and I started my period.
A few great screams out of me might have tamed the fire a little, but who really knows. All I can say is good things come to those who wait, those who can forgo instant satisfaction for something even better down the road.