We watched two videos last night. Both were sent by a dear friend who suddenly began to enjoy squirting orgasms in her 40s. Both videos were on achieving the vaginal orgasm.
My intention was for us to make love afterwards with a few more pussy tricks in mind, but that’s not what happened, folks. A knock down drag out emotional argument ensued instead complete with crying, frustration, passive aggression and stonewalling.
“Wanna go on a boat ride in an hour?” the text read.
“Yes!” my was response.
My husband launched a little 10′ boat into the water from our RV resort property. It was rudimentary and striped down which meant I used a life vest for a seat and stayed thoughtful about balance when either of us moved positions. But it was fun!
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.
I’ve been so proud of myself for writing every single day. I have to admit that on days like today where I have no sex to talk about and no major issues to divulge, it seems silly to even open the computer, but write I must.
Choosing to write everyday is like choosing to make love everyday. It’s deciding what you want and keeping your eye on the ball, staying focused, and not letting the fear of imperfection sway you. Inaction is the only thing that will now disappoint me, and that’s the failure to limit distractions and reach my goals. Consistency is a skill I must build.
We laid in bed last night connecting. I told my husband my big dreams again, this time clearer than ever before. “I want to have a late night talk show with lots of laughs and drama and glam and fun,” I beamed looking up at the ceiling fan in our dimly lit room. “It’ll be a weekly show, well written by strong yet fiercely feminine women and distributed on Netflix or Hulu or something like that. Our audience will be professional women who are seeking more joy in life.”
He might have fallen asleep somewhere between women and joy, but my bustling cackle of a laugh stirred him back to our room and into the conversation. “Oh yeah?” his automatic reply, “Sounds like you’re getting ready to leave me!”
The veil of sadness has lifted and the sails of happy are back at full mast. Now that the blood of life is seeping out of my body releasing toxic energy in her wake, the world is bright once more.
After dinner last night a realization about pleasure hit me like a ton of bricks. I was cooking our food, fully enjoying the moment, dancing to the music and tasting the dishes as they simmered. All of the boys were at martial arts class, including my husband, and I looked forward to their return so we could all eat and I could hear all about it. As soon as they came through the door, though, my mood shifted and I instantly felt annoyed.
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.
We’re not talking right now, and I’m afraid it went from bad to worse. The last time our marriage felt this bad, I started this blog. I can’t start another one. We didn’t have sex yesterday either.. the number of sexless days is shamelessly growing. We’re up to 8 now.
I cried my eyes swollen last night, a feat I’ve never accomplished before. Today I’m using ice bags in an attempt to bring them back down to normal.
Yesterday was the parade we ride in every year with our family. Although we already had the float, we hadn’t yet decorated it and still needed to get more beads. Our costumes needed to be decided and purchased too. For a family, this generally takes weeks, months even. It was shaping up to be a shitty last minute effort, and I wasn’t interested in propping up the mediocrity all by myself.
I’m all alone, again.
We made love again this morning as we always do. Just as soon as I opened my eyes, we were cuddling, kissing, groping, and eventually fucking. Sex didn’t feel as good as it felt yesterday afternoon when my husband pitched me up until the countertop in the bathroom, spread my legs wide open and went […]
We missed our sex yesterday. Fuck, that makes 7 times in 2019. I don’t like starting a month from behind already. But we missed because he fell asleep and was nearly impossible to stir to life. Believe me, I took off his pants and tried. It’s a funny thing about a fat cat. My husband […]
