So much ground yet to cover

Awake. Alarm clock. Bathroom. Return. Snuggle. Foreplay.
[I won’t bother you with the conjunctions and pronouns, Avid Reader. I’ll assume you’ve read all of the last fortnight’s posts and for you, it is becoming as reliable a start to a post as it is a start to a morning for me.]

For once I feel the need for a piss too, and when She returns to bed I get up briefly for my own relief. When I return we snuggle up and I put a hand on Her thigh. [There you go Dear Reader, a little role reversal to mix things up on a Sunday morning.]

We seem to be doing OK, a little cautious perhaps, but nothing untoward. Then She suddenly shifts Herself, breaking the momentum, adjusts the pillow, slumps back down, readjusts the pillow, drops Her weight back onto the bed again and tugs the duvet around.
Me: Are you OK?
Silence. My question had been quiet and maybe She hadn’t heard me through the rustle of the bedclothes.
Me: Are you OK?
Some mumbled answer. I couldn’t pick out the words but the tone was sharp and unappreciative.
Me: I wasn’t trying to give you a hard time.
Her: OK.
Then nothing.
OK. That’s the end of sex for today. I get that. That’s not a problem.

But She starts again, and although I feel a little wary, I join in. I know I’m not going to try anything remotely adventurous this morning. Which is just as well as Her arms, elbows and hands tell me my attentions are not welcome round Her tits, and if that’s the case, I ain’t risking going anywhere near Her inner thighs!

We fuck for a while, and as fucks go it’s OK. But I’m not getting there. Possibly a side effect of me having a wank when I went to sleep and a wank when I woke up whilst She was away on business the night before last.
Me: I don’t think I’m going to cum in your pussy this morning.
Me: OK.
Me: Can I do something for you?
Me: No!
The force of Her answer was unexpected and was spat out like a rebuke. I reeled for a moment as She rolled off me.
Me: That was pretty blunt.
Me: Too much back and neck pain.
Me: It was still pretty blunt. Especially as I was offering to do something for you.
Me: If I though I’d get anywhere I’d have said yes.

No apology.

She tried to snuggle up, but smarting as I was, I wasn’t interested in reciprocating. We lay their in silence, Her arms around me, mine not around Her. A door creaked across the landing, then ours was pushed open and a child snuggled into bed with us.

I got up and went for a shower, and the first thing I wanted to do was wash Her juices of my cock. It’s well documented that rape victims often wash and wash and wash to get them selves clean. Somehow that soap and scrubbing might cleanse them of what they have been subjected to. I don’t mean to equate unsatisfactory sex and a curt dismissal as anything like rape, but in that moment, as I washed the evidence of my Wife from my body, I understood a little of that thought process.

My ablutions done, I returned to the the bedroom to get dressed.
Her: Turn the light on or open the curtains if you need.
Me: No, it’s fine.
And with that I got dressed in the dark, went downstairs, made breakfast, ate mine, and by 7:40am on a Sunday I was sat at my desk. I have a lot of work to get through before Monday, that thankfully will probably keep me behind a closed door for most of the day.

With hindsight, yes, I was probably over reacting. No, my response was not constructive.
In my defense, it was She who initiated sex, full in the knowledge that She had a painful neck.
It is good that She was prepared to put my pleasure before Her pain, good that She wants us to have a sex life.
It is anything but good that, even after so many years, She has not learned that for every metaphorical punch She swings, She will have to take 10 steps forward before I permit Her to take another.
She could have asked for a neck massage. She could have been polite. She could have refrained from being ungrateful yet again. And if She could not, She should have had the self awareness, the foresight to know that this could end badly.

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