A bad start to a bad day.

Yes, Dear Reader, my insomnia is back, along the accompanying sexual frustration.
If you were trawling my sordid pages about a year ago you would might know where I’m coming from on this. Or rather these: the connection between sleeplessness and unsatiated lust. Waking up at a civil hour and being horny is expected: being horny when I wake in the middle of the night is inevitable.

This morning I woke about about 2½ hours too early, as I have done for the last 5 days. Unsurprisingly I felt the urge to stick my dick in something, and preferably my Wife’s cunt. Not wanting to disturb Her slumbers, I stared at the ceiling, and gently pleaseured myself with a one inch wank™. As I pulled my foreskin back and smeared my pre-cum around my corona, She stirred, and put a hand on my shoulder.
Great, I thought, and put a hand on Her hip.
There was no response, but no objection.

As She didn’t snuggle up, I considered how low my chances of getting a fuck were at such an early hour. But to hell with it. Nothing ventured … She hadn’t yet given any indication that She wouldn’t be receptive to sex, and it was barely more than 2 weeks ago that She said well I can’t really complain about us not having sex if I do, so I eased my thumb into the crease of Her groin.
Again no response, but no objection.

Still not favouring my chances, I halted my own progress for a second or two. I was going to take the lack of reaction as a bad sign, but then thought, no, I need a fuck every once in a while and it should be ok for me to initiate sex when I’m in the mood. So I stroked very gently, and carefully. Just enough to get the message across.
She shifted a little … and clamped a hand down on mine.
The ubiquitous stop signal.

I froze. Physically and emotionally.
Though emotionally, I boiled just a little at the same time.

Less than 15 seconds later, I’d got out of bed, picked up my jeans and a sweater, and was heading downstairs for a mug of tea, possibly a wank, and to upload my troubles into the blogosphere.

An hour later, I heard the floorboards creak and She went to the bathroom. Then straight back to bed.

In Her position, Dear Reader, if I’d known my Wife had wanted sex, and I’d been too tired to oblige, but then woken up enough to get out of bed to empty my bladder, knowing that She’d almost certainly be feeling rejected, I’d have made damned sure I had an erection for Her when I went downstairs with an invitation to fill Herself with it. I wouldn’t have just gone back to bed. And nor would you, Dear Reader. Would you? But then again, you and I are not such asexual creatures.

Her: Another 5am?
Me: 4;30.
Her and reached out and I dodged it by reaching for my mug.
Me: It’ll end. [By which I meant this bout of insomnia.]
Her: Just so you know I’ve had another stomach upset in the night.
Initially I said nothing – She doesn’t not have the most resilient of constitutions sometimes.
She looked … I don’t know … sympathetic … apologetic … maybe, if I was giving Her the benefit of the doubt.
Me: Time for showers, breakfasts and making packed lunches. (Our respective duties with respect to our spawn.)
And I slipped past Her and went upstairs.

Having not tossed myself off, when I got out of the shower my member still pointed at 8 o’clock. She came back into the bedroom to ask something inconsequential, and just as I put on one of my brightest items of underwear (which She has not seen me in to date) I paused, naked, and out of the corner of my eye noticed Her glance at my semi.

Over breakfast I was grumpy. I don’t ask for forgiveness on this, and am not proud of it, but I wear my heart on my sleeve. My mood could have been for any number of justifiable reasons – it is destined to be a bad day on numerous unconnected counts – but I suspect She at least guessed why.