I know I said I wouldn’t … Pt 16

This is it, Dear Reader. The last installment of the I Know I Said I Wouldn’t saga that will bring you up to date. I wasn’t going to post it today, but after this morning, I just feel it’s time to get all this catching up out of the way. An individual post will follow today as well, but it’s probably worth making sure you’re up to speed first.

Day 5304
I put a hand on Her thigh long before the alarm went off.
Her: How are you doing.
Me: Fine.
Her: I guess I should take it as a positive that you’re trying to have sex. But you seemed to spend most of yesterday not liking me and I’m finding it hard to make that transition.
Me: It’s not that I didn’t like you but it’s tough being made to stare into a bottomless void.
Her: That’s the same for both of us.
For me, the bottomless pit is a life without sex.
My dick twitched against Her arm, and there was no response.
I sigh.
Her: Sorry
Me: It’s fine.
Of course it’s not fine. It’s shit.
At the breakfast table, my head hung as low as my heart had sunk.

Day 5306
Last night was shit. Not relationship shit. Just the life’s-shit-cos-your-a-grown-up kind of shit.
This morning, without significant preamble, She asked if She could do anything for me. She didn’t think Her head would be in the right place for anything else.
My answer was simple. No.
Not in a dismissive way. Just no because, as you may have gathered, Dear Reader, more readily than Her, I don’t want to get tossed off.

Day 5309 am
I’m about to get out of bed and make my escape with my turgid cock untroubled. I make the fatal error of looking at the clock and a hand rests on my shoulder.
Her: Welcome to the Awake Too Early Club
Her hand heads for my crotch.
Ok. Why not?
Why not, because within probably 2min of stroking Her back, I’ve done something wrong and She’s flinched. It would be nice to have one’s touch welcomed. And with that, my erection makes its own escape along with my interest and my stroking hand slowly grinds to a halt.
Her: When I wake up sometimes my right shoulder is really tense.
Me: I know.
It was probably quite an abrupt acknowledgement.
The soundbite that goes through my head is The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak for you. For me it’s the other way round. Obviously that only goes through my head and not my mouth. It occurs to me to point out how Her hand on my cock is not enough to get me interested in fucking Her. If there is one more gender stereotype to challenge in this relationship, it’s that I’m not just a body. I’m a person too.
Me: I don’t even know what I’ve done wrong.
I’m an analytical sole, and should know. I notice details, and I consider them and their repercussions. I know I was heading towards Her tit, but I got nowhere near it. Really. Nowhere.
Her: Just because I twitch, don’t get put off and frustrated.
Me: I’m not sure how to not get frustrated.
I’m really not.
Apparently there was something about the position of Her arm and my hand and Her breast and tension and frankly I’m past caring. [Interesting that She insists on saying breast, and can’t say boob, tit, nipple, pussy, cunt, clit, arse, cock, dick, wank. All words that are the province of a world sexually oriented for Men’s benefit.]
I still didn’t know what I’d done wrong.
Me: How about sleeping on the other side of the bed or getting some physio?
Her: Maybe.
Me: Deal with the problem rather than the symptoms.
There was something about Her silence, or breathing, or a movement, or my over interpretation of them that said the She had taken umbrage and my subtly veiled criticism of Her.
Me: Was that the wrong thing to say?
Her: No? Just moving a bit.
You could’ve interpret Her tone as defensive, of Her knowing exactly why I’d said it, and think the lady doth protest too much.
She rolled over but snuggled up with Her back against me. We lay there in silence for a while. She reached back and wrapped Her hand around my balls, then moved it to my unresponsive dick.
Five minutes or so later She went to the bathroom. I had no idea whether She intended to come back to sex or to have a shower. I wasn’t interested in finding out so I made my escape with my flaccid cock.

Day 5309 pm
As I walk into the bedroom, She is sitting with Her back to me. Naked.
This is unusual, as only on the hottest of nights does She sleep without a nightie, and She is not prone to spending more time without at least a dressing gown on than is necessary.
She massages Her shoulder.
I get into bed and turn my back. The light goes out.

Day 5310
I’ve been up for well over an hour by the time there is anyone else at the breakfast table.
She sits, eating Her breakfast, massaging Her shoulder.
Me: How’s the shoulder.
Her: Oh, the usual.
We have one of those wheat-germ heat packs you can microwave. I was given in by a physiotherapist a few years ago for a muscle injury. My Wife now uses it far more than I do, exclusively for Her shoulder. I get up from my unfinished breakfast and put it in the microwave. When the timer pings, I get up from my unfinished breakfast and sit it on the table next to Her. She puts it round Her neck. And says nothing.
No Thank you.
This irks me, but who am I to criticise an adult for ill manners, especially in front of the rest of the family.
Without a word, I finish my breakfast, bitterness cloying in my throat, clear my own plate, and shut myself away at my desk for the day. Away from Her.
And I feel the distance start to open once again.

Day 5311
There was half an hour to go before the alarm clock would go off.
I put a hand on Her thigh.
Her: I’d like to have sex but I’m feeling a bit freaked out.
Me: Ok.
Her: Possibly freaked out by a dream.
Not half as freaked out as She would be if She’d had the dream I just had.
We were staying in a static caravan park (a trailer park, for Americans) on a hillside overlooking a music festival. Sat on the steps, through the trees we could see the stage lit up and the audience bouncing away. Then She was between my legs and asking me, without prompting, and for some reason with a look of surprise on my face, if I’d like Her to stick a finger up my arse. The answer was a resounding yes, and as this was a new experience for Her, I suggested She might want to wear gloves. I keep a couple of boxes of disposable gloves in the garage – natural latex for decorating and general mechanical use, Nitrile for working on the car. The latter tend to be blue, or purple, or black. She suggested a blue pair, but I thought they were too medical, and I’m really not into the whole medical fetish thing. I suggested black, so we polished up a pair, and She finger fucked my hole whilst She sucked me off.
I don’t think so.
I don’t think Her dream would have freaked Her out as much as that.


3 Responses to “I know I said I wouldn’t … Pt 16”

  1. Oh AM! I really *am* sorry to read this.
    It sounded so promising a month ago and so dreary now!


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