Timing is everything and nothing

At some point in the day I had voiced an opinion contrary to Hers. There was always the potential for the topic to be controversial, but She reacted badly … or I presented it badly … and whilst there was no shouting or bitching, She walked out of the room. It soured most of the rest of the day with a subtle, unspoken undertone.

Come bed time, I undressed as She was in the bathroom. She had already got into Her old, baggy, black, threadbare nightshirt. As I put my bright pink, pouch enhancing trunks and t-shirt into the laundry basket, I couldn’t help but notice the delicates laundry bag containing the Infamous Red Briefs. I guessed we’d never know why She wore them.

As I lay with my back to Her, through the darkness I looked at the glowing bedside clock.

For the next two minutes, there was nothing. No movement. No sound. Time slowed and our Damoclean Sword was palpable.

Then She exhaled. The sort of staccato exhalation that indicates exasperation or irritation.

After three minutes I felt a finger tip on shoulder blade. It was barely there. And only a few seconds later it wasn’t.

Another couple of minute passed and I felt a nominally more determined touch on my back. But again, had it been tentative it would have been more determined.

After 7 minutes I though Fuck it, I’ll give Her a break, and I rolled onto my back. Not the greatest of gestures, but it didn’t feel out of balance with Her own. Although Hers was not an immediate movement, and there was still distance between us, She put a hand on my shoulder.

Three quarters of an hour later I woke briefly as She took Her hand away from my shoulder. If She rolled away from me, I was asleep before She had.

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