Pt 1: How not to have a dirty weekend

Pop quiz: The kids are away on residential school trips or visiting cousins for a few days. You have annual leave to use up. You really need to re-connect with your partner and you haven’t had sex for 6 months. What do you do, Dear Reader?
Odds are you book a hotel for a dirty weekend. Right?
Well, wrong if you’re us. Honestly it was never going to be a dirty weekend. There was never going to be any sex [Ed: unless you count AM having a lonely wank in a cold bathroom on his own] but this wasn’t expected to be any either. This was about reconnecting, finding out if we could spend time together without hating each other, whether we still had any sharable interests, and whether there was any point in trying to save our marriage.

Even before We left the house there were a couple of points of tension. Nothing big and I made a point to play as nicely as possible.
At the station there were a couple of instances of rampant hypocrisy when it came to trust and control. I bit my tongue.
I was trying to make this work.

And indeed the rest of the day went ok. Over lunch there were some long pauses when conversation ground to a halt … long, foreboding pauses … we had nothing to say to each other … but we got through it.

We visited a gallery that by chance had a retrospective of an artist I really like, but which She really doesn’t. We both know this. Whilst I took advantage of the exhibition, She civilly excused Herself and headed to a different collection. There were things I learned about the artists work I wanted to talk about, to discuss, indeed to discuss with Her, but knowing Her contempt for his work, with lonely sadness I said nothing.

We went to the theatre. It was a good show. (The red mini-skirt and thigh boots of the friendly woman sat next to me were a distraction, but I behaved myself, even if I did steal more than the occasional glance.)

We had rare grown-up time.

Back at or hotel, considering We have slept in separate rooms for around 4 months, the bed was thankfully big. Big enough that we didn’t have to be near each other. On a dirty weekend it would have been big enough for lots of fun.
We turned the lights off and hunkered down on our respective sides of the bed.
Her: It’s odd to be sleeping together but not … sleeping together.
I don’t know how conscious or considered Her pause was, but its drama was palpable.

I woke at 5am – normal operating procedure – but with my Wife sleeping beside me it was inconvenient to read a book, listen to the radio, watch a Ted Talk on my phone, or jerk off over porn, which would be normal operating procedure.
I lay, staring at the same ceiling my erection was pointing at for an hour or so. I got out of bed as quietly as possible, but She woke. In the half light of the curtained room, my cock laid a shadow up the wall. I made no effort to conceal it.
A brief conversation ensued. I dressed and (after having a lonely wank in the cold bathroom) made myself scarce with a book. She went back to sleep.

Later there was low level friction. Stuff we should both be able to weather, but it led to me shutting down. Withdrawing into myself. If I irritate Her so quickly, so innocently, the easiest thing is to shut up. Most of the day passed in near silence. Eventually We broke the stalemate and rediscovered civility and conversation. Not so long after, to use Her phrase, She tried to micro manage my diary. More trust issues. She apologised unprompted, but I had already shut down and withdrawn into myself again.

Somehow, an hour or so later, beguiled by one of the most significant cultural attractions in the country, we had glossed over all this, but We’ve just painted over the cracks.

5 Responses to “Pt 1: How not to have a dirty weekend”

  1. corsetandstockings Says:

    What comment to make but ‘oh dear…how sad’
    Sounds as if even without sex there isn’t much connection in your marriage.
    The question is how long can you live like this?
    YOLO, so live rather than exist…

  2. It so reminds me of our last weekend together. For our anniversary. There was sex. But it was sex. There was no love, no shared anything. We were two srtangers sat/laid next to each other.
    I wasn’t having any of his usual attempts to makes things better any more. Or rather, I was tired of having to pretend that his attempt were working when really, it wasn’t my choice, it wasn’t a good weekend.
    I tried to make it ‘work’ because, for once, he’d tried to throw me a surprise, which was… welcome. But the fact that we didn’t connect over anything during the whole weekend except food (who takes a person to a starred restaurant when they keep telling them they’re too fat?).
    Right, let me go read the next post!

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