No sleep for the wicked

I didn’t sleep.
I’m sure my Wife didn’t either.
Come morning, when my alarm sounded, I turned it off. Not Snooze.
I hid under the duvet, behind a closed bedroom door, with the curtains drawn.
Footsteps on the stairs. A quiet knock on the door.
Her: Do you need me to do the school run?
Me: No.
Her: I can stay of you want?
Me: No. I’ll do it.
Her: Is there anything I can do?
Me: I have no idea.
Her: Probably lots I should have done years ago.
Me: Does that mean you want me to stay?
Her: Yes.
I had nothing to say.
Her: I’ll go to work then. See you later.
Silently I did the school run, returned home … home? … and retreated to the sofa and the mindless void of Netflix for the day.
I ignored the text message She sent on Her way to work – I want you to stay. I am not the enemy.
I did the afternoon school run, and later the parental taxi service.
When my Wife came home, I cooked supper.
Her: Do you want to talk about anything from last night?
Me: I don’t really want to talk to anyone about anything at the moment.
We ate.
We didn’t talk.
I went to my bedroom.

I didn’t sleep much.
I’m sure my Wife didn’t either.
Come morning, when my alarm sounded, I turned it off.
I hid under the duvet, behind a closed bedroom door, with the curtains drawn.
Footsteps on the stairs. A quiet knock on the door.
Her: I’m off to work.
Me: Ok.
Her: Have a good day.
Silently I did the school run and returned home. Home? I had some work to do. Knowing the client as I do, I knew I could phone up and get him to pass the job to another freelancer with no detriment, but if I’m going to leave, I’ll need the money.
I did the afternoon school run, and performed my evening parental duties.
When my Wife came home, I cooked supper.
Her: How was your day?
Me: I sat in front of a computer.
Her: I assume you’d tell me if there was anything you wanted to talk about.
Me: Yeah.
We ate.
I went back to work the night-owl shift at my desk.

I didn’t sleep much.
Or maybe I did.
It was that half-sleep in which you know you’re awake, aware of the night, and the bed, and the real world, but your head is in the dream world and your entirely in control of the dream.

Somehow We had found a point from which to try to rebuild Us. Somehow We were fucking. This was some twisted reconciliation. I didn’t entirely want to fuck Her, but I was entirely complicit, as was She. She uttered the phrase that She has used once in the last 10 years and twice in the last 15: “Fuck me hard and deep!” So I did. As hard, and unrelentingly as I could. Just as She had seemed to want me to fuck Her IRL. Forcefully.

I beat at my erection while I fantasised. And hated the dream I created. I spun and thrashed at the bed, burying my face and cock in the mattress.

Sleep addled, or perhaps sleeplessly addled, I reflected on my options, my future, my obligations, Our conversation. That was worse that thinking of sex that would never happen.

Semi consciously, I revisited a dream I’d had just a few days ago.

A group of us were sat at a friend’s breakfast table. The kitchen door was open, and some of the other guests were eating and chatting outside. Two of us were naked, except for pretzels covering our cocks. My ex of 28yrs ago sat next to me at the table. (I’m still in touch with Her via social media, but I now regard our parting as meritorious.) She rested her feet on my lap and pulled up the hem of her flowery blue summer dress, baring her bushy quim. Reaching for my hand, she pushed it between her legs and asked “Did you end up good at this?” My fingers dipped into her pussy and I wanked her as those of us around the table chatted.

I beat at my erection while I fantasised. And hated this dream just as much, and forced myself face down into the bed again.

Still sleep escaped me.
Back to the first delusion.

I grabbed fistfuls of my Wife. My fingers digging into Her tits and Her arse. My cock dug into Her cunt. Hard and deep, pushing Her into the bed. When I’ve jerked off to thoughts of my Wife in the last year or two, it has invariably been to the image of Her sucking me off. Everything about this was different. Gripping Her thighs and rending them apart. Anger, or grateful, base lust … where was the line? Pounding at Her willing cunt. Grinding against Her clit while She clung to me, grunting encouragement. Hardcore porn style. And not the good kind of porn. The kind that makes you think its critics are right about its disregard for women and the unrealistic expectations it fosters. And still I fucked Her … in my head.

And my fist fucked me. And I hated it. Enough! Stop! This is not what I want! (Well it is … but it’s not.)

In the kitchen, preparing breakfast, We exchanged more words than in the entirety of the previous two days.
Her: Is there anything I can do?
Me: I don’t know.
Her: I care about you and I don’t want to see you miserable.
There were words that wanted to get out, but I couldn’t find them.
Me: I can’t say I’m not leaving.  Or that I’m not staying.
Her: If you go I’ll make sure you’re OK.
She was talking about money, and making sure I have somewhere to live.
Me: That’s not an option.
I’m not tying us together like that, nor taking my family’s home from them.
Her: You’re still [their] father. And I hope you’re still going to be part of [their] life?
None of this was said with any hint of bitterness, but there was something critical missing.
Me: I know you’ve said you want me to stay, and I may be misinterpreting this, but all you’ve just said has been about if I leave, not whether I stay?
Her: Yes, you’re misinterpreting that.
There was now a hint of bile in her tone.
Me: That sounded aggressive.
It was easy for me to calmly make out I’m the good guy in this.
Her: Probably exasperation. I’ve said I don’t want you to go.
Me: Then maybe We should start from there.
I stood and took my bowl to the dishwasher.
Me: I need to make sure [they’re] getting up.
And I left the kitchen. Unfairly I gave Her no chance to respond.

I retreated to my bedroom at the top of the house.
Too often I throw stones and then run away.
20min later She called up the stairs.
Her: I’m going to work. Have a good day.
Me: You too.
Despite of all this, We still keep that up?

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