We were heading out to a big family get-together; the sort where smart dress was de rigueur. I couldn’t help notice that amongst the clothes She’d laid out on the bed were The Infamous Red Bra and Panties. Conspicuously, although there was also a suspended belt, it wasn’t the one that matched.
As my Wife was getting dressed, and started to put Her blouse on, our youngest walked into the room and offered some advice:
10 years of marriage.
10yrs to the day.
5 years, or more, of whining about a sexless marriage on a blog.
It used to be that I found I had something to write about at least once a week. Usually twice if not three times. Sexy boots. Sex with ex-es.. The language of sex. Kink. Gender politics. Porn.
Of late I’ve mostly written of marital dysfunction and self pity. There may be a reason my readership has dwindled.
10 years to the day.
We marked it with a disappointing meal at the venue where we got married.
There was fleeting mention of
Her: It seems like we’re not having sex again. Like we’ve give up.
Me: I probably have.
Her: Why?
Me: Because it’s easier.
We’d been in bed for just a few minutes.
The conversation went on. Slowly.
What follows are some of the highlights, or rather the lowlights:
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 Continue reading
Monday morning, and it’s another Bank Holiday, so no need to get up early. I’m awake at 5am with an erection hard enough to drill for diamonds. It twitches enthusiastically when freed from the static constraints of my fist.
A little after 5:30am She gets out of bed and goes to the bathroom. She then returns to bed. Over the next Continue reading
(Apologies to those trying to follow this debacle chronologically: The following was originally posted out of sequence, and should have been published between Well that could have been awkward and Of elephants and albatrosses.)
It was 7:30am on Sunday when She snuck into the kitchen.
The time was significant because a) it was early for Her on a Sunday, and b) I’d been up for more than an hour.
The day was significant because, as per The Schedule, we were supposed to have sex before breakfast.
The fact that She snuck in, quietly opening the door and closing it behind Her, was significant because She was trying not to wake the rest of the house, or let the cat out of the kitchen for the same reason.
Her: How are you doing?
Me: OK. You?
Her: Yeah.
She walked Continue reading
