After nearly ten years of marriage, I am slowly beginning to realize that my wife has been fucking with my head. Granted, as the typical male half of the species, I'm kinda slow when it comes to the sassy and subtle things she says to me.
Some friends of ours are going to take our eight-year-old son for the night. My wife tells me that I should thank my friend by telling him that thanks to his generous offer to watch out son, I will be getting laid.
"What? Am I getting laid tonight?" In retrospect, the question was stupid, and it was stupid to ask it.
"Of course not. But you'll have something funny to say to him."
The peener shriveled a little more. Like I really needed that suggested comic line. "Hey, guess what, you got the kid and I'm fuckin' the wife." I can come up with something funny on my own to say, thank you very much. I don't need suggestions that cruelly suggest a slight rise in blood pressure to the groinal regions would be needed, then pull that thought away so coldly with a dismissive "of course not."
And then, sitting in stunned state of mind, I realized that she's been doing this to me for quite some time.
My sexual advances toward my wife vary depending upon many factors, but heavily dependent upon desperation and frustration. I have heard her say before that honesty is important in a relationship.
"Honey, I honestly need to fuck you!"
That level of honesty got a lecture, followed by a shut out. "Why do you have to use THAT word?" That's how the lecture started, a lecture about the proper usage of the word "fuck." While the word "fuck" is a vulgar term for sexual intercourse, it is a word that she did not want to hear being directed toward her to describe the sweet intimacy that she engages in.
"What the fuck are you blabbering about?" Ah, complete shut down. No nooky this lunar cycle.
So, I reverse gears and try the suave approach. I get a chick flick DVD, sit at the end of the couch closest to the TV and let her lay out with her feet in my lap. She watches the movie with a glass of wine and me rubbing her tootsies, arch, heel, and inner calves. Several times, I hear low throaty groans from her. "Yes!" the peener shouts. The movie ends, and the credits roll.
"Honey, let go upstairs and make love (note—did not say "fuck")."
"Oh, I'm so relaxed now that I can't stay awake."
"FUUUCK!" yells peener.
I'm telling you, no winning. A couple of weeks ago, I'm reading the morning paper with a cup of coffee in my hand. I turn to the editorial page when she comes up and rubs her nipples on the side of my face. Now, tits purposely pushed in my face kinda get my attention. So, I look up at her.
"Good morning" she says coquettishly.
"Good morning" I say with guarded sexual caution.
She bends over and plants a big, wet kiss on me. This sort of startles me, because in some parts of the world this is a signal that someone wants, you guessed it, sex. But, the suddenness of it and the suggestion in her lips take me a bit back. I guess I apprehensively "kissed back."
"Hey" she says, pushing up cleavage, "try kissing me like you love me."
Hmm. This could be a suggestion for something more. Kid is not around, early weekend morning, she's practically naked, hmmm. Better not say "fuck" this time. Be clever, be smooth, hmm. Oh, this will do it.
"Do you want me to kiss you like we've been married for ten years, or like we've been dating for two weeks?" I ask.
She stands, rolls her eyes skyward in thought, then answers with the tip of her index finger on her lower lip.
"Like we've been dating for two weeks."
Now, I said I was slow. Slow like most guys that trod upon the earth. But, I'm no idiot. I grab her by the hand, whisk her off to the bedroom, and lightly fling her onto the bed. She giggles playfully—sounds like intercourse is going to happen. I lay along side her right side, slide my right hand up and cup her left breast, gently rolling stroking her nipple, as I plant a firm open mouthed (slight tongue) kiss on her. That goes on for a few seconds when I break away, planting little kisses along her jawline toward her earlobe, then aim for the neck when
"What should we have for breakfast?"
The brakes slammed on, the tires screeched, and the love caravan stopped. She wanted to know what we should eat for breakfast. I'm kissing your goddamned neck, woman, in a manner you requested, and you're trying to decide between sausage or bacon? Peener quickly, and I mean quickly deflated.
I did not say a word. I slowly lifted my head, and looked her in the eye. She had that sassy smile on her face. I seriously though of Dirty Sanchezing her right there and then. But I didn't. I pussed out. I slowly got up, got dressed, went outside and mowed the lawn.
As I pushed that mower around the yard, my mind churned over the whole incident. Kiss-me-like-we've-been-dating-for-two-weeks, then ask about breakfast. I started to doubt my abilities in bed. Have things gotten so mundane that I'd actually have to consider letting her strap on dildo fuck me in the ass to make her happy again. <Shudders> No way.
But then, I remember some other similar incidents. Telling me in the morning that had I not fallen asleep we could have had sex. Wait! I fell asleep waiting for you to finish reading that magazine! Or the chastisement in the morning "Why didn't you fuck me last night?!?" (Note: it's okay for her to use the word "fuck" to describe a sexual act when she's irritated).
"I'm sorry. You wanted to have sex last night?"
"Of course I did."
"You never said anything. In fact, you would not let me touch your ass because you were reading."
"Well, you should have been more insistent. Besides, I was wearing my special "I want sex" nightwear."
"What the hell are you blabbering about? You're not wearing anything special or anything that sends a signal that you want to fuck!" Yeah, I was irritated now, so using "fuck" was okay because, well hell, nothing was going to happen now. "You're wearing that oversized college t-shirt and your hole ridden Old Navy PJ bottoms!"
"Yeah, but I'm also wearing my thong."
I looked, and yes she was. Damn! I growled, got up, and got the paper.
I am convinced she's fucking with my head, in an attempt to get me to explode and die so that she can collect social security survivor benefits. As I slide into middle age, I realize now that getting sex is like participating in a game show.
"I'll take 'Will Beren Get Laid Tonight" for $500.00, Alex."
"The answer is, "We can watch 'Joan of Arcadia' in bed."
"What is 'NO?'"
Some friends of ours are going to take our eight-year-old son for the night. My wife tells me that I should thank my friend by telling him that thanks to his generous offer to watch out son, I will be getting laid.
"What? Am I getting laid tonight?" In retrospect, the question was stupid, and it was stupid to ask it.
"Of course not. But you'll have something funny to say to him."
The peener shriveled a little more. Like I really needed that suggested comic line. "Hey, guess what, you got the kid and I'm fuckin' the wife." I can come up with something funny on my own to say, thank you very much. I don't need suggestions that cruelly suggest a slight rise in blood pressure to the groinal regions would be needed, then pull that thought away so coldly with a dismissive "of course not."
And then, sitting in stunned state of mind, I realized that she's been doing this to me for quite some time.
My sexual advances toward my wife vary depending upon many factors, but heavily dependent upon desperation and frustration. I have heard her say before that honesty is important in a relationship.
"Honey, I honestly need to fuck you!"
That level of honesty got a lecture, followed by a shut out. "Why do you have to use THAT word?" That's how the lecture started, a lecture about the proper usage of the word "fuck." While the word "fuck" is a vulgar term for sexual intercourse, it is a word that she did not want to hear being directed toward her to describe the sweet intimacy that she engages in.
"What the fuck are you blabbering about?" Ah, complete shut down. No nooky this lunar cycle.
So, I reverse gears and try the suave approach. I get a chick flick DVD, sit at the end of the couch closest to the TV and let her lay out with her feet in my lap. She watches the movie with a glass of wine and me rubbing her tootsies, arch, heel, and inner calves. Several times, I hear low throaty groans from her. "Yes!" the peener shouts. The movie ends, and the credits roll.
"Honey, let go upstairs and make love (note—did not say "fuck")."
"Oh, I'm so relaxed now that I can't stay awake."
"FUUUCK!" yells peener.
I'm telling you, no winning. A couple of weeks ago, I'm reading the morning paper with a cup of coffee in my hand. I turn to the editorial page when she comes up and rubs her nipples on the side of my face. Now, tits purposely pushed in my face kinda get my attention. So, I look up at her.
"Good morning" she says coquettishly.
"Good morning" I say with guarded sexual caution.
She bends over and plants a big, wet kiss on me. This sort of startles me, because in some parts of the world this is a signal that someone wants, you guessed it, sex. But, the suddenness of it and the suggestion in her lips take me a bit back. I guess I apprehensively "kissed back."
"Hey" she says, pushing up cleavage, "try kissing me like you love me."
Hmm. This could be a suggestion for something more. Kid is not around, early weekend morning, she's practically naked, hmmm. Better not say "fuck" this time. Be clever, be smooth, hmm. Oh, this will do it.
"Do you want me to kiss you like we've been married for ten years, or like we've been dating for two weeks?" I ask.
She stands, rolls her eyes skyward in thought, then answers with the tip of her index finger on her lower lip.
"Like we've been dating for two weeks."
Now, I said I was slow. Slow like most guys that trod upon the earth. But, I'm no idiot. I grab her by the hand, whisk her off to the bedroom, and lightly fling her onto the bed. She giggles playfully—sounds like intercourse is going to happen. I lay along side her right side, slide my right hand up and cup her left breast, gently rolling stroking her nipple, as I plant a firm open mouthed (slight tongue) kiss on her. That goes on for a few seconds when I break away, planting little kisses along her jawline toward her earlobe, then aim for the neck when
"What should we have for breakfast?"
The brakes slammed on, the tires screeched, and the love caravan stopped. She wanted to know what we should eat for breakfast. I'm kissing your goddamned neck, woman, in a manner you requested, and you're trying to decide between sausage or bacon? Peener quickly, and I mean quickly deflated.
I did not say a word. I slowly lifted my head, and looked her in the eye. She had that sassy smile on her face. I seriously though of Dirty Sanchezing her right there and then. But I didn't. I pussed out. I slowly got up, got dressed, went outside and mowed the lawn.
As I pushed that mower around the yard, my mind churned over the whole incident. Kiss-me-like-we've-been-dating-for-two-weeks, then ask about breakfast. I started to doubt my abilities in bed. Have things gotten so mundane that I'd actually have to consider letting her strap on dildo fuck me in the ass to make her happy again. <Shudders> No way.
But then, I remember some other similar incidents. Telling me in the morning that had I not fallen asleep we could have had sex. Wait! I fell asleep waiting for you to finish reading that magazine! Or the chastisement in the morning "Why didn't you fuck me last night?!?" (Note: it's okay for her to use the word "fuck" to describe a sexual act when she's irritated).
"I'm sorry. You wanted to have sex last night?"
"Of course I did."
"You never said anything. In fact, you would not let me touch your ass because you were reading."
"Well, you should have been more insistent. Besides, I was wearing my special "I want sex" nightwear."
"What the hell are you blabbering about? You're not wearing anything special or anything that sends a signal that you want to fuck!" Yeah, I was irritated now, so using "fuck" was okay because, well hell, nothing was going to happen now. "You're wearing that oversized college t-shirt and your hole ridden Old Navy PJ bottoms!"
"Yeah, but I'm also wearing my thong."
I looked, and yes she was. Damn! I growled, got up, and got the paper.
I am convinced she's fucking with my head, in an attempt to get me to explode and die so that she can collect social security survivor benefits. As I slide into middle age, I realize now that getting sex is like participating in a game show.
"I'll take 'Will Beren Get Laid Tonight" for $500.00, Alex."
"The answer is, "We can watch 'Joan of Arcadia' in bed."
"What is 'NO?'"
