I have told you before that the one thing me and my husband usually did well was sex. Not usually passionate, or long lasting, but we managed to get the job done. If I had stayed with him, and you had left her instead, I wonder how you would handle that. Would you be an emotional nutcase also? Would you constantly dream of throwing yourself off a cliff into a raging flooded river below?
It’s 8pm on a Thursday night. Me and my husband have been watching boring YouTube documentaries. Our feet propped up on the table, sitting in separate chairs, facing away from each other. He is pissy again because I didn’t get the right type of take-out. I didn’t do any of my regular chores, so the house is a mess. And I am crocheting instead of paying attention to whatever shit he drunkenly decided we should watch.
We have barely spoken all night, minus all the stupid comments he has made about me. I looked like a slut today, probably fucked someone at work. Too stupid to remember what his regular order is at whatever drive-thru he picked. Such a condescending lazy bitch. “Grab me another beer would ya? Are we fucking tonight or what? Yeah, sure, let me have another smoke and I’ll be right in.”
He heads to the bedroom and takes off everything but his boxers. He stumbles and bitches about always having to take his socks off. He falls into the bed and pulls the blankets up around him. I come in the room and start to take my clothes off as well. He yells and asks me what the fuck I am doing, nodding at the light. I turn around and turn it off, quickly glancing to make sure its dark enough that he doesn’t have to look at me. Knowing that even drunk, he hates the looks of me.
I get in the bed and remove my clothing under the sheets. I back myself up to him. Is it really spooning is you are both the same height? I feel him hard against my ass cheeks. His dead hand grabs my hip. We have tried other positions, but this is the one that makes me come the fastest. Probably because we only touch where we must, and he doesn’t have to look at me. I spread my legs and reach behind me to feel him.
I grab him and his hand slides to my tits. He weakly flicks them, and I place him at my entrance. I try and glide him in and know I’m going to hear it again. “God you are so fucking dry.”
“I’m sorry honey. It’s fine lets just do this.” It hurts as I try so hard to lubricate myself thinking of you. Within seconds of imagining you behind me instead, I am wet and ready. He leans back and expects me to do all the work. I reach my hand around and pull his hips closer, thrusting him far into me. I bend myself forward to get the perfect angle of penetration.
I must be careful because if I get too slippery he gets upset. I can’t even fuck right. Not concerned about his enraged penis tearing the top of my slit, when he slips it makes it take longer for him to come. I clench him inside of me with all my muscles, trying so hard to make myself tighter than I am. I hear him breathing heavier and know he’s getting so close. Thank God.
I pull my hips forward so that just his tip is left inside of me. He groans as I plunge him back into me. I do this a few more times until he lets himself go inside of me. He stops moving and stays completely still. I fumble around the nightstand next to me feeling for a Kleenex. He bitches about how kleenexes always stick to his penis and so I stand and head for the bathroom. He screams, “For fucks sake I’ll just get it myself!” and comes in the tiny room behind me.
I sit to pee, and he cleans himself. Wonderful. I’m sure if I would have tried, I would have managed to fuck that up too. He coughs, and I realize I am on the toilet, in his way. I wipe myself and hurry back to find my clothes. I can still hear him grumbling as I get dressed and head to the kitchen for a drink. Only a five second break before he is again behind me telling me to get out of the way, so he can have a drink too.
I move out of his way without touching him and go back to my earlier seat in the living room. I light a smoke and he bitches about me constantly smoking. I say nothing and stare at the blank tv. He asks if I am coming to bed or if I am going to stay up and talk to my boyfriend. I continue my silence, shaking my head as if to fix my hair. He heads to the bedroom and I know it will me mere moments before he is out cold. I glance at the clock. Fourteen minutes. That’s so very unimpressive and yet so great because I would lose it if it lasted longer.
I finish my cigarette and text you quickly. I miss you. Have sweet dreams love. And then delete it so you never exist.
You have spent the entire night reading comic books. With your new-found freedom from your ex-wife, you dive into all those things that were forbidden to you. Comic books being one, the coffee next you being another. You think of me after every page. Wishing I could text you. wishing I was free as well. wondering why you aren’t enough to make me leave him. Revisiting our fun times during the day. Sweet sweet memories.
You turn off the TV and take your books to your bed. You check the time and your messages. Nothing new from me. You scroll through our previous conversations, glad that you can keep track of our chats now that no one checks your phone. You curl up and dream of the day that I can be there next to you. My tiny hands on your chest and you wrapped around me, protecting me from all the evils of the world. You grab your body pillow and pretend its me.
You don’t know half of the atrocities I have been through. But can imagine there are a lot and they are painful because I refuse to talk about them. Your sweet tender happiness turns to melancholy as you tear yourself down, wondering why you are my number two, not my number one. After sadness comes anger, jealousy. Why do I ignore you at night? If I loved you enough, I would find time to text, somehow. You think of me loving him. Imagining him leaving kisses all over me, and me being completely happy with him. The jealous tears come out of you like rain.
I cry myself to sleep. I got no response from you. I cry and then get up and go smoke. Staring at my phone as if to will it to say hello. Another cigarette down. I try to crawl back into bed, the emotional roller coaster of this affair making me exhausted. But husband has stolen the entire bed. I go back to the living room and grab a blanket from the couch. I sit and start another smoke, covering myself with the blanket and halfway falling asleep.
You cry until you feel thirsty. You get up for a drink and hear your phone go off. Its me. Finally. What the fuck took me so long? In your spite, you read it and do not respond, not knowing the heartbreak you force onto me. You get a drink and fall back onto your bed. You start to reach for the pillow to cuddle, stop mid-air, and throw it across the room.
All of this. This is how it would have been had our roles now been reversed. Could you deal with all the emotions? Could you keep the jealous thoughts out of your own head? Would you question my love? I like to think that you are a much better person than I, and that you would be able to handle it. But I struggle. A constant battle of how much pain is worth this life changing love between us. Some days are far better, easier to manage than others. Sometimes, I just lose it. other days, its I you who is in a funk. We try to enjoy the happy moments as we get them, but there is always fear. The biggest fear of losing each other. But we maintain hope. Our spouses have tried to kill all shred of hope for anything within us, but we fight to keep it alive. For our future. Whenever that may be.
