This is an old story I dredged out of a hard drive from years ago-it doesn't seem as polished as my more recent efforts, but I hope you enjoy it!
***
It's been a stressful year for both of us. My job has changed drastically, our kids are both having a tough time in 8th and 10th grade respectively, and my wife's mom is in declining health. We're doing everything we can, but we both feel run into the ground every evening as we collapse in front of the TV after dinner.
Unfortunately, one of our favorite stress-relievers isn't there for us either. We used to lock away the world and hide in the bedroom, talking dirty and teasing each other before getting down to business. My beautiful wife-short blonde hair, flashing green eyes, and a body at 50 that still seems like it belongs to the 22-year old I started dating so long ago. The same woman who once stripped down in the car and gave me road head for an hour hasn't seen my dick in six months unless I was getting out of the shower. Pretty much every routine of our old lives has been disrupted by one problem or another.
One thing that helps me cope is meditation. Every morning, I get up early and center myself, heading into the day a little more balanced than I woke up. Unfortunately, my wife finds it incredibly boring, so it has become just another thing we don't share. One thing that does seem to help her cope is Xanax. She is careful not to abuse it, but she went through a long period of not sleeping well, waking up with racing thoughts and a wildly beating heart. When she feels like that's a possibility, she'll take a half-tablet and zonk out for the night. She often jokes that she doesn't feel any less stressed, but at least she can turn her brain off for a few hours. For her, sleep is the ultimate restorative, and she needs it the way I've come to need my "Zen time" as she calls my morning ritual.
Things came to a head last weekend, though. I worked a 14-hour day on Friday. The next morning, Jen's mom had to be hospitalized for dehydration, and we spend Saturday getting her transported and settled in. Our son had a crisis among his peer group and didn't want to talk about it, leaving us with surly responses and the sadness of seeing him isolated. I don't remember what set our daughter off, but she flounced out mid-afternoon to spend the night with a friend because no one understands her here at home. Excellent weekend, right?
Anyway, I tried to mitigate the whirlwind by making a nice dinner for the three of us. As I finished up, though, our son came down and said he'd been invited to a video-game party and could he go spend the night at Spencer's? Of course. Glad to hear it.
That left Jen and I to eat alone for the first time in a long while, and we opened a bottle of wine while we made our way through salads, shrimp linguine, and cheesecake. Even a couple of glasses is more than we're used to, and we were both feeling as relaxed as we had in weeks. I have to admit that my thoughts were straying forward in time to a happy transition from table to bed to some serious catching up.
The phone rang at 9:00 and killed that dream, however. The nurse on duty called to let us know that Jen's mom wasn't just dehydrated-she was showing signs of Alzheimer's even after she was stabilized. There was nothing to do about it that night, but Jen loyally called her siblings to pass along the news while I cleaned up the kitchen with a sigh. The romantic ship had sailed.
Talking to her brother and sister was a pretty emotional thing-obviously-and I poured her the last glass of wine while she sat curled up in the living room on her phone. When she finally got off the phone, it was 11:00, and she was exhausted. Her sister couldn't help, and her brother didn't think it was such a big deal. Both easy things to say when you're 600 miles away!
Anyway, Jen was a mess. She took a quick shower, but then came out and kissed me goodnight. In her hand were a glass of water and a whole Xanax, not just a half like usual. She nodded grimly and said, "It's been that kind of night!" and popped it down before going off to bed.
Frustrated, I sat in the living room for a while. When I went to the bathroom, I passed our bedroom door and saw her sleeping peacefully. The house was quiet-the kids were away, Jen was asleep, and the TV was off. Hmm...
Pretty soon, I was stretched out in my favorite chair, laptop in place, and videos of willing wives going down on their husbands loading across multiple tabs. I may not have mentioned before, but my other coping mechanism is porn. Just zoning out and watching takes my mind off my usual troubles, and there's the added bonus of a happy ending, even if it's self-administered. After a while, the jeans and polo shirt I was wearing were getting in the way-no one likes to mess with a zipper at a crucial moment! I decided to change into pajamas and finish up with greater freedom.
When I walked into the bedroom, though, I paused. Jen was asleep, but she was stretched out across the bed diagonally, and the covers were kicked down in a way I know so well. She was wearing a ribbed tank top and loose blue shorts-a sexy little outfit-and her ass was pointed toward my side of the bed. The word "maybe..." flashed across my mind. Here I was with a raging hard-on, and we had both had a couple of glasses of wine after a stressful day. The kids were away, and that ass looked so succulent in the dim light of my reading lamp.
In a flash, I stripped down to my boxers. As gently as I could, I climbed onto the bed. Since I was there to wake her up if I could, I don't know why I was moving so slowly, but it didn't feel right to jump on the bed (or her) too abruptly. I settled in a foot behind her facing the same way and put my hand on her hip.
As my hand caressed the swell of her hip and down her upper thigh, my cock twitched with excitement. No panties! There's no signal clearer than a layered-up wife to say "leave me alone!" when a husband is feeling frisky. In retrospect, I am 100% certain this choice was a product of fatigue and not sexual intentions, but I was happy to find no obstruction in the way of my roaming hand.
When my hand dipped lower to curve around the taut flesh of her ass, she moaned slightly and kept right on sleeping. Her body, however, reacted more positively-she bent her knee and pulled her upper leg up toward her chest, allowing me much better access. I leaned closer and kissed her shoulder, then down her arm, propping myself on one elbow to reach more of her. Aside from a slight shifting of her weight when I moved toward her, there was no reaction.
