I remember once waiting for my wife - of that time - to return home.
It was past midnight. I'd been working on a novel most of the day and far into the night. Some time between eleven and twelve I'd done as well as I thought - for the moment at least - I was capable.
The achievement relaxed me and made me think about what might be an adequate reward.
One of the chapters had been about a night at a club called the Mogambo in equatorial Africa. The dancing was wild, the sweat ran down the backs of the dancers and trickled between their legs. The girls wore no underclothes. The men held them by the buttocks, pressed their bodies close and gyrated. Occasionally a couple left urgently for one of the "rooms of convenience."
I began to feel angry that she was so late. That was unfair. She knew - both of us knew - that she could come home at whatever time she liked but she shouldn't take undue advantage of it.
What was undue?
I was sleeping in a separate room while I was so immersed in my writing; so she would not ordinarily expect to disturb me by returning late. Nor would she expect any late return to make me feel lonely or neglected.
But I was like most men when their prick takes over and governs them.
Reason flies out the window.
I wanted a fuck and she should be there to be fucked when she was needed. It was her basic conjugal duty.
When she came in about a quarter to one, I was just about desperate. I couldn't sleep and, for hours it seemed like, I'd had a huge erection and nowhere congenial to put it....
The two went together: as soon as my prick got the solace to which it was surely entitled, I'd instantly drop off to sleep and be dead until late morning.
I didn't hear her come through the front door and she took her shoes off to make as little noise as possible on the way to our bedroom.
