"No, not tonight, honey, I'm tired."
I gave a slight groan. It had been a while since my wife and I had made love. A long fucking while. It was amazing to me how fast lingerie and wild sex had turned into sweatpants and laundry night after we tied the knot. I didn't remember that little clause being in our vows. Now, it wasn't that I didn't appreciate what Tara did, but I would have gladly done all the laundry and cleaning in the world to get back the sex life we had.
I could have understood if I'd given up caring about myself or her, but I treated her like a princess, and frankly I'm in pretty decent condition too. I admit I'm not the chiseled specimen I was in college, but with the exception of small love handles, I had retained my size and muscular form. Frankly, having experienced all the sex I could handle when I was single, I was painfully dismayed sudden drop in action. As far as I thought, it should have been at least as good, if not better. It might not have been so bad, but Tara didn't like me watching porn either, so I pretty much only had fading memories of what sex was like to jack off to.
"Please, babe...it's been like a month!" I pleaded. I hated to sound like I was a whiny bitch, and I knew I did, but dignity was hardly worth holding onto if I wasn't getting any pussy. The last time we had sex was on our two year anniversary, and it had been a long-ass time before that too. Even on the rare occasions it happened, it was mechanical, I did the work, and she usually climaxed, but just laid there for the most part.
"No, I told you, I'm too tired."
"For fuck's sake, Tara! You don't have a job, and I know you take care of the house, but...aw, damn it..." She had started crying. She always cried when it came to this.
"You know I can't help it, Chris! My sex drive is just low right now!" I sighed. It always came down to the sex drive. And to some extent, she was right. How the hell do you blame a hormone? I had at one point thought that she was just making it up and having an affair, but no. A long and expensive investigation had proven she wasn't fucking anyone else. I had felt a little better, but still the problem remained.
"I'm sorry, babe...I'm not mad, just frustrated." I kissed her forehead and rolled over, reaching down to take care of myself...again. But it was no replacement for a good fuck.
The next morning, I rolled out of bed. Tara was still asleep, she usually was when I left for work. I ate a bowl of cereal slowly, still bothered by last night. What the hell was I going to do? I went out the door, still pondering the question.
I felt like hell driving to work. I couldn't even convince myself there was any point. Yeah, of course the mortgage needed to be paid and bills and the typical mundane bullshit, but it didn't seem to mean anything next to my current problem. What was the point of building a life where I was powerless in one of the most important areas of it? But to work I went anyway, same old, same old.
I came home around six, and Tara had a great pot roast dinner on the table. I greeted her with a long kiss, lingering a bit longer than one might for a simple hello kiss. I was hoping to lay some groundwork for that night. I complimented her on her cooking several times (disregarding my desire for pussy, that was actually a very real compliment), and helped clean up after. When I sat on the couch with her, she cuddled up to me. I told her to go ahead and pick something to watch (giving up the fight I wanted to see), and we watched some chick movie. It was getting to be about eleven when the movie ended, and, feeling pretty sure I had done everything right, I went to the bedroom to get ready. She came in and took off her shirt and bra, then stood at the closet, looking for a shirt to put on for bed. I had taken off my shirt and pants already, and pressed my bare chest against her back, feeling her soft, warm skin against mine. I wrapped my hands around her waist and kissed her neck softly.
"I think you look pretty good right now, babe," I whispered in her ear. She giggled and kissed me back. Oh yeah, I was in. I slid my hands down her waist and into her unzipped jeans, feeling the soft hair of her pussy. She stiffened and pulled away slightly.
"What are you doing?" she asked, an uncertain tone to her voice. I froze. I felt like she had slapped me and like I wanted to throw up all at once. I felt miserable and pissed off beyond belief.
"Wha...
What am I doing
?" I near shouted. "What do you think I'm doing?! I'm trying to have sex with my wife, like normal fucking man!" my voice kept getting louder, "Like a man who has some respect in his own damn house and who has a wife who gives a damn about his needs too! FUCK!" I roared the last word. Tara was in tears by now, but I was so pissed by then I couldn't even register it. I grabbed my pants and shirt and got dressed, then grabbed my coat and started walking away.
"Where are you going?" Tara cried out through her tears.
"I don't know. Somewhere, nowhere, I just have to get some fresh air," I muttered, and stormed out of the house.
I got into my car and drove away, rolling the windows down and letting the cool night air clear my head. I had fucked up, I knew it, but sometimes a man can only take so much. What the hell kind of question was that anyway? What did she think I was doing? That was a question some fifteen year old kid asks her boyfriend when he's trying to move from making out to fucking, not something a wife asks her husband. I drove somewhat aimlessly, but still knew where I was. I was crossing over into the seedy part of town. It wasn't so much the ghetto, but it was pretty predominantly occupied by college kids and stoners, not that there was usually a difference. A bunch of those shops selling incense and new age bullshit lined the streets. I was pretty alone, after all, it was damn near midnight on a Tuesday, so not a lot going on.
I passed the occasional street hooker. Hollywood had a way of making it seem that all hookers were hot, but believe me that isn't the case at all. Mind you, these weren't three-hundred dollar an hour escorts, these were blow-you-for-fifteen-fuck-you-for-thirty hookers. Mostly crack-whores, but I did see a pretty good looking girl. My mind wandered for a moment, but I sure as hell didn't want to risk getting busted, much less getting VD.
I figured it was time to head home, and I took a few side streets to get back to the main stretch. On one of the streets was a shop that was still open. Weird, I thought, but maybe not. I didn't know what kind of hours the kids kept. It looked like an old antique shop, and I figured I would stop in. I like old stuff like that, and maybe I could even find something for Tara by way of an apology gift. I parked on the street and went inside.
I was greeted by the musty smell most of those places have. I walked around, then realized there was no one there., not even behind the counter. I began to wonder if maybe the store was closed, and someone had just left the open sign on and the door unlocked accidentally. I sure as hell didn't want to be mistaken for a burglar, so I started to leave.
"Hello, young man," a voice croaked. I whipped around to see an old woman. She was bent with age and dressed in a worn brown dress and coat with a black handkerchief wrapped around her head and tied under her chin.
