This is my entry for
Nude Day Story Contest 2023
. If you enjoy it, please give it a good rating!
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I woke to the sound of water running. A shower. Mid-morning sunlight shone through the window and onto the empty spot in my bed. Bonnie had woken before me; odd for a Saturday, but not entirely unexpected. She crashed almost as soon as we got home, while I laid awake thinking about that immediate slumber. That, and a slew of other indicators that made me wonder how solid my marriage was.
It's not that I suspected Bonnie of cheating; she's always been loyal and loving. But the previous night's activities--or, to be more accurate, the lack thereof--had forced me to think about the lack of intimacy that we'd had since our youngest left for college. I don't mean only sexual intimacy, although that was the catalyst for my late-night musings. All forms of it seemed increasingly absent.
We were loving, but not close. That's what it boiled down to. If we watched TV together, one of us would be on the couch and the other on the loveseat, usually with her glued to her phone while I watched my chosen show or vice versa.
Bonnie and I dined together, but our talk always returned to either our jobs or the kids, never our marriage or even shared interests. Did we even have any of those anymore? I struggled to think of some; the list was short enough to fill an index card.
We still had sex, and it was... fine. Occasionally good. Rarely excellent. Never amazing. Bonnie had stopped initiating, and most weeks we only had sex on our scheduled night, Thursday. It used to be that Thursday night sex was our way to make sure that we absolutely, positively made love at least once a week, a concession to the juggling that was necessary with our careers and our kids.
Now, it rarely felt like making love at all. Sex became another of our weekly chores, at least for Bonnie. Another check on the weekly task list. Trash taken out? Check. Carpet vacuumed? Check. Husband orgasmed? Check.
The decline took place over several years. At first, I tried to believe the kids' activities or the stress from our jobs had crowded out our lovemaking, but when we went into our empty nest phase, nothing changed. Not for long, at least. I initiated more often for a couple of months, and she reacted with at least a little more enthusiasm. But even these sessions lacked any real passion on her end.
She did it for me, not with me. I did my best to make it enjoyable, and I knew her body well enough to ensure that she got off at least once each time. None of that translated into any additional intimacy.
To be clear, I didn't just throw Bonnie down on the bed and ravish her. In all ways, I did my best to romance my wife, to bring the passion back into our marriage through methods beyond just the bedroom. I arranged candlelit dinners, a vacation, dates to the theater and ballet, and... nothing. Bonnie appreciated these attempts. The sex on those nights was better, and her mood lifted for the rest of the week, but none of it brought about any kind of sustained improvement. I kept trying, though. I loved Bonnie, and I knew she loved me.
The previous night, though, had told me that things were fucked. The whole day had.
Bonnie forgot my birthday. Forty-nine isn't one of the big ones, but it's still another trip around the sun. In the past, she had tried to be extra nice to me on my birthdays, even as our intimacy had waned in the previous few years. A wakeup blowjob was a common way to start the celebration; it wasn't necessary, but I sure as hell liked it. Failing that, a wakeup kiss would have been welcome. That didn't happen either.
She was still getting ready for work that morning, humming happily as she poured her coffee into a travel thermos. "Good morning, handsome!" Affectionate. Loving. I tried to kiss her, and she turned her head. "Sorry, hon, just did my lipstick." But not passionate.
My wife flitted around the kitchen, grabbing her laptop bag from the table and lunch from the fridge. I silently watched her. Had she actually forgotten? When was the last time that had happened?
Never. Bonnie never forgot birthdays or anniversaries. Was she planning a surprise? Or... no. She was preoccupied with something else. "Oh, and, Jeff, don't forget, we've got the awards dinner tonight!" Of course. She was receiving an award for her team's sales output.
"Got it. Coming home to change?"
"Yup!" My wife squeezed my arm as she turned to leave. "I'll... Is something wrong?"
I shook my head. It was important to her.
I didn't throw a tantrum. If she forgot, she forgot. We could talk about it later. Forcing a smile on my face, I said, "Just thinking about some things."
Bonnie wasn't convinced; that much was clear. But she was also in a hurry. "Okay. I'll... I'll see you tonight." A worried but hopeful smile. "I hope whatever it is, you figure it out." No, there was no surprise. She had forgotten entirely. It didn't matter enough to remember.
With a little nod and an unconvincing grin, I said, "I'm sure I will. Have a good day, hon."
I'm a grown man. I don't need a party or cake or gifts. Hell, I don't even need a card. But for my wife to have completely forgotten my birthday? Even if she had the excuse of an important event on the same day? That hurt.
The kids, Danny and Julie, called later in the day to wish me a happy birthday. That made me feel better while I was on the phone with them but worse afterwards. A pair of college kids had remembered to call, but my wife of almost twenty-five years couldn't even remember the date.
I tried to throw myself into my work, stopping only long enough to have a sandwich for lunch and to use the restroom, but it didn't work. Between lingering irritation with Bonnie and distractions from co-workers, sitting at my computer was a waste of time. I ultimately decided to take a half day and relax with a swim; we had a pool for a reason, even if it had gotten little use recently.
The swim turned out to be less relaxing and more tiring than I'd hoped. Was that why things had fallen apart between us? Because I was out of shape? But I wasn't, not really. Yeah, some gray flecks had started to appear in my hair, and I probably could do with losing a few pounds--no, I definitely could--but I wasn't ugly or unfit. I just had a dad bod.
As I prepared for Bonnie's dinner, I had a fleeting thought that perhaps she really had been unfaithful. However, the notion was quickly discarded. She showed absolutely no signs of infidelity: no particularly long hours; no changes in our sex life, other than a slow, steady decline over years; no deviations in the way she dressed or her routine; no new hobbies; no rapid shifts in attitude or mood. My wife was as much a homebody as me, so no girls' nights out, either.
No, Bonnie wasn't cheating. That realization was both heartening and a touch disheartening. She was still my loyal wife. But absent an outside influence, that meant that something had gone horribly wrong with us, and I had no idea how to fix it.
Bonnie's arrival home derailed my train of thought. As soon as the door closed, I heard, "Oh God, Jeff, I'm so sorry! I completely forgot it was your birthday today!" She hugged me close and gave me a wonderful, passionate kiss. It felt like going home, like the way she'd kissed me when we were kids in our first apartment.
She pulled away sooner than I would have liked; but then, any amount of time would have been sooner than I would have liked. "I feel like such a bitch. I've been so caught up in everything that I... God, I can't apologize enough."
I chuckled, "Well, I can think of a couple ways."
Bonnie laughed and said, "Oh, I'm sure you can." Another kiss; this one was less intense, but still plainly heartfelt. "Tonight, after the dinner. Hell, the whole weekend, babe. Anything you want."
With a raised eyebrow, I said, "Anything?"
She froze for a second, realizing what she'd said. A lot of things had been off the table for quite some time. Then, rallying, my wife proclaimed, "Anything. But first, we have to get ready! We're going to be late!"
Bonnie hastily changed into a lovely green dress that matched her eyes. The red curls that she found so aggravating at times were tamed through arcane womanly techniques into a stylish updo. I tried to start our celebrations a little early; nothing too aggressive, just a little kiss on the back of the neck as I zipped her up. My affection was met with an eyeroll and a "Hurry!"
"I can't help it. You're so beautiful."
Another eyeroll. "You're my husband. You have to say that. Now go!"
The dinner was okay. Just a typical corporate do. Bonnie's acceptance speech was well-received. It ought to have been, since we'd skipped Thursday night sex so she could practice it.
It wasn't a particularly exciting night for me, but she was happy, so I was happy. Unfortunately, she got a little too happy; my wife forgot sometimes that she could no longer hold her liquor the way she could in college, and this was one of those occasions.
By the time we were in the car, I knew nothing was going to happen that night. I tried not to show irritation and failed miserably. Fortunately, Bonnie was too far gone to realize it. Unfortunately, she was too far gone to realize that she was going to pass out before she could make good on her promises. Her green eyes sparkled as she slurred, "Gonna treat you ssso good when we get home, birthday boy. Gonna... Gonna... zzzz"
Bonnie was semi-coherent as I got her out of the car and helped her to the door, but coherent enough to grope me and mutter vulgar promises she couldn't keep. Thankfully, she was also coherent enough to run to the bathroom before vomiting. I held my wife's hair, as I had many times before, then helped her rinse out her mouth before putting her to bed in panties and nothing else. I couldn't remember the last time she'd worn so little to bed.
I barely slept, turning the situation over and over in my head. It wasn't the fact that she'd forgotten my birthday in the morning, or that she got so soused she couldn't keep her promise. It wasn't that we'd skipped Thursday night sex so she could make her speech. All of those were in my mind, but more as indicators than issues; any of them by themselves would just be something to shrug my shoulders about. But together? And with the trajectory of our love life, both in the physical and emotional sense?
No. I realized I'd shrugged my shoulders for too long. As I laid there, staring up at the ceiling as the most beautiful woman in the world snored, I knew that if things were going to get better, I was going to have to do something. We would have to, together; but I'd need to take the first steps.
