Day Four
We had a lot of chores today, and it was probably good. It wasn't exactly a tradition, but it was expected. Every year there seemed to be at least one day where I had the girls help me with a few projects, even if they were as mundane as catching up laundry and cleaning the floor.
Being a little colder this year, I focused on indoor things in the morning. I had plenty of coffee available, for both Mary and Jessica had reached the point where they liked to pretend they enjoyed coffee more than hot chocolate. Truth be told, my coffee was little more than hot chocolate under a different name anyway.
I worked right along with them (though I admit I watched a lot while scrubbing), as we cleaned the windows and mopped the hard floors. I let them pick music to play loud through the house. Occasionally our chores would take us into different rooms, and once in a while I was alone - for a few seconds - with Jessica.
She always looked excited by the idea of our being alone together, gave me wild grins and giggled nervously. She even backed up into me "on accident" and rubbed against me with a hum, though we kept it very short and careful.
Except for these moments, Jessica seemed to me to wear a very introspective expression. She wasn't exactly somber, but occasionally she lost focus, one hand playing with the charm around her neck, staring out the half-cleaned window.
In the afternoon we spent some time splitting firewood. I had fun showing them how it was done, and admittedly let my ego stoke at the fact that it was so much easier, with my height, stronger arms, and bigger stature, to swing the maul over my head and seemingly part the wood effortlessly. The girls laughed and had a good time with the fact that they were "being manly" with axes and wood. I'd let them dress up in my logger shirts, with fuzzy hats and warm boots. My work gloves were a little large on their hands, but it was fun nonetheless. They swung the axes over their heads, more often than not burying the head in the wood without splitting it in half. We'd use a sledge to finish the job, or I'd lift the axe and wood together and bring it crashing down on the splitting stump.
Half way through our work, Mary - laughing happily - squeezed my biceps and shoulders appreciatively, telling Jessica how nice it was to have a strong man in the house to handle these kinds of things. Jessica, to my thrill, took this as permission to touch me likewise and felt my upper arms, my shoulders, and even the back of my neck. She laughed like Mary, her eyes twinkling, and jabbered away about the idea. It was the first time Mary had talked about having a father around that Jessica didn't seem bitter.
Warmed up by our exercise, and enjoying the sunny, cold day, we elected to take an afternoon walk. It was pleasant to stroll through the trees near our house, down the lane, arm-in-arm, just talking about nothing. I was sure after her shock, Jessica needed the simple, easy, stabilizing recovery time. I knew how obsessive awesome sex could make me, even though I'd thought less and less about it over the years. I figured for a guy, or at least most of us, we weren't so much afraid of it but rather sought it out. For a girl, I reasoned, it might be more frightening.
Our evening pajama-movie was fairly uneventful. I felt a little let down, and thought about that myself as the cartoon ran through average humor and an order-ready plot. I remembered how many times it seemed as though I got myself worked up. Sometimes I went through a week where passions ran high, where my appetite for sex was enormous and had the fortune that it was being met. During those times I craved the physical attention and favors, and felt that their relief meant that I stayed at an even level instead of building up further frustrated heat.
Unfortunately, during a long stretch like that where my needs were high - even if they were being met - there were times when I really wanted something and some attention and it didn't happen. It was a let-down, even though I knew my sexual partner was doing pretty much everything she could to keep me satisfied and remain sane simultaneously.
So, I sat on the couch, cuddled nicely with the warm, cozy girls, wishing Jessica would pay attention to my penis instead of the movie, and felt simultaneously guilty and resentful. It wasn't fair of me to ask for more than she was already doing, but I also felt as though I'd been wound up and had reasonable expectations and they weren't happening.
I shook my head out and focused on how ungrateful that was. What would how many other men offer or sacrifice for what I was being given every night this week?
'Chill out,' I told myself. 'You can't make yourself like the movie, but you can let your mind drift and have a modicum of patience.'
I frowned, thought about it, and realized my grumpiness came from what it always seemed to come from. Uncertainty about sexual release. I was horny, no doubt about it. I wanted, craved, needed sex tonight, but I was concerned that Jessica was still recovering from last night's encounter and its unexpected emotional ramifications. I feared she might not be in the mood tonight. Might not come to my room. Might have scared herself right out of the whole experiment. I had been sexually stirred, awakened, and then brought roaring to lusty life. I was going to be grumpy if I was asked to simply let it go, settle down, and go back to sleep. It didn't work like that.
'It never worked like that,' I realized, looking back across my life. True concerns might make me scared or nervous, but almost every time I could remember just being grumpy - the kind of grumpy that rubbed off on others or was obvious or affected my days - was because I was horny without enough release.
The thought that Jessica had flirted with me today took the edge off my grumpiness and unease, but didn't eliminate it. We watched through the end of the movie, shared a little small talk about it, and tidied up the living room. I hugged the girls goodnight and took refuge in my den.
