I playfully wrestled on the bed with my wife, Monica, late one night. I had one of her hands pinned above her head while I stretched with my other arm to reach the lamp on our bedside table. Just as my fingertips had barely touched the light switch, she bit me on the shoulder, causing me to recoil.
"Ow!" I yelped. "That hurt!"
"Don't be such a baby," she teased.
"Baby? You're the baby! Why won't you ever let me turn on the light?"
"Shhh," she whispered. "You'll wake up Kaitlyn."
Our daughter had just graduated from high school a few months earlier. I was counting down the days until she went away to college, leaving us with an empty house, which would allow us to make a little noise in bed for the first time in nearly twenty years. Exasperated, I flopped onto the mattress beside her. She rested her head on my shoulder and gently scratched at my bare chest with her long fingernails. I inhaled the sweet fragrance of her dark red hair.
"You're not going to pout, are you?" she asked. She kissed my cheek and her hand slid under the blanket and caressed my semi-erect cock through my boxer shorts. "Do you want me to take care of this or not?"
"I just don't get it," I said. "Why won't you let me turn the light on?"
"Because I don't want you looking at my fat body while we make love," she said.
"And I've told you before, you're not fat," I said. "You're perfect."
"And you're delusional," she said. "Sweet, but delusional."
"It's just that sex has become so routine," I said. "It's the same thing every Friday night. Always in bed with the lights off, after eleven o'clock, being as quiet as we possibly can. You're not bored with that?"
She withdrew her hand from my cock and turned away from me. "You think I'm boring?"
"I didn't say you're boring," I sighed, spooning her from behind. "I said our sex life is boring - and that's something we can fix. I'm just trying to add a little variety, that's all."
"I think you have it pretty good," she responded. "My sister says that she and David only have sex once a month."
"Yeah, well, your sister is an ice queen," I remarked, and then immediately winced after her elbow jabbed into my rib cage. "What's so wrong about wanting to see my gorgeous wife while I'm fucking her?"
"Do you have to talk like that?" she scolded.
"Do you have to be such a good little Catholic girl all the time?"
"Hey, I was a good little Catholic girl when you married me," she reminded me. This was true. Although Monica and I committed a major sin by having premarital sex, I had already proposed to her by then, so it was a bit of a loophole, I suppose.
We met in high school. She was so naïve and sexually inexperienced that I had to supply her with her sexual education. Not that I had much experience myself. Before meeting Monica, I managed to get to second base with a neighbor girl down the street. She stuck her hand down my pants and jacked me off. I came in my pants in less than a minute. That was the entirety of my sexual resume when I met my wife, and yet even that pathetic resume was longer than hers.
The drastic difference between my libido and Monica's had been the one and only bone of contention in our marriage. I had always been highly-sexual, while sex simply wasn't all that important to her. Aside from that one disparity, our marriage was rock-solid. Although I would never have changed my decision to marry Monica, I had always wondered if I had missed out on something by not "playing the field" a little more before meeting her.
I had tried every trick I knew to boost her libido. I bought sex toys. I bought lingerie. We tried role-playing (with laughable results.) I tried being more affectionate, doing more work around the house, and all the other things that women claim as excuses for not having sex more often. Nothing seemed to work.
"We used to make love during the day all the time," I reminded her. "Hell, there were a few times we did it outdoors! Remember that time at the park?"
She laughed. "Honey, I was nineteen years old. I was young and foolish - and hot. I didn't mind you seeing my naked body in the light of day back then."
"You're still hot," I insisted. "And you used to be a little kinky, too. Remember that weekend I proposed to you? You brought a can of whipped cream into the bedroom, covered my entire body with it, and licked it off! That was amazing!"
She shrugged. "That was a long time ago, honey. I'm now a frumpy old wife and mother."
"You're hardly frumpy!" I protested. "I think you're hotter than ever! I keep telling you that, but you just don't listen."
One of the many traits that drew me toward Monica when we first met was that she didn't seem to realize how beautiful she was. She had luxurious, soft, light auburn hair with natural waves down to her shoulders, and emerald-green eyes that sparkled when she smiled. That smile of hers sent bolts of lightning straight to my heart. She was a petite little thing with an athletic little body and an angelic face peppered with tiny freckles. Oddly enough, the trait that I found so endearing when we met had become an irritation. How could she not see how beautiful she was?
She sighed loudly. "Yeah, well, I'm sorry to say my kinky sexy days are long behind me. I'm afraid you'll have to take what you get. Now, are you going to 'fuck' me or what?"
"Ooh, dirty talk!" I said, climbing on top of her. "I say that's progress."
