CHARLIE
"Yeah, we're getting there," Rose sighed, and I could practically see her head shaking despite the fact we were talking on the phone.
"I mean, in his defense, it's been a couple of weeks, I've just been tired, not feeling well, so I get it," She continued. "And he's definitely getting gropey."
"Ah yes," I laughed, hoping to add some levity to the discussion. "Time for you to do some work!"
"Ugh."
Rose and I have known each other for 15+ years. We were good friends long before either of us got married and quickly became each other's "marriage counselor" over the years. If I was having an issue with Donna and needed a woman's perspective, Rose was my gal. And if Rose needed a man's point of view on a problem she was having with her husband, Don, she always knew she could talk to me.
"It's funny you mention this today, I just had a buddy at work today bemoaning the ol 'pity handjob,' talking about how much he hated it."
"THAT'S what I really need to do," Rose said. "I just need to get him off my back for a week."
"You're a real romantic, Rose," I chided.
"Fuck you," she shot back, but then laughed.
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"So seriously," Rose began, when I answered my phone on the way home from work that day. "What if I just give him a handjob? Is that good? Can I get away with that?"
"Okay, fill me in again, what's going on here?"
"Charlie, I feel like shit. I mean, I'm legit sick, stuffed up, I seriously don't even know why he'd want to have sex with me right now. I'm seriously gross."
"Well, that's your opinion. Us guys see things differently."
"Yeah, yeah, I'm always sexy to him, blah blah blah..."
"Okay, well listen... generally the pity handjob sucks. Seriously, I don't even want it anymore. I'd rather wait another few days, even a week until Donna's actually interested in sex than get that just-lie-there-while-she-strokes-me-fully-clothed-and-disinterested crap."
"Fuck fuck fuck, then what do I do?" She whined.
"Sex is absolutely out of the question?" I asked
"Right now, yeah, I just... I can't."
I should probably defend Rose here. Generally, she was still a pretty sexual gal. Like many married women (and men for that matter) she wasn't the crazy dynamo she used to be, but Don still had little to complain about, especially in comparison to several other married guys I knew. So if she wasn't willing to, she clearly wasn't feeling well at all.
"Okay, well... I have some ideas." I began, trying to walk the line of getting too sexually blatant. "And maybe we can get you through this with both of you happy."
"I'm listening..." she responded, with a hint of interest in this potential way out.
"So the important thing is for him to get something out of it that's fun, something sexy for him. If you just say, 'lay back and let me finish you off,' he's not going love it when it happens and, even worse, he's going to hate it after it happens. And worst of all, it's not going to satisfy him for very long. Hell, he could be back to gropey the next day..."
"Well, fuck it then..."
"But," I talked over her, "I think we can turn this pity handjob into something he'll really enjoy and leave him satisfied for awhile."
"Okay, talk to me..."
"Here's what I'm thinking. Pick a time when you're going to shower. Maybe at night before you go to bed would be a good idea..."
"Okay... "
"And then... pull him into the bathroom with you." I picked up my pace as the thought solidified itself.
"Slide off your robe and tell him you want to give him a treat... pull him out, grab some lotion and give him the handjob there as the shower runs... and let him finish on you, maybe your chest."
"Charlie, I... I don't know..."
"Listen, I'm just saying it gives him something," I debated. "He gets to see your body, he gets his rocks off, even a little kinkiness getting to finish on you. For you, you get to give him something sexual without a lot of work and you get to jump right in the shower afterward, clean off and you're done."
There was a long pause on the other end of the call, the wheel's in Rose's mind spinning.
"I don't know, it still sounds... I don't know I just don't want to do that either. I'm just so not in the mood..."
"I get it," I said, giving up my attempts to help my fellow married man. "It was just a thought."
"I appreciate you trying to help, I really do, you know that," She sighed. "Okay, I'm home, I gotta run. I'll talk to you later..."
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ROSE
I trudged into the house, throwing my briefcase near the coat closet and moved immediately to the kitchen cabinet with our meds in it. I grabbed a pair of Tylenol Cold tablets and threw them down with water. Between the pressure headache pounding on my temples and the sinus pressure exploding through my nasal passages, I felt like chopping my head off and ending it.
"Hey hon!"
I jumped a bit, Don's voice surprised me as he usually doesn't walk in the door for another half-hour or so.
"Whew, you scared me," I smiled, turning my head to allow him to give me a kiss on the cheek. "I didn't know you were home already."
"Did you not see my car in the garage?" He said with a bemused look on his face.
"Oh, I... I guess I didn't notice, my head is killing me..."
"Well, go lay down for a bit," he offered, giving me a second kiss, this time on the forehead. "I cut out early so I got that junk in the basement boxed up and dinner can be ready in just a little bit, take a break."
Awww. I love my husband. What a sweetie. I nodded and walked past him towards the stairs to our bedroom... and as I did, he grabbed my ass. It immediately re-darkened my mood.
"Yeah, I get it," I thought as I moved up the stairs. "You're horny..."
Seconds later, my head hit the pillow. I didn't even bother taking off my business suit, just wham, fell flat on the bed. I hadn't been sleeping well, what with the congestion and all, and between my long work day and the quickly-working cold medicine, I slipped off to dreamland.
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I awoke 45 minutes later to the smell of grilled chicken and butter-smothered baked potato. I struggled to prop myself up, my head still a little groggy, but mercifully feeling significantly less congested. My stomach grumbled and I realized I was very, very hungry.
"Dinner in bed!" My husband proclaimed with a flourish as he set the bed tray on my lap, a small salad tucked in next to the aforementioned food.
"Wow, honey, this looks so good," I smiled, grabbing the napkin on the tray and spreading it out on my lap. "Thank you..."
"Of course, anything for my baby," he responded, kissing me, this time square on the lips before I could react, lingering just a touch longer than a peck.
"Thanks," I said again, and dug in. "Where's yours?"
"I already ate," Don said, as he retreated from the room. "I want to get that basement stuff off to the donation center, so I thought I'd run it now if that's okay..."
"Sure," I waved him off, now fully focused on the meal in front of me.
Half an hour later, having devoured dinner, I was back downstairs putting my dishes into the dishwasher. My head felt significantly better, not great, but better and I was looking forward to curling up in bed, maybe reading a book and getting a good night sleep. My business suit, the one I just slept in, was uncomfortable (and a little sweaty after my nap) and would definitely need to head to the dry cleaners.
So I pushed back up the stairs and stripped off the suit, tucking it into a corner and making a mental note to drop it off the next day. I slipped into the bathroom, turned on the shower, and then retreated to the bedroom to throw my bra and panties into the laundry hamper.
