Fine Lets Get It Over With

I am 45 and my wife is 39, and we have been married over fifteen years, it has been a wonderful but also at times stressful experience. We've been through quite a lot of sexual ups and downs, from hot cosplay parties in our early 20's, to romantic nights in front of the fire in our mid 30's, to...occasionally having sex on a lazy Sunday; marriage has highs and lows. Recently, we hit what I thought was an absolute low point. One night while trying to be as romantic as possible to her, she got the hint I wanted sex and said, "fine, let's get it over with."

The disgust in her voice honestly made me lose my erection.

"You know what, never mind," I said, grabbing the remote control and turning on the TV. Her mouth dropped.

"What the fuck! I can't believe you," she said, and stormed off the couch. She went into the bedroom and slammed the door, I heard her shouting to herself, talking bad about me but I could still hear here through the bathroom door." It made me so angry I grabbed my coat and keys and left the house.

Divorce was a word that crossed my mind. I didn't want to throw it all away on what I realize was an emotional and somewhat routine thing for married couples to experience. I looked in my wallet for a business card of a marriage therapist we had been seeing, Dr. Foster. Good guy, relaxed, always gave it to you straight and upfront. I decided to give him a call.

On the phone, he could tell I was upset, so he set aside time to see me today, (also so he could charge me, oh well). When I showed up to the office he could tell I was angry. He sat on the chair and let me pace back and forth and vent all my frustrations. I remember the last thing I said was something like,

"I just want her to want sex as much as I do! I just want her to be interested, that's all."

I sat down, exhausted. He watched me and waited to make sure I was done. He looked at the ceiling for a second to gather his thoughts.

"Robert, do you realize that men have a higher sex drive than women?"

"Of course," I said.

"So, why would you expect your wife, or any wife for that matter, to want sex as badly as her husband does?"

The question really made me stop and think. This is why I pay this asshole $100 an hour. "I suppose you're right."

"...and of course women have their moments when they really want a husband to have as much interest in her activities... right?"

"Yeah..."

"And just because you go to the ballet with her, do you REALLY want to be there?"

"Okay, okay I get it."

I thanked him for the words of wisdom, it did calm me down a bit, but I was still frustrated at his ultimate advice of "just be patient." Of course a guy that charges that much an hour is good at being patient. Meanwhile I had been patient enough!

I was still thinking about divorce, so my next stop was the gym to try and get some of my aggression out. While there I saw an old friend of mine, Josh, a large muscle head type, who was really into body building competitions and had quite a way with the ladies. Seeing him made me feel worse, as he was ripped and I was flabby, and I knew he was living his best bachelor life, getting laid all the time.

In the locker room after the workout, I brought up to him some of my marriage problems. It's always tough talking to single guys, but when I told him about what she said, "fine, let's get it over with," he seemed to think about it for a second, lost in thought.

"You know, I don't really know what it's like to be married, but I don't know Rob, I'm...kind of turned on by that idea." Josh said.

"What are you talking about?" I asked. He was always saying weird stuff, but usually at least it was somewhat intelligent.

"Well think about it, she's willing to have sex with you, so stop being a fucking cry baby about it, and she's doing it reluctantly...I mean, you know it's not bad, right, because she's your wife, and she is agreeing to it. She's giving you consent. But it's not like...total consent, right?

"Okay...I don't' really get what you're saying."

"I mean she consented, right?"

"Yeah...but she's just not into it."

"So use that as the kink." He nudged me on the arm with his elbow and walked off.

"But hey, wait," I shouted at him.

"Trust me Rob, think about it," he said and walked off.

On the drive home I thought about what he said. The emotional part of me started to give way to reason, and my larger than life friend was once again right. She was agreeing to sex, so beggars can't be choosers. And it was...kind of a sexy concept.

I went to the store and got a bottle of wine and flowers. I went home and was glad my wife was still there.

"Chrissy!" I shouted. "You here?"

I walked into the bedroom, she was organizing her closet. She does that when she is mad, it was like symbolism of the chaotic thoughts going on inside her own mind.

"Hey," I said. She turned and looked at me, seeing the bottle of wine and roses in my hand.

"That's sweet," she said. "I thought you left for good."

"Actually I saw Dr. Foster."

"Really?"

"He helped calm me down, I was emotional, and..." I took a breath, "I'm sorry and I wanted to tell you I love you."

"So that's why his line was busy," she said with a straight face.

"Wait, you too?"

"No, that was a joke," she said. I laughed, she laughed. The tension was gone.

We laid in bed and drank wine together. Eventually I worked up the courage to kiss her. This wasn't exactly how I planned, but in a way, it was better!

"Well, are you ready now?" I asked her. It was risky, this could backfire.

"I don't know," she said. "Maybe tomorrow."

I kept rubbing her thighs, kissing her, showing her I didn't want to give up.

"Please."

"Please?"

"Can't a husband beg for some sex from his wife."

"Ugh. Fine," she said. "You broke my will with your pathetic pleading, happy now?"

I got on top of her and began taking her clothes off. The whole time her eyes were fixed on me, like she was judging me. When I had a problem taking off her bra she rolled her eyes. When I started to pull down her panties she had a grumpy look on her face, making it clear to me that she wasn't going to help in the process at all. She groaned every time I jolted her body a bit to slip the panties off.

I had her naked. I gave her kisses. She turned her head and only let me kiss her cheek. Every time I went for her mouth she dodged. I did this all while taking my own clothes off. My penis wasn't erect. so I began rubbing myself against her.

I rubbed my hands over her body, and her large and shapely breasts. She complained, said it didn't feel right. I moved to massaging her shoulder. She complained for me to stop "humping her like a dog." I spit on my hand and rubbed it on my dick, not just to lubricate it but also to grow my erection. She said that was gross, and asked why I kept rubbing myself.

I tried to push my dick into her, it still wasn't at full erection, and her position wasn't helping. I moved her legs aside to create a bigger opening. She complained again and asked me how long was this going to take. I put myself into an awkward position over her so I could get the right leverage I needed. She said I looked ridiculous and we weren't in our 20's anymore, and to just do a normal sex position.

After lifting one of her legs were up, and my leg stretched behind me and pulling on my hamstring in a painful contortion, I finally entered into her. She gave a momentary gasp of pleasure before opening her eyes again to keep judging me. While fucking her she told me I had bad breath and I need to brush my teeth more. She asked if I was cleaning my pores with the special soap she gave me, and why my hair looked like I hadn't shampooed it in 3 weeks.

Eventually she shut up and my dick was now full on hard and going in and out of her. She started moaning in pleasure rather than groaning in frustration. For a moment she wrapped her arms around me and I thought she would give me a tight embrace, but then she complained that I was too sweaty and she could feel my wet back hair.

When I was about to cum I kissed her on the lips, she pulled away at the last second and I was left kissing her cheek while cumming inside her. I let out a groan. She asked me if I was alright. It was a frustrated groan. Frustration from her overly judgy attitude, and I worried she would be able to see right through me. Still, it made for a powerful orgasm as I ripped into her and let out what sounded like an angry yell.

"Quiet, the neighbors will hear," she said.

Afterwards she jumped right into the shower, and I laid on the bed for a second, wondering if that was a victory or defeat. I wasn't sure how I wanted to feel about it, but I did at least feel good.

The next day was Sunday. Usually the hook up day but that was rare. I wanted to have sex again, but two days in a row was a pipe dream. In the morning, I made her breakfast and coffee, and tried to pull her attention away from her phone.

"I enjoyed last night," I said to her.

"I bet."

"I was wondering if you would want to do it again today," said.

"Are you serious?" She asked.

"Yeah, I love you."

"Ugh," she said with a sigh.

She got up and walked into the bathroom and closed the door. I didn't think much of it until I started to hear rather large sobbing coming from the bathroom. It kind of shocked me at first.

"Are you okay?" I asked, a little frightened.

"Yes, I'm fine," she said.

At first I didn't know if she had hurt herself or something, but when she said that, "she was fine," it dawned on me. She's crying because I asked her for sex two days in a row. I could feel my old emotions building inside of me, and that nasty D word floating in my head again. I started to panic and wondered if I should call Dr. Foster again. But then I remembered my gym buddy, Josh. What would he say?

"You had sex with a woman and made her cry!" Josh would say, and I imagined all the muscle head freaks behind him laughing and pointing at me while they pump iron.

But then of course Josh would spin it and phrase it in that sociopathic way of his, "...and that's dominance."

I wanted to tell her I was sorry, but why? I also remember Dr. Foster's advice he gave once, that sorry does not always open the door. Sorry is like the lazy way to ask for forgiveness and to try something different before you jump to 'sorry.' Sorry is like breaking a window to get in. It sometimes hurts more than it heals.

And why should I feel sorry?

"Hey babe, I'm going to the store, you need anything?" We had stopped calling each other 'babe' for a while so saying it was awkward.

"No, I'm fine," she said, and I heard the water running and what sounded like angry tooth brushing going on. I decided to leave and get some fresh air.

After about an hour I came back with some groceries, saving her a trip by getting some things we were low on. When I walked into the house my wife was in the kitchen, doing dishes. Or rather...it SEEMED like she was. None of the dishes were done, but she had cleaning gloves on, a mop bucket at the ready, and what seemed like every cleaning agent from under the sink on the counter tops. I wondered if she had staged this to act busy as I came in.

When she saw me with bags of groceries, about 90% of it her things, almond milk, strawberry kiwi shampoo, these whole grain cracker things she claims to love but we always have to throw away a half eaten stale box, more wine...when she saw me taking all of her goodies out of the bags she softened her demeanor a bit.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said. And she started to help me put the groceries away. Her moment of weakness was short lived, as she started to complain, 'as if to no one' how many dirty dishes there were (our sexcapade last night interfered with nightly cleaning duties).

"Here, I'll help you," I said, and started doing the dishes. After working silently with her, for about 2 hours, the kitchen was clean, as well as the dinning room, the back cabinet where things disappear to, the bathroom, the drapes that were covered in spider webs, and the pillows and blankets that were thrown on the couch were now carefully folded and placed with loving care in the corner cabinet (to wait until we rip them all out and use them all over again).

Afterwards, we sat on the couch for a bit and finished off the bottle of wine from last night. I tried to kiss her but she leaned away a bit.

"I'm smelly. I'm gonna take a shower," she said.

"Well hold up, before you do that," I said. "Might as well get dirty again."

"Ugh, why do you have to phrase it like that," she said.

"It was just a joke."

"Not a funny one," she said, taking a sip of her wine.

"So?" I asked, in my sexiest voice and tried to give her a devilish smile.

"So? So what? Is that all you think about?"

I wanted to get mad, and explain to her, 'listen, we just spent two hours cleaning, I deserve it.' and she would either respond with 'yeah, that's why I'm tired,' or 'you think you DESERVE it' either result didn't seem very good.

So I kept it simple. "Yes, pretty much."

"Well that's gross."

(15 years ago you didn't think it was gross.)

"But anyways, how about it?" I asked, same sexy voice.

"Fine, let's get it over with," she said, and let me lead her to the bedroom. "Just please stop using that voice, it's not sexy."

"Okay..."

We got into bed, and she assumed the position.

"I'm not helping, you have to undress me."

"Can we, maybe do a different position," I asked, giving her the sexy smile but not the voice.

"Ugh," she sighed, and shifted over on her hands and knees on the bed.

"Is this better?"

"Yes," I said, while moving my hand up and down her butt.

"Try not to get your hand lost in my big butt."

"No, it's fine,"

"Yeah right," she said.

I didn't want to get into an argument about this, so I started to take her pants off while she kept informing me about how big fat and ugly her butt had gotten after all these years.

She was wearing stretch pants, so access was at least easy, and what's this --no panties, that surprised me a bit. Rather than trying to move her pants legs off her feet, which she wasn't helping me with, I just pulled her pants down as low as possible. Meanwhile she still had her shirt on.

I dropped my shorts, and because her back was to me, I was able to stroke my penis and subtly put some saliva on it while she wasn't watching. She complained that she couldn't turn her head around enough to see me and judge me. She even made the joke,

"Is this why guy's like this position, so they don't have to look their woman in the eyes?"

That was of course false as I enjoyed looking her in the eyes while making love, she was the one that always turned away.

I slipped my cock in and she gave an "owwww" that sounded somewhere between pleasure and pain.

"Wow, faster than last night," she said.

"See, the more we practice the better we get."

"Don't get your hopes up," she said. The old me would have been frustrated by that comment, but the new me didn't care. It actually turned me on. It was a challenge. I was pumping my wife while already thinking of how to get her next time. I already used flowers and wine. Maybe chocolate, or fancy restaurant, day trip...something to thaw the ice.

"What are you thinking about," she asked me, sensing I was thinking of something or maybe the silence just made it awkward.

I told her the truth, "thinking about fucking you."

I separated her butt cheeks and looked at her asshole, something I hadn't seen in a while. At one point it was a bigger centerpiece of our sexual activity.

"Are you looking at my butthole?" She asked.

"mmmaybe."

"Well don't."

"You don't want me to look at your asshole?"

"It's gross."

"No, it's beautiful."

"Fine! Look all you want! But that's just so gross."

I kept her butt cheeks separated as I continued to ram into her. I rubbed her asshole with my finger every now and then, just to remind her that I was still looking at it. I could tell her moans were getting heavier and heavier, and I was getting closer to cumming.

"I want to cum on your face," I blurted out, somewhat surprising myself.

"Uh... what? Why? What?"

She was stalling, she knew what I wanted, she was trying to pretend like she didn't understand.

"Why would you want to do that."

"I'm gonna cum baby, can I do it or not?" I said, while still thrusting hard and deep inside of her.

"Okay..." she said in between pants. "Okay...fine."

I pulled my cock out and, moving on my knees, positioned myself in front of her face. When she saw I was about to cum, she closed her mouth tightly, almost exaggeratingly closed. When she saw the cum shoot out of my dick she closed her eyes, so now she had her eyes and mouth closed. This was good, as I could now watch in silence as I sprayed cum over her face. To hell with the neighbors, I was neighing like a wild horse as one spasm after another shot cum on my wife's face. I stroked the final riveting strokes while watching the cum drip down her face.

She opened one eye, just to see what was happening. She must have saw me half-convulsing while yanking my dick all over her. She scrunched her face back and decided to just close her eyes again. She started waving her hands near her, asking while still trying to keep her mouth closed "Is it done yet?"

I could of gone on, the ripples of orgasm still flowing through my body, but watching her fluttering like a butterfly, with her eyes closed and cum running down her face, made me chuckle a bit, and I lost the train of repeated orgasms. I disguised the laugh as a grunt, so she wouldn't think I was making fun of her.

"Okay, done," I said.

She got up and "Ewwwed" all the way to the bathroom. She closed the door and I heard her shout "I think I got some in my mouth." Then the water turned on and there was a lot of spitting going on. I remembered the first time, some 15 years ago, when she took my dick deep into her mouth, and didn't pull it out until I cummed down her throat. Oh well...

We didn't talk to each other for a couple hours. She showered and took extra time making herself look pretty. We did have work tomorrow, so I didn't know if she had some important meeting she had to prepare for. When we finally saw each other she had a somewhat embarrassed look on her face, like she was blushing.

"Did you enjoy that?" I asked.

"I know you did," she said.

The old me would have, for some reason I can't even understand now, demanded that she enjoy it as much as I did, but now it just seemed like a silly reason to almost divorce the woman I love.

"Yes I did," I said and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

The next day was Monday, we both went to work, and when I got home, I cleaned up the kitchen a bit before she came in. She could tell I cleaned.

"Looks nice," she said, and gave me a little kiss on the cheek.

"Thanks," I said, moving my arm around her waist while she looked over the junk mail. I kissed her on the cheek and whispered into her ear, "I was thinking of maybe making love to you again."

"Ew, your breath."

"I brushed my teeth."

"I know, I can smell the toothpaste. It's too strong."

"Well, what do you think?" I nudged her with a smile.

"Again?" she asked.

"Sure, aren't we connecting well?"

"But it's Monday. I'm exhausted. I'm so tired. Do you understand how tired I am?" She stopped looking at the mail and tilted her head to the side, stomping her foot to exaggerate every claim.

"We can go to bed right afterwards," I smiled.

"I have too many things to do," she said, and stormed off into the bedroom. She closed the door, and I could hear her yelling to herself from inside the bathroom. "Oh that's okay you just worked a 8 hour shift, you aren't tired, just have sex!" She apparently doesn't know how thin our bathroom doors are.