He is painting my body around our house, we started on the kitchen counter and now we are on the floor in front of the fireplace. No lights, no television, no phones, just the glare from the fire going. Pictures of us from high school hang on the wall, memories before the baby — when things were still alive. He is my first love, my best friend and my husband but his sex is horrible! Boring, uncoordinated, too fast and too slow. His penis size is already enough to compromise with but his head is so cruddy it is infuriating yet saddening at the same time.The other night after we finished I cried, literally, I was so disappointed.
Love causes me to stay, love is the reason that while he’s eating me like a teenaged virgin who is blindfolded and missing a tongue I imagine my other lovers; Kevin and how perfectly he licks my noni, I picture his head in between my legs instead of my husband’s. I’m picturing his long black hair braided back while his pale face sucks my insides out. The more I picture the nights I spent in his bed I’m drifting into a space where this has become enjoyable. I picture my female playmate, Roy and her incredible green eyes looking up at me as I look down on her. She always kissed my noni right before the moment of climax — while my body was convulsing in the air she would stop and kiss my outer lips twice and say thank you... it was her signature move and left me on edge waiting for her mouth to return and please me every time.
Why when the sex is bad does it seem like men are more dramatic? I can barely feel him inside of me and yet he’s making noises like he’s killing me. He’s grabbing me in all the wrong places, it took him three minutes to even put it in. I mean we’ve been together for so many years you would think he’d know me by now. My professor knows me well, he would grab me with both hands one on each side just the way I like it. He would grab me and pound me onto his long black shaft. I wouldn’t be able to talk If I was bent over his desk like I am every Monday night when my husband is busy with meetings. Sometimes I wonder if he knows deep down that his sex could never be enough to keep me with only him; he went ballistic when I suggested we go to a swingers’ party and try new things. I tried to make it seem like it was about him, telling him how it would turn me on to watch him fuck another woman in the hope he would be down to go so I could relieve my needs. I booked a event in the city where the party was held and went anyway. Why should I miss out because he’s not open to new things?
I love this man more than anything in the world so instead of telling him how I felt about his garbage ass sex I moaned like it was the best I ever had in my life. I grabbed the sheets for things that weren’t there, let my eyes roll back, called him daddy — I wanted him to feel like the man. He is the man, the man I love, just not the man who can please me sexually. I was reminiscing about a one night stand I had in Boston when he finally came and this nutless torture was over. The routine is the same every time; he uses the bathroom, smokes a cigarette and falls asleep. I wait till I hear him start to snore before I head to the shower and bring my vibrator to make up for what he lacked thirty minutes ago.
I couldn’t imagine being in a sexless marriage, I barely have sexless friendships. I have a drawer full of toys and a collection of home videos for self use. Although I hate these sessions, I have to do them to keep my marriage alive, to make him feel loved. I don’t dwell on what just happened for long, because tomorrow is Monday.
