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By willtobe1 Date: 2003 Oct 10 Comment on this Work [[2003.10.10.08.06.28760]] |
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Women prate and gleam and twitterpate about soulmate love and they damn and glower with brimstone scorn the dick-thinking jerks who don't know a good thing when its right there in their own bed, but I honestly think (and herein lies some of the problem!) that women don't have the foggiest idea what an awesome and neverending burden it is to take on a male libido full time. Here's what sex with you has been like since we had the kids - some five-or-so years of barely varying cycles: First the dry spell. And I try to be understanding because I know you need your sleep because you are tired because you're having so much fun using yourself up on the kids and I know this because I am, too. So I try to be nice but its so hard because you are so damn beautiful and even more so now somehow with the little extra baby-fat curves and then you come to bed with that 10-year-old torn and threadbare XXL T-shirt that shapes your breasts so *damn!* and almost-but-not-quite covers your *shit!* ...but I'm trying to be good and this is just part of life, right? and I had all those years of all-I-could-want right? and so I do my best to make up my mind to just get used to it. Then you almost-but-not-quite get in the mood. We get home from work and you grin and grab my crotch and talk dirty in my ear behind the kids and say, "Can I get me some of you tonight?" And then (and this happens again and again and AGAIN!) about nine o'clock you start to yawn and your eyes are half closed and you stretch your head sideways with sleepy smile and say, "Can I go on to bed?" And I say "of course" because I love you and anyway I want to wait till you really want me, want IT ('cause that's what I truly live for, your wanting) and I'm just trying to get used to it I'M JUST TRYING TO GET USED TO IT, OKAY?!?!? And then about the time I think I'm getting used to it there comes a night and you knock my sox off. I mean, you KNOCK MY FUCKING SOX OFF! BAM! I'm getting everything I want and you can't wait to give it to me and give it and give it but I'm not buying this shit, oh no, I'm not buying it because tomorrow night it'll be back to "can I go on to bed?" and then there I'll be, so I'm not buying it. And then next night comes and BAM! you knock my fucking socks off AGAIN! and I start thinking, "Okay, so maybe I CAN have marriage and kids and a healthy, satisfying sex life!" and I start thinking about how to take it to the next level (cause I'm probably a closet borderline sex addict but what man isn't? and, hey, just think of all the things I do for you, right?) and I'm going fucking crazy just thinking about it and then... You're gone. You're just gone. Deep into a book. I never get any time to myself. I'm sooo tired. Late phone calls. TV shows about twins conjoined at the head or some sobby shit. Dammit, I started. I'm sorry honey. Do you want you some before I go to sleep? Gone, gone, gone. And after months of not getting used to it, I start to build a cyst around my needs. I say snide and mocking things when you grab my crotch. I race you to be the first one to sleep. I start planning little divorces from what I usually give up for you: I'll go riding instead of going to church; I'll work on the building instead of going to your family's house for the day. I hide my eyes under my ball cap so I don't have to look into the eyes of your increasingly obvious but oh-so-whimsical need. And its somewhere along through here that I usually wake up fucking you. I go to sleep tired, dull, chronically numb except for maybe a kind of barely audible background humming, like the machinery in the walls in One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest. Sometime later I come to myself with my whole body humming "VVVVVVVVV" (like a "shotgun" headrush, you Seventies fans) with my tongue buried in your hot cistern mouth, so odd, so weird, tongues wrapping and lapping back and forth like some kind of goddamn Sumo battle, where'd this come from? with passion and anger and pent up need like a Third Force pushing us into fleshy G-force rippled waves of each other's bodies, St Elmo's Fire lighting up in the night and you're so, so wet that I couldn't even tell I was in you if I weren't just so completely fucking INTO you like my whole body's trying to cram itself straight up your worst needs and then BAM BAM BUWHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHMMMM... ...and then it's a crisp blue sky-after-a-storm morning and the only thing that I can say for sure happened is that we're about to start the whole damn process over again. And you don't even seem to notice. |