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JoeUser Forums
JoeUser Forums
...so I make little baby moans. He likes that. He swivels his hips counter-clockwise. He always does. I wish I wouldn't have shaved a few days ago. The hair is growing back and his pelvis is grinding into the stubble, making it burn. I still don’t understand this man’s desire to have my crotch look like a twelve-year-old’s. It won't be much longer; maybe another minute or so. Breathe. Moan louder and faster. According to the choreography he should be done just about...there he goes.
He flops over, triumphant. And that's when he farts. My God! I fake an orgasm with him nine times out of ten. I deserve better than a fart. He lies there picking lint out of his belly button. I deserve better than him. My tummy's pretty sweaty. I wipe it off and onto the sheet. He's still drenched.
Phone rings. He reaches over and answers, "'Ello," out of breath, "No. Yeah. Alright. Check ya later." He hangs up the phone and rolls back towards me.
Is he going to get his sticky body all over me again? He leans in to kiss me on the cheek. I flinch. I suddenly feel naked and tug on the sheet.
"The guys are going out," he tells me.
"I'll see you later, then?" I ask, looking at the wall. But I already know the answer. I direct my attention to the cuticles on my right hand. Anything that isn’t him.
He pushes himself from the bed, "Beats me. You know how us guys get." He doesn’t try to give excuses anymore.
"You’re never around anymore." At times I think that’s what keeps us together.
"Let’s not start this again."
"It was never finished." He thinks sex fixes things. Maybe if it was good sex it would.
"I'm going to make something to eat first. I’m going to make a bagel. You want one?"
"Don’t change the subject." He’s already in the kitchen so I add, "Onion."
"Where are they?"
"The crisper, where you put them." The crisper is for vegetables. Why does he put everything in it? Why bagels? You don't need to put bagels in the fridge, let alone the crisper. It's just a God damn drawer.
"Only have cinnamon-raisin."
"Forget it."
"You need to compromise sometimes," he yells to the direction of the bedroom.
I flip over twice to his edge of the bed and dismount. "Sure. With cream cheese." I put on my underwear and his shirt, not because I like it any better, but I know he thinks it’s sexy when I wear his clothes.
I stand, looking into the mirror. I take off his shirt and throw it to the floor. I put on my own shirt, pants, and shoes. I walk to the kitchen, "Never mind, I don’t want a bagel," and I keep walking.
He flops over, triumphant. And that's when he farts. My God! I fake an orgasm with him nine times out of ten. I deserve better than a fart. He lies there picking lint out of his belly button. I deserve better than him. My tummy's pretty sweaty. I wipe it off and onto the sheet. He's still drenched.
Phone rings. He reaches over and answers, "'Ello," out of breath, "No. Yeah. Alright. Check ya later." He hangs up the phone and rolls back towards me.
Is he going to get his sticky body all over me again? He leans in to kiss me on the cheek. I flinch. I suddenly feel naked and tug on the sheet.
"The guys are going out," he tells me.
"I'll see you later, then?" I ask, looking at the wall. But I already know the answer. I direct my attention to the cuticles on my right hand. Anything that isn’t him.
He pushes himself from the bed, "Beats me. You know how us guys get." He doesn’t try to give excuses anymore.
"You’re never around anymore." At times I think that’s what keeps us together.
"Let’s not start this again."
"It was never finished." He thinks sex fixes things. Maybe if it was good sex it would.
"I'm going to make something to eat first. I’m going to make a bagel. You want one?"
"Don’t change the subject." He’s already in the kitchen so I add, "Onion."
"Where are they?"
"The crisper, where you put them." The crisper is for vegetables. Why does he put everything in it? Why bagels? You don't need to put bagels in the fridge, let alone the crisper. It's just a God damn drawer.
"Only have cinnamon-raisin."
"Forget it."
"You need to compromise sometimes," he yells to the direction of the bedroom.
I flip over twice to his edge of the bed and dismount. "Sure. With cream cheese." I put on my underwear and his shirt, not because I like it any better, but I know he thinks it’s sexy when I wear his clothes.
I stand, looking into the mirror. I take off his shirt and throw it to the floor. I put on my own shirt, pants, and shoes. I walk to the kitchen, "Never mind, I don’t want a bagel," and I keep walking.
If you're not already married to the man, get out!
