We left, me having been touched more by your friend in one night than I have by you in a year...you a bit tipsy off of beer and noise...me a bit uncomfortable with the outward show of whatever it was that got my head rubbed, my chest caressed, my back touched in a way I am only comfortable with you doing...even if you never feels so inclined. I chalk it up to being thirsty in a desert with only a stranger to give you a glass of water while your lover holds a barrel of the stuff. Maybe that is why I was so uncomfortable with it...I need it, I love it, I want more of it, just not from someone other than you.
We stay up late to watch a cover band, and it leaves me to wonder if this late hour would ever be realized in the quest for sanctification. Would this late hour ever be met in the raw sexual acts of a you and me rather than in the meaningless acts of watching nobodies sing a song we might like. I wonder what the pecking order is for "Things that Will Keep Veronica Up Late" and where our sexual lives fall on that list...if they have even made the list. I wonder why, and whether the bullshit excuses of the past will be called upon to continue the charade. I just don't believe they are the reasons anymore.
Slow-forward to leaving. Exhaustion as set in everywhere but the dance floor. "Let's go dance" would certainly promote much more energy than "let's go fuck", well that is if I could seem to do either this night. Still, I have to marvel in the energy you have to get this motion accomplished, and the energy I am spending on marveling in your seeming lack of fatigue on the dance floor turns to anger at the knowledge that as soon as we leave this place you will be too tired to move. So, is there something about me that makes you so tired? Or is this just the way it is?
Slow walk through a cold early morning to a cold car for a cold ride home. The heater in the car works, it warms the cabin for sure, but the space between us might as well be outside. I wonder, is the first driving blow job coming? Will she pick a dark spot somewhere and say "Let's park there"? Will she surprise me in some way as to say she got what I was saying in the earlier conversation that night? The rules suck. I respect what you don't want to do, but can we please make hay with the shit you are fine with? Your friend tugging at your shirt to get a glimpse of your tits sat fine with you, but it would seem that that action would have violated Section 3, Article 8, Paragraph 2 of the Rule Book. Or at the very least violated some portion of it somewhere. Not this night, with this friend, and I wonder what has given this friend a pass at caressing your husband and trying to get your tits to show.
Could it be acceptance? Could it be you accept her for who she is and still find a way to consider her special? I will need to give this more thought, and it isn't at the top of my priority list.
Well, we made it home without incident. Goodie! We make it to bed, no spontaneous blow job, no indication that me or my dick were anywhere in the consciousness of the only person I wish it to be in...no indication whatsoever that sexuality or even the needs of your husband have a concern. Certainly not in comparison to watching Depeche Mode cover music...now that is worth waiting up for.
I wake up this morning...bored and antsy and angry and frustrated. I hate waking up this way, but I am kind of getting use to it. I guess part of married life does mean that your sexuality falls behind Desperate Housewives on the priority list. That half-joke must be a half-truth. I wonder if I am wasting my final part of my prime years missing a third of what life is supposed to be. I went from being a fairly confident sexual being to a man sure I can't satisfy and do everything wrong. My skin is too harsh, my actions too abrupt, I go up instead of down, I have to work through a plethora of annoyed looks, a wall of long fingers, and set routine and set regiment of stuff. I have to keep in mind the year or so it has been since I have felt I have pleased my wife.
And I am getting sick of the baggage.
I will say that I am only venting here. If you want to know that only thing today that makes me pissy and bitchy there you have it. I can find peace everywhere else in my life, and yet the one place I need depend on someone else for it I find failure. Is the lesson to be learning here that I should not be dependent on anyone else? Is the lesson here that, to borrow some Rolling Stone lyrics, "you can't always get what you want"?
I guess I will learn what this lesson is sooner or later. But for now allow me to vent, to tell you how dreadfully unhappy I am with this part of my life. Now before you get all defensive and attack, I am not interested in your reasons, excuses or need to show me how it is all my fault. I don't care, I just care to get out the anger and frustration without it causing more in me. This is my proverbial beating a tire with a sledge, or more like beating a dead horse. This is nothing new, so I guess this is how life will be. I can now go back to thinking about me in my well-advanced years shaking my head at the waste of this time in my life. It makes me chuckle, if even just a little bit under my breath.
And I will await yet another futile night.
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