1
“Fuck you feel so good, baby,” Samuel groans in my ear laying on top of me, his dick pumping in and out of me. I release a fake moan rolling my eyes. Thank God he’s almost done.
For the past five years we went through the same routine–Sammie would creep into bed, reaching over to rub my shoulder, signaling to me that he wanted me to turn over. Then he would proceed to squeeze my breasts, climb on top of me, and start rutting like a bull for ten minutes.
Having to fake an orgasm to save his ego always irritated me. What was even more frustrating was that he didn’t seem to notice or care–like my pleasure wasn’t even worthy of being an afterthought.
Twenty-five years together and the last five had been filled with mediocre sex. It was so bad lately that I hired a private investigator to see if he was fucking anyone else. Two thousand dollars and three months later, I found out my husband was the faithful man he’d promised to be since the day I married him.
He just wasn’t sexually the same. I used to have to beg him to stop pleasing me…now he seemed to always miss the mark.
He stroked in and out of my sore pussy three more times before his body began to jerk out his release, rolling off me when the last of his cum dripped out. I silently thank God again that he was done. Releasing a heavy sigh, I turn over, angrily jerking the blanket over my body.
I love my husband, but I am not putting up with this shit anymore.
“That was just what I needed. You always get me right Evie baby,” he praises.
“I wish I could say the same,” the words leave my mouth before I can stop them, but I don’t regret them one bit.
“W-what,” Samuel asks, shifting in bed, “did you not enjoy it?”
“I used to,” I sigh, turning to face him.
My husband has always been nineties fine. Well maintained muscle covered his tall frame, coated in perfectly toasted caramel skin. The tattoo of my name written in cursive over the left side of his chest. Full lips, straight nose. I knew his face like the back of my hand. The only thing unfamiliar was the hurt currently in his dark brown eyes. I hate seeing it. I hate knowing I caused it. But, it was too late to take the words back–not that I wanted to.
“What do you mean by that,” he asks, his jaw clenched.
I sigh, gathering up all my frustration and let it loose.
“Lord help me,” I say bluntly, sitting up to look him directly in his eyes.“You didn’t make me come. You haven’t in a while. Our sex life has become as routine as you taking out the trash on Thursdays. Shoulder rub, squeeze, squeeze, then you hump me until you come.For a while I convinced myself that it was a phase after Mickey passed away and then you had some issues with the franchise. It was never the right time…but then it got worse. I started to think there was someone else, but a private investigator put that worry to rest,” I say, easing up my tone.
“Why are you just now saying something,” the hurt in his eyes evident., “Why not bring it up during our talks?”
We started our Thursday talks when we first got married, not wanting to repeat the same mistakes as our parents. We used the talks to check in with each other about any and everything, including our kids. We wanted to set an example for what healthy communication looks like with your partner.
Five years ago when Samuel’s best friend Mickey passed away suddenly from a heart attack in Sammie’s arms things changed. Rightfully so, this threw him into a dark time and when his auto shop ran into trouble it only got worse. He was able to save the shop and even started counseling which was big for him–especially as a black man–but he just never snapped back to the same old Samuel.
“You had me followed,” his deep baritone bellowed, causing me to jump. He never yelled like that.
“You would’ve done the same thing, if I had a drastic change in behavior like that,” I defended while tearing up. “We used to be all over each other all the time then…nothing. At first, I thought it was just grief, then I thought you didn’t want me anymore.”
“Why not ask me,” he yells, banging his hand against his chest.
“I did,” I shouted, “Everytime I tried you’d say we’d circle back to it or not right now. Do you remember last year, that weekend that Jayden went to tour colleges when I specifically had us both set aside time to talk about everything?As soon as the conversation started you came up with some excuse to run to the shop or Dion needing you, like every other time I brought it up. I tried but you would just brush me off," I sigh, feeling lighter in some ways. “Eventually I stopped asking, thinking you were at least talking to your grief counselor about it. Baby, I love you and I’m sorry if my words came out harshly, I’m just frustrated.But with all the kids finally grown and out of the house, maybe we could get back to us,” I say gently stroking his cheek.
“I need time,” he says, “I’m going to sleep in Jayden’s room.” Gathering up his pillow, he left the room without another word.
His anger is understandable, but I had to say my peace. Samuel was my one and only and we were so compatible on so many levels. I could deal with the grief and the issues he was having at the shop, but our sex life was where I drew the line. I needed that connection with my husband. Sex used to be an experience between us. It used to be an adventure that no matter which route we took, our destination was pleasure and reconnection. Now it was stale.
At forty-six we raised three beautiful children, we are in good health, and we still look damn good–I want to enjoy my time with my husband. We weren’t just parents or a married couple–we were people too. We have wants, needs, dreams, and desires.
We need a reset. We need to rediscover us.
Every other time I’d felt this way I did everything I could to pull us back from this place–course correcting to keep us on steady ground. This time it was Samuel’s turn. I love my husband, but I need him to show me that he was still in this with me, not just a shell of the man I knew him to be.
2
“Now you know you're wrong for tellin’ that man like that.” My best friend Lina scolds me disapprovingly after the recap I gave her of last night’s events. We met at the café that was an equal distance between our office buildings for lunch.
