The Thought Does Not Count
I get home from work, expecting to walk through the door and find Alyna watching TV with the kids followed shortly by a discussion about whether we have anything in the house for dinner or if I need to go pick something up. Instead, I open the door to find no Alyna and no kids. There’s just a little note with my name on it lying on the rug just inside the front door.
It reads, “Kids are with Isabelle until 11. I’m in the bedroom.” At one point during our therapy session, I remember, Roland told Alyna that she should be more spontaneous with sex, that it would potentially help both of us become more interested in having more of it. I assume this is her attempt at spontaneity. I get mildly excited by the idea of fucking my wife and then realize that, even after Alyna and I fuck, I will have fucked Holly more this month than I have my own wife. I push this out of my head and walk to the bedroom.
I open the door and see Alyna on the bed in lingerie, which I have no interest in, reading A Walk Across the Sun. She looks up and says, “Oh, I didn’t hear you come in,” then quickly reads a few more lines, marks her place with a bookmark, puts the book on the nightstand, and says, “Why don’t you get out of those work clothes?”
I strip down in a few seconds and get in bed next to her. She says, “I bet you weren’t expecting this today.”
“No, I wasn’t.”
“Is it getting you excited?”
“Uh . . . yeah. You?”
“Sure. Yes.”
She kisses me. It’s a strange, forced kiss, almost vacant. It’s almost what I would imagine a kiss with a prostitute to be like. I can easily tell that she’s not into it, that she’s doing it for some other reason. For Alyna, that reason is that it was ordered by her therapist. For a prostitute it would be money. The result is the same: a stiff, nonsexual kiss that seems unnecessary.
I stop her and roll her over on her back, take her lingerie off, and start kissing her down her stomach. It’s obvious I’m making my way to her pussy. She says, “Wait. Let’s just do it.”
“Just fuck?”
“Yeah, just have sex. No foreplay.”
“Why?”
“Just to be spontaneous.”
Alyna clearly thought of the “no foreplay” scenario long before I got there, which of course makes it anything but spontaneous. I say, “Okay,” and get a condom from the night table on my side of the bed. I say, “You want to put it on?” hoping this will play into her doctor-ordered sexual spontaneity.
She says, “No. You do it. You’re better at it than I am.”
I roll the thing down my dick and she says, “Let’s do a position that we haven’t done before.”
I think back to when we first started dating, when we would fuck three times a day in every position in every hole. I think back to when she wanted to fuck. There isn’t a position we haven’t tried. I say, “I’m game. What did you have in mind?”
She says, “The pile driver.”
I say, “What?”
“Yeah, it’s like, I don’t know. I looked it up online. It’s like a porno thing. I thought you’d like it. It’s like where the guy, you, kind of gets up above me and squats down and I’m kind of like rolled back on my shoulders. Hang on, let me just show you.”
I can feel my dick getting soft as she reaches over and gets her iPad. She cues up a video of a guy pile-driving some chick. I’ve seen the pile driver a million times. I just didn’t know that’s what it was called. It doesn’t seem fun at all. It doesn’t seem like it adds any sexual pleasure. It just seems like work.
I say, “Do you really want to do this, or is this something you think I want to do?”
She says, “I think it’s something that we haven’t done, and if we’re trying to spice things up, we should do things that are new.”
I say, “Alyna, you don’t have to do this. I can tell you’re not into it.”
She says, “Yes, I am. I want us to have sex more. I know you think I’m fat now and I don’t like sex, but it’s not true. It’s just that—” She starts crying. “We’re just not the same people we were, you know? I want to want you to fuck me like we used to fuck before we were married, up against walls and in the shower and all of that, but it’s just different for me somehow now. All I think about is the kids. I remember when all I thought about was your dick. That just seems like so long ago, and we can’t be the same people we were then, right? I mean, we’re parents now and that means things change, right? The things that were important to us before we had kids are different. That’s all it means. I mean, is that terrible?”
She breaks down sobbing. I hug her and kiss her on the forehead. I say, “It’s not terrible at all. Not at all.”
Through tears she says, “I’m a good mom, right?”
I say, “You’re a great mom. You really are,” as my dick goes completely soft.
We lie there for another ten minutes. I console her about the state of our relationship. She assures me that she had only the best intentions when she set this whole thing up. I tell her that I appreciate the effort. She tells me she loves me and I tell her the same thing. Then I go to the bathroom and pull the unused condom off my limp dick.