A husband becomes disenchanted with his pretty wife

“DON”T leave the kitchen sink in such a mess like

“What mess? Its just a few leftover soap suds.”

“It drives me nuts.”

Well, she drives me nuts, too.

Once again, I couldn’t get anything right. Why can’t
she just chill out, lighten up, stay cool, or whatever
slang the youth of today would use to describe it?

It was obvious to anyone who cared to listen to us
that my wife and I did not get on very well anymore.
In fact for some time it seemed we had been drifting
further and further apart.

We could put it down to any number of things. The
pressures of modern life. Our competitive work
environments. We were city-dwelling
thirtysomethings, both at the height of professional
careers that took a lot out of us. We routinely needed
a whole weekend to “veg out” and recuperate from
each working week.

And sex? Forget it! In times of stress my own libido
increases, but hers fades away to nothing. She only
feels horny when everything is perfect and in its place,
and all is right with the world. Nowadays these
conditions seldom apply to our situation. Take the
soap suds, f’rinstance.

I can’t blame her, it is just the way she is. A Catholic
upbringing combined with an over-developed work
ethic. She must love me if she kept me hanging
around, unless it was just out of force of habit. I
mean, I don’t know for sure because she seldom says
so out loud these days. But I couldn’t imagine myself
living with anyone else but her. She is one of the
smartest people I know. On an intellectual level, we
have always clicked.

In fact, that was how I beat off the competition and
won her over in the first place. Although short (five
foot two), not large in front (32B) and not
conventionally pretty, she oozes a certain spunkiness
and there have always been guys interested in her. In
high school she was dating the captain of a sports
team, while I was a nobody. But at University I came
into my own. Her sports jock had to leave town for a
year and in that time I was somehow able to fascinate

When he came back, things got a little tense. I was
away for a month myself at that time, and he came
calling for her. Afterward she confessed to me that
while I was absent she had been in a dilemma. She
had gone out with him a few times “for old times
sake”, and there had been a certain amount of kissing
while in his car. Well, that was her story anyway, and
what could I do but take her word for it?

Funnily enough, I felt no anger at her two-timing like
that. I was strangely fascinated by the thought of her
getting passionate with another while supposedly
being in love with me. She is normally sensible and
with good self-control, very conscious that she should
do the “right thing”. I almost wished I could have
been there to see her get so physically worked up over
someone; worked up enough to let down her guard
and misbehave like that. Anyway, she came back to
me and I forgave her completely.

She could never really be described as a sex machine.
I mean, not the stuff of which wild erotic stories are
based, though how good an indication is that of the
average joe? I found her very physically attractive and
would always want to perform all kinds of undignified
acts upon her person. She liked me doing stuff to her,
but was herself quite passive in bed and never that
inspired to explore what kind of things might make
*me* climb the walls in a frenzy. A lazy lover, I

She had not been a virgin when we started up with
each other, but had not enjoyed oral and hadn’t yet
had an orgasm. Not by herself, or with anyone else. I
felt quite proud that I was the first one to go down on
her properly, to produce for the first time that
characteristic shortness of breath, clutching at the
sheets, trembling of the hips, and inner cunt
squeezing that indicates she has just gone over the
top. Nothing spectacular, not like anything you might
see in an Ed Powers video, but she was certainly
capable of enjoying herself.

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