He drops the shirt in his hands and gets under the covers with me, looking eager. It’s always hotter with him kissing me or pinching my nipples. But I like how she takes what she wants, at the bar with the long-haired girl in the mini, and back in the research shack with Daniel Craig. The Viking’s already left for work and I’m struggling to get up. He admits that it’s hard for him to get comfortable, too, and yes, maybe we shouldstop. At the park, I wonder if what’s sexually broken can be fixed.
I used to be like that with the Viking, and with the strapping young lads I knew beforehim. Just as I start to come, the puppy pounces on my chest. I suspect my sex life is more stagnant than that of my fortysomething friends with preschoolers. Aside from playing hooky with the Viking the other day, I’ve been working too much lately. Rather than start in on the business profiles I have to write, I start in on an imaginary three-way with Jack White and backup singer Ruby Amanfu. I tell him I wasn’t sure at first, since it’s been hard getting sexually comfortable with him again after so many platonic months, but now I do want to do this, really. At least we’re trying, I think, hoping I’m not kiddingmyself.
Today I’m wiped from getting up before dawn to make a deadline. It doesn’t take long before I’ve made a hot mess of thesheets. I’m in the basement doorway, putting the harness on the puppy.
I try to nap so I’m not a total zombie when the Viking gets home but failzombie. Between shows, I suggest a dinner-and-movie date for the coming weekend, just us two. The Viking looks up from his computer and says he wants to walk with us. He takes off my sneakers, my yoga pants, and my underwear and goes down on me.
Guest Post by Kevin Carr: Many of you are weary, and frustrated at the fact that what you want and quite frankly (what you deserve) has yet to make itself available to you.
He gives me a tender kiss, longer than usual for a weekday morning. When we get back from the beach, the Viking asks if I want a ladyscaping, something he knows I love. Usually I get super turned on and push up against the trimmer as the Viking shears my seventies porn pelt down to nothing. We grope and make out a while, but it’s forced and awkward. He squeezes my breasts and begins to buck, comingquickly. He takes off my underwear and reaches gently for my clit — almost too gently.
Once a week, Daily Intelligencer takes a peek behind doors left slightly ajar. I’m stuck on a difficult story and need a change of scenery. This time I’m with Jon Snow from Game of Thrones, only he’s tan and shirtless and wearing Jim Morrison pants. I get up to let out the puppy, who’s whining in the hallway.
This week, the Married Woman Whose Dog Ruined Her Sex Life: Female, 41, freelance writer, San Rafael, California, straight, 8 a.m. Like much of the sex I have in my head, he has me against the wall, sucking my nipples, then my clit. Instead of going back to bed, I stay up till dawn writing.
Before getting up, we snuggle with the puppy, who’s snuck into the bed and wormed her way between us in thenight. Walking back to the car from brunch, a guy who’s nowhere near my type checks me out a little. I tell him I’m hungry, we should start dinner and pick this up later. Earlier in the year, the dog I brought to this relationship almost a decade ago spent several weeks sick with a mystery disease the vet couldn’t cure. Now he’s back in our bedroom, looking for a shirt to wear. I’m bone dry and not interested in forcing the issue. He has to leave for work anyway and doesn’t seem bothered. I think about the woman in The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo (English version), which we watched last night. He chases me with the brush and paints my armbrown. The friend is still here, watching bad action movies with the Viking.
I’ve made an effort to dress cuter than usual for Date Day — sundress, heels, dangly earrings. During those three months of worry, then grief, I wasn’t a sexual being. Now that the new puppy’s breathed some life back into the house, it feels like time to resurrect our sex life. I tell him I have my hand in my pants, which he knows means I’m horny, or at least trying to be. I drift back to sleep with the puppy at the foot of thebed. She’s not the type I usually fantasize about: too thin, flat-chested, cyberpunk, pierced. I like that we still flirt even though sex has been on the wane this 8 a.m. The Viking stays behind, looking as dejected as I feel. I tell him not to feel bad, it’s both of us, we have to work at it, we’ll fix it. Aside from the dinner we grilled, I’ve been writing all evening. I stay in too long, wishing I were alone with theover.
I wake up at the same time as the Viking — nicknamed by a mutual friend for his height and heritage. Fully naked, I roll onto my stomach, the trim over. But I can’t even lift a limb and quickly fall back 9 a.m. I shower, put on a pair of cute panties, and find him lying on the couch, watching football. After two years of living together, the Viking is used to waking up to find my side of the bedwhen. I rub his penis and scratch his balls lightly through his underwear. The puppy jumps on the bed, squeaking her squeaky toy.
We’ve taken the day off work with the plan to goof around town, a date of sorts. The puppy is fascinated by the electric buzz so we lock her out of the bedroom. The Viking kneads and kisses my butt, then my back. I get under the blanket with him and press myself against him. It isn’t long before I am sucking him off while gently riding his thigh. Before he falls back asleep, I grind into his crotch.