I tried not to look him in the eye when he fucked me.
The ceiling was nothing special but it was more interesting than lying on the bed and waiting for him to finish. I hoped it would have gone quicker. He was one of those guys who couldn’t finish right away and had to go on and on and on until I just about had enough. Some girls liked guys like that and that was fine and dandy for them but not so great for me. I didn’t like the sex. Maybe I didn’t like the sex with him. He was always so rough like he had something to prove and I guess he kind of did because he had such a small dick. It wasn’t a micro-dick. I had seen my fair share of those but it also wasn’t ginormous. It was just small and dainty.
My head bounced against the headboard as his hips thrust into mine. Bang, bang, bang. That was probably going to leave a bruise or a concussion. He didn’t seem to care. In fact, he seemed to enjoy it because he went faster and harder then looked me in the eyes and smiled.
What did he want me to do? Did he want me to smile back? Grab onto the headboard and pretend I liked it?
I did both, just to please him. I did a lot of things that weren’t for my enjoyment but just to please him. I pretended I liked it. I pretended to orgasm but the truth was, he never ever found the G-spot.
That wallpaper was out of date. I hated it but I couldn’t change it. The house came from his mother after she decided it was better to live permanently at her summer home because it was by the ocean and the salty air was good for her arthritis. I didn’t know if that was true. I didn’t care. I was just happy to be rid of her. She meddled in everything. He listened to it all, took notes and tried to convince me that his mother knew best because she was old and wise while we were young and foolish. When she told him to keep everything the same in the house because she spent a lot of money designing it, he said he wouldn’t have dreamed of changing a thing. Not even the paneled walls or the yellowed linoleum or the master bedroom. Or even the bed. I tried not to think about how many times the old bag had sex in that bed and I tried not to imagine how many of her old pubes were stuck in the bathtub drain. God, that wallpaper was so ugly.
I didn’t feel anything for him. Not in years. When he grabbed onto my wrists to hold me down because he thought I liked that, all I could think about was how my nose suddenly started to itch.
He was almost finished. He was getting tired and I was getting sore.
And there it was.
He sounded like an elephant in heat when he finally unleashed his sperm. I saw a documentary about elephants during mating season so I knew he sounded like an elephant. I always thought about David Attenborough narrating our sex life.
And now that he has completed coitus, Greg eases his tiny dick out and proceeds to lay in bed, breathing heavily like he just completed a marathon. Little does he know that his act of injecting his seed into his woman will never result in any offspring. It is a secret she keeps from him and scientists still do not know why.
I took a cigarette from the nightstand and lit it right there in the bed even though I knew he hated it. Greg was a social smoker so he smoked only when he was drinking, which was rare, and sometimes on long trips when the traffic got too heavy for his liking. It wasn’t that he was opposed to my smoking. It was that he was opposed to smoking after sex because he felt like the cigarette smell masked the sex smell that he liked so much. You know that smell. It’s the sweat and the cum all mixed together and floating through the humid air. I thought it was revolting. That was why I had the cigarette. It wasn’t that I needed the nicotine fix. God, I needed to cover up his smell. Sometimes I heard people say that if a guy had good hygiene, his junk smelled good. Greg’s junk did not smell good. It smelled awful and I hated it to the point where I had to leave the room soon after we fucked so I didn’t have to smell him anymore.
When did we get to that point where we didn’t like each other anymore? When we didn’t love each other anymore? We got married young, that was the problem. We thought we were in love and we gave up everything to be with each other. When that honeymoon phase was over, we both realized we had made a big mistake but we were stuck with each other. We didn’t have anyone else. Our families were gone. The few friends we had to begin with were gone. It was just me and him. Him and me.
I butted out my cigarette and looked at him in the bed. He wasn’t the same man I married. His belly was a little bigger. There was more hair. His balls sat lower now and sagged. I didn’t find him the least bit attractive and was pretty sure he thought the same about me. I didn’t love him. Not in the least but I could never leave him.
“Want some breakfast?” I asked. He looked at the time.
“No, I have to get to the office early today. We have a board meeting.”
His work didn’t have a board. Or meetings. I think he was cheating on me.
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