My laptop would have to absorb my thoughts while I waited for my wife to come home. I threw on some clothes and headed back downstairs to my office. A piano bench sat behind my desk in substitute for a chair. When Jessie was a little girl, she would always sit on my lap, wanting to write stories and poems with me. After a while I figured I would replace my solo seat for something to accommodate the two of us.
Short stories were usually hard for me to write, even harder to finish but I was feeling inspired. My fingers hit the keyboard and began a journey through the world of a young girl falling in love for the first time, her parents forbidding it, her heart demanding it. My protagonist was three pages into her tale when I finally heard the garage door open. Joyce and Jessie’s voices carried through the hallway, their rare but infectious laughter pleasing my ears. My girls were in a good mood tonight. Thank the Lord. I could see them through the glass double doors of my office but they didn’t notice me. They were finishing up ice-cream cones, the reason for their delay, I gathered. Jessie gave her mother a hug, a gesture I hadn’t witnessed in far too long, and headed upstairs. It would be a good night. Joyce turned and headed back towards the kitchen but stopped suddenly as if some outside force tugged at her. She turned quickly away from the direction of the kitchen and headed towards the room where I sat. When she saw me by the light of my computer she smiled her perfect smile. I smiled back.
“What are you doing in here?” she asked, walking towards me.
“Waiting for you.”
She looked over my shoulder, tried to catch up with the dream world I was creating.
“You’re a great writer.”
“I’m a lazy writer.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t write enough, when I do, I never finish.”
“When you do, it’s beautiful. It’s poetry.”
She sat down besides me and took my hand, placed it on top of hers.
“You know I love you?” she asked.
I looked down at my wife as she buried her head perfectly in my chest, in its place, in the place it had rested for years. I stroked her hair like I had done for years.
“Yes, I know. I love you too.”
I leaned down to kiss her at the same time she tilted her head up to kiss me.
“That was a beautiful party, wasn’t it?” she asked, once our lips parted.
“I didn’t know Malik had such a way with words.”
“That’s what love will do to you, I suppose.”
“Do you love me like that?”
“And so much more.”
The corner of my eye caught the corner of her smile.
“Ready for bed?” I asked.
“You have no idea.”
My arm wrapped around Joyce’s waist and guided her up the stairs. She stepped out of her heels when we reached the top.
“Can you help me with this?” she asked, motioning to the zipper that divided her back.
She must have been anxious to get undressed. We hadn’t even reached our bedroom yet. The index finger and thumb on my right hand firmly gripped that zipper, slid it down her back in willing anticipation. I wanted her.
“Thank you,” she said softly.
My hand snaked its way underneath the open garment and rested on top of her hip. As we moved closer to our bedroom, my hand explored her southern hemisphere. Squeezed her thighs, caressed her behind. I was ready.
With all of my might, I removed my grasp from her skin and stood to the side so she could open the door to our bedroom. So I could see her face when she discovered my romantic surprise. The door swung open and my face lit up as hers fell to the ground. Joyce looked around the room, took in the candles, took in the fruit and cream on the bed. Took it all in and began to cry.
She didn’t respond. Just threw her arms around me swiftly, the way Simone had done to Malik only a few hours ago.
She let out a hushed, “I love you.”
“I love you too, baby.”
“This is just what I need after being on my feet all day.”
“I bet. I’m sure Simone put you to work.”
“You know it. That woman is my dearest friend but these wedding preparations are exhausting!”
“Come here,” I said.
I took my wife’s hand, locked our bedroom door and then walked her over to the bed. I took her dress off completely, doing my best to ignore the plain, tan bra and larger-than-life matching panties.
“Lie down,” I instructed, moving over the bowl of sexual dessert to make room for her.
Seated beside my wife, I lifted her left foot, silky smooth from the sheer tights she still had on and kneaded the delicate flesh. She moaned. I was sure to be thorough, wanted to relieve her of any pain and any stress. Once I molded both of her feet into complete relaxation, I crawled to the top of the bed, straddled her body and kissed her neck. She was still.
I asked, “Do you want some strawberries?”
I fed her and she smiled. She fed me in return. When I’d had my full, I gently placed the bowl on the floor and approached my wife again. She initiated a kiss this time. Grabbed my head and intertwined her tongue with my own. Kissed me long and hard. We pulled back the plush comforter and scurried underneath the sheets.
I straddled her once again and let my hands enjoy the body she promised would be mine forever. My hands removed the god-awful undergarments as quickly as possible, leaving behind the woman I loved in her purest form. My left hand cupped her right breast as the fingers on my right hand swam in her wetness. She wiggled beneath me but pushed my hand away. I squeezed her thighs, rubbed her stomach and then tried again, moving my hand back to her opening. The rejection came quicker this time. She grabbed my hand and turned to her side. Joyce moved her body back into mine, creating our usual spooning position.
I took a deep breath as her body settled into mine. She raised my hand and rested it on her heart. Its pace slowed steadily, the complete opposite of my own frantic rhythm. We lied there for a moment in silence. For a moment I imagined her turning towards me, climbing on top of my body and forcing me inside of her with no regard for my own desires. I imagined her unable to stop herself, unable to control her raw, carnal urges that arose simply from lying next to me. For a moment I imagined her wanting me.
I moved my hand from her heart and tickled my fingers up and down her spine, blew a cool stream of air on the back of her neck. That was bound to do the trick. Her body began its dance that I was all too familiar with. The gyration lived in her hips but reverberated throughout her body. I kissed the back of her neck then moved to her shoulder. The kisses flowed down her spine, following the invisible trail left by my fingers. My right hand palmed her ass as my kisses turned into nibbles. Her body’s vibrations increased, accelerating to a pace that matched my own unsatisfied hunger.
Grabbing her waist, I ground my girth against her ass. Just one graze against that juicy ass and my mind was gone. My dick rose to power, a complete dictatorship over my entire body. He poked her ass like a neighbor at the back door, desperate for some sugar.
Joyce moaned and turned over quickly. She wrapped her arm around my back and held on to me with a firm grip. She looked up at me and smiled, gave me a peck on the lips and nuzzled her head into my chest, all the while refusing to ease up on that grip. Her wiggle ceased as her body lied stiff next to mine. My moans decreased along with hers and we were covered in silence. I waited and waited for the sexual lioness attack that I knew wasn’t coming.
Her grip released slightly from behind my back. Her body inched away from me, creating a small space between us that, from my side of the bed, looked like miles.
“Joyce,” I stated plainly.
“Yes?” she responded with closed eyes, a slight foolish grin on her face, a weak facade that pretended it didn’t know what was actually going on here.
“Joyce,” I repeated.
She took a hard breath and opened her eyes, eyes that never met my own, just stayed focused on my chest.
“I thought you said you just wanted to do something nice for me,” she whispered.
“I did, but does that mean I can’t make love to my own wife?”
“I’m just so damn tired.”
“Michael, could you please just hold me? Please.”
I lied there, silent.
“I love you,” she said. “I just wish I didn’t always have worry about the ulterior motive.”
“Do you hear your…” I took a deep breath, "wanting to make love to my wife isn’t an ulterior motive. It’s wanting to make love to my wife.”
“Please, just hold me. Let me know its okay for you to hold me and love me like this, with me in your arms. Let your tired wife rest without feeling guilty about it or like she owes you something.”
Without another word I pulled her close to me. She turned and melted back into the little spoon. I held her tightly in my arms. Made her feel as safe and comfortable as possible. Pushed my rage deep down into my chest as there was nowhere to displace it, told my wife that I loved her and tried to breathe.