We still have amazing sex but now it’s twice a week instead of damn near every night. I still wake up before her and watch her sleep at times but I don’t slide my hand under the sheets as much. We talk, we text, we laugh but the passion. The passion that came into our lives like a tidal wave just didn’t drown us like it did before.
Sitting in a meeting, trying to focus on work, all I could think about was how did we get here? I could live with arguing or fighting but this was different. We were becoming boring, comfortable. I wish I could say it was all her, she didn’t send the same pictures she used to send. “I’m not going to have a hacker having my ass on the internet. You see it every night so why do you need pictures?” She loves me, she still cooks and worries, there isn’t a selfish bone in her body but it’s just different. I still bring home flowers but now it just feels like a chore. Trying to remember the last time I picked her up in the middle of the day for lunch, I couldn’t. I used to do that for her once a week.
Seeing her name pop up on my phone with a video attached I put it back in my pocket. It was probably a video of a cat with a baseball cap on or a wedding dance that she thought was perfectly cute. Finishing the meeting, a little small talk, my phone vibrated again. “So I guess you didn’t like my video. I better send it to someone that does.” Wanting more than anything to avoid a fight I clicked on the video and my eyes immediately shot to the door because in a matter of seconds I couldn’t control what was happening in my pants. He woke up and anyone that would have walked into my office would have went to human resources with the quickness.
Where the bed was in our guest room was now replaced with a pole. A chair was sitting in the corner and music was playing in the background. “I know we’ve been in a funk lately, I don’t want us to be that couple. I’m saving a seat for you but until you get here I’ve learned a trick or two. So sit back and enjoy.” Sitting on the edge of my desk, watching my wife move her body to the music like she could perform at any club in Houston my mouth literary watered. A ripped up tank top and panties, she spun and bounced and dropped and when she sat in the chair and licked her finger and said, “I guess I have to get started without you.” What came next made me stop the video and tell my boss I had to go home right now!
Walking in the door, candles lit everywhere, the curtains closed. Music playing throughout the house; I walked to the guest room having to stop myself from running. Opening the door, seeing the pole, seeing the chair, handcuffs lying on the floor who was this woman because she wasn’t the wife I knew? Walking into the kitchen, seeing her on her tippy toes in that same tank top, in those same panties. Moving her body to the music while she cooked I just watched. She knew I was watching, the closer I got to her the harder she bounced it, shook it. Turning around and looking me in my eyes, “You must have watched the video. This isn’t free just because you’re my husband. Get on your knees and tell her you’re sorry for not waking her up in the morning like she’s used to. Tell her you’re sorry for not taking her to lunch once a week and after you tell her you’re sorry, give her a kiss.”
That half a day turned into us calling in the next day and rediscovering what we loved about each other’s bodies. Letting the nastiness settle in and the comfort level take us to places we’ve never went to. You don’t start looking for someone else when things go left; you fix what’s worth fixing. What’s worth fighting for.