Home, Alone, Again

I am home alone again.

My husband James is a cargo pilot. He leaves before I wake up, three days a week, and is home in time to tell me about his day, perhaps watch some late night television, then go to bed, usually too tired to have sex.

I hate that he would rather watch the food network with me than play with my boobs while trying to convince me to blow him.

Most nights, I don't even want to have sex. Although, I do think about it a heck of a lot. About one hundred times a day, I think of him sliding himself into me, in a way that screams his physical desperation to be there.

Not that this ever happens.

Our sex-life:

"Do you want to do stuff?" He says from the other end of the couch, accompanied by his foot flirtatiously poking me in leg as he asks.

"I guess so..." I say over the romantic background noise: Gordon Ramsay calling some woman a fat cow as she holds a pan of burnt risotto and is on the verge of tears.

James goes back to Gordon.

"HAH! She is sooo getting kicked off this week."

We end up watching "The Next Food Network Star" followed by "Iron Chef: America" until we finally give in and go upstairs. In bed, he turns to me and says "Can we do stuff in the morning? I am so tired and I was up early."

I roll my eyes in the dark because I know he can't see me. No. That is a lie. I would do it even if he could see me. I decide to let out a huff as a substitute for the missed 'eye-roll-attitude'.

"Yeah it's fine, I guess".

"You sure? I feel bad." He says sounding sincere.

"Yeah it's fine." I repeat.

"Love you" He says.

"Yep." I say.

This is the closest we will get for three whole nights, to me acknowledging how pissed I am that he would rather watch Iron Chef than fuck me. Thursday we will have a big fight and go another 24 hours without having sex just based on principal. Friday night, he will come home tired and pretend he wants me, because he is tired of fighting and doesn't want me to be mad at him. He also knows the weekend is when I do my best cooking...


Most wives use withholding sex as relationship leverage. I must say, six months in, I somehow lost this weapon and got left with withholding meatloaf instead. I know it is not that I am a bad lay, I am just a good cook. Its also the fact that something changed in James six months in. Hormones, depression, I don't know. It is our elephant in the room.

I do make a fucking wicked meatloaf though.