Part 3
Well, this part has come a long way.... not entirely by choice. After writing this the FIRST time, I was well on my way through my last edits. Opened the file to (hopefully) finish the edits and post to Lit, and POOF corrupt file, all 19 pages of the word doc corrupt. Gone. Disappeared. Vanished.
I'd like to think this forced do-over has resulted in a slicker, better flowing story. I hop you enjoy it.
This is a continuation of an ongoing story, while not necessary, I would strongly encourage you to read the first 2 parts before diving in.
Onto take 2...
Part 3 -
John Prescot sat out back of his house, sipping beer from a bottle on his back deck. It had been a pleasant enough Saturday which consisted of some early October yard work and puttering around the yard tackling many of the miscellaneous items he had been putting off. Zach was away at a friend's place that night for a sleepover, leaving John and Emily on their own for the evening.
As John finished his third, or was it his fourth, beer, he watched as the patio lights flicked on while the sun slowly set. He is pulled away from his aimless thoughts by the sound of the patio door opening and closing, his wife Emily stepping out with her own drink of choice. A slightly lecherous grin crept across John's face as he looked at his wife, a tight pair of black Lululemon leggings paired with her usual East Coast Lifestyle hoodie hugging her still desirable curves just enough.
As he scooted to one side of the outdoor couch he was seated on, John said, "Plenty of room over here, come join me."
By reply, Emily laughed softly and took a seat in the large single lounge chair opposite the couch, setting her glass of wine down and opening her book as she replied, "No sense crowding you when we have this perfectly good lounger. Besides, you know I prefer to sit here to read."
"God forbid..." John muttered partially under his breath. The alcohol from his beers just enough to loosen his lips, "Wouldn't want to accidentally touch me."
"Listen John," Emily sighed, "this is just a better spot for me to read."
"Well maybe you could find something, or someone else to pay attention to for once other than your book, or book club, or work, or what ever else you busy yourself with."
As she set her book down, looking at John with a mildly put-out look on her face Emily retorted, "Look, we've been over this, and frankly it's not cute anymore."
Normally this would have been the end of it. Normally John would retreat for another drink or to do some busy work to move on. But this had not been a normal few weeks, and John had just enough alcohol in him to decide to push back.
"Right Emily. God forbid I should want any sort of physical intimacy with you. God forbid I should want to kiss you, or touch or, even have sex with you," John feigned indignity and clutched at a set of imaginary pearls like an ancient prude on one of her favorite Netflix period pieces, "How dare I still want to have sex with my wife."
"Well excuse me, John. I've told you this before, and I'll say it again now. I'm just not interested in sex anymore. I have no desire or need for it. We tried for a while, but I've come to accept that that part of my life is done. You should too."
With a slow, deliberate motion John reached over and picked up his open bottle. A long deliberate sip as his mind churned on her words. Every instinct telling him to give up as there was no winning this argument, there never was.
But a smaller, louder part of his mind reminded him of how good it felt having sex with Charlotte just a few weeks ago during the conference in Ottawa, and last week the incredibly sensual mutual masturbation session he had shared with his former student Lily. Why shouldn't he be allowed to feel good?
As he set the bottle down gently, John looked Emily squarely in the eyes and asked, "How is it fair that you should get to decide something like that on your own. Why is it, that you can unilaterally decide that my sex life doesn't matter? That my need for intimacy and physicality doesn't matter?" he looked at her, trying to gauge her feelings on the matter. "It doesn't seem fair to me," he declared before looking away.
They sat in silence for a minute, John had to resist the urge to break the silence, rather he waited for Emily to respond to his line of questioning. Her reply came as she stood, collected her book and glass of wine, and returned inside to the house. John watched her go, feeling a mixture of elation and sorrow that she couldn't rebut his questioning but also that he may have pushed too hard.
"Fuck it," he said to no one as he sipped his beer and watched the sun disappear beneath the horizon.
He sat there for a little while but ultimately collected his empties and retreated inside form the quickly cooling Canadian October air. Once that sun disappears, the bottom really dropped out of the temperature.
It just didn't make any sense to him. He wasn't bad looking at 42 years old he was still in surprisingly good shape. Bit of a dad bod vibe but still a trim stomach, broad shoulders and some definition on his chest and arm muscles. At 5'11" and just shy of 190lbs he still considered himself to be attractive... and, he grinned to himself, Charlotte, and Lily both seemed to appreciate his middle-aged self without too much complaint. Topped off with a somewhat thinner layer of sandy brown hair and piercing blue eyes, John was routinely mistaken for someone in their early 30s... which is a win when you're in your 40s.
Inside, as he stood at the kitchen sink rinsing his bottles out, he couldn't hear anything. Emily must have headed upstairs to read in bed, or down to her office. Deciding to give her some space, John opened up his messenger bag and took out a small stack of history essays to grade at the kitchen table. For this particular class he found that a few beers always made their writing more tolerable.
Some time later John is pulled out of his marking by the creak of the bottom stair, looking up to see Emily in her housecoat and a serious look on her face.
"Em, I'm sorry about what I said earlier..." John starts to say but is interrupted.
"It's not fair," a frown passed across Emily's face as she spoke. "You're right, as much as I hate agreeing, you are in fact right. For me to decide like that, taking sex and everything else off the table without so much as talking with you about it... it wasn't fair."