He smelled of alcohol and smoke. Saying something, his words sounded like animalistic grunts and my ears deciphered not a single syllable. Somewhere between the waking world and dream, I slumbered, wishing for nothing more than the sandman to sprinkle his sleeping sand upon my face. Tired from a long work week, I needed and deserved a good night's rest.
"Roll over," the voice said. I understood his grunt and in a comatose state, acquiesced to the command.
Hands as cold as a February morning grabbed my hips. As if I stepped on an errant nail, my body jolted backward. "Jesus, your hands are freezing!" I said before laying my head back into the indentation of the pillow.
"Sorry."
Those frigid digits tugged on my panties, slipping them off my hips. Still half asleep, I lifted my ass and then my thighs, allowing him to remove my bottoms. I felt the lace dangle on my left ankle for a split second, incorporating the feeling in a dream that began to brew. His cold hands checked my fall, bringing me back. God, his hands were cold. I moaned my disapproval. He lifted my ass and brought it toward his virile cock.
"I'm so horny," he mumbled.
Then he pushed his cock against my ass, searching for the hole. Reacting, I angled my hips so he could enter my pussy, but he fought me. He didn't want my pussy. Thrusting his hips, he attempted to penetrate my back door. The head of his penis only managed to scrape against my asshole. A sharp pain, acting as a bucket of water, woke me, my hopes of a good night sleep suddenly dashed.
"What the hell are you doing John?" I said turning around and sitting up erect.
"Nothing!" he said, reacting to the rejection.
"I was sleeping you know."
"Let's have anal sex tonight," my husband said, thinking only of stroking his libido. His breath reeked of stale beer. I could practically see green fumes emanating from his nostrils and mouth.
"How many have you had?"
"Not too many." He had trouble pronouncing the last word thus weakening his defense. "Come on, honey. Let's try something new."
"No."
"You might enjoy it," John said, each word an arduous chore for him to say.
"You come home drunk, smell like an ash tray, and want to have anal sex. That's romantic." Shaking my head, I cradled up in the fetal position and tried to return to sleep.
"You're such a prude!"
"John, you're drunk."
"I don't understand what's...what's the big deal. It's anal sex. So what," he said with a voice loud enough to be heard by the neighbors.
"I don't want to discuss this right now. I've told you a thousand times, the thought of it disgusts me."
"It's wives like you that get cheated on!" John said, the anger evident in the volume of his voice. Grabbing his pants, he stormed out of the bedroom, slamming the door. Downstairs, I could hear John putting in a video to watch, obviously something to help alleviate the hormones which had usurped his reason.
"Finally," I muttered to myself as I squeezed the pillow tight. John was never a good drunk, I thought as I drifted back to sleep, this time hoping not to be interrupted.
Next morning, I awoke to the smell of bacon, one of my guilty pleasures. Cracking open my eyelids, I saw John standing beside the bed, holding a tray like a waiter serving me at a fine dining restaurant.
"Good morning," John said.
"What are you holding?" I asked, rubbing my eyes
"I'm serving you breakfast in bed."
"It's not my birthday for another two months."
"I feel awful about last night. I tried to force you to do something you didn't want to do and then I reacted like a child after I didn't get my way. Worse was what I said when I left in a huff."
Still half residing in an unconscious state, I couldn't remember what John said last night, only recalling how awful he smelled and how cold his hands felt. However, I was not going to let him off the hook. One of a woman's greatest feelings of empowerment was to watch her man groveling, imploring for forgiveness. With a face that could nominate me in the category for best actress in a leading role, I stared at him with regret. "That really hurt."
"I know. I feel awful."
"Do you really believe that?" I said, hoping my vague question would elicit what caused John's guilt.
"No, of course not."
"Of course not, what?"
"I would never cheat on you."
Whoa! I thought. I had been really tired to miss that one. No longer did I have to roleplay an angry wife, for I became one. "So, you would cheat on me just because I wouldn't have anal sex with you?"
"Of course not. You know that. Honey, I'm trying to apologize for being as ass. Here...before your omelette gets cold. I used your favorite vegetables."
"Good god. Just like a man to buy his way out of shame."
John set the food before me. It looked delicious, plus John knew his way around the kitchen. So, I accepted my breakfast surprise and ate, but my level of frustration did not attenuate with each bit as he hoped. Well, maybe a little bit.
"I'm sorry," he said.
"So, you would really cheat on me?"
"I told you, I was drunk and horny."
"Well, a lot of men cheat on their wives when they're drunk and horny. True?"
