Intercourse
More or Less part V
I ruined it because for seven or eight months I didn’t try and she didn’t ask. There is not an explanation – I was simply not in the mood for the entire time and I think she interpreted this as the crossing of an invisible threshold, maybe one of age.
We have sex on average nine or ten times per year. Even though I had that period where I barely thought about it I think about it a lot now. The spirit has returned to me, repossessed me. In the time that passes between us having sex, I create such vivid and weird fantasies that when we do actually perform the act it is always a letdown. Especially by about week four my imaginings are complex, impossible.
My wife no longer attracts me. Instead of the thin nightgown of days gone by, the one I could slip my hand up or down, under the shoulder straps, she comes to bed bundled – quite literally – up in layer upon layer. So not even in the dark, blind, do I attempt to touch her.
When we were young I had just as much chance of having sex in the morning as I did at night. Now, she wakes a mess – hair tangled, bed creases on her face, usually only the one side, putrid breath. I would still take it, let her breath on my face the entire time, but this is not the look or demeanour of somebody who wants or cares about love.
I must revise my original estimate – it is closer to six or seven times a year. I lie in bed next to her staring at the ceiling. My feet are cold. They gradually warm and this process more or less puts me to sleep. It’s inevitable that I would consider visiting a prostitute. I have colleagues who swear by it, men who have not put a hand on their wives in years. These same men seem to loathe their wives, some their children too. I don’t loathe my wife. I no longer love her, or she me, but I still would not ‘punish’ her by visiting a prostitute. That and dropping my pants then fucking then paying then leaving a woman who has done it all a million times seems so odd as to be off-putting to me.
I’m bitter enough to visit one. My co-workers tell me what they do. They’re the things I – I suspect naively – expected out of marriage. I expected my wife to do those things. But she didn’t and I’m old now.
–
I Showering
II Eating
III Washing up
IV Television
V Intercourse
Lead Igloo
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