An Old Wives Tale

Charlie Barrett smiled and sang along with the radio as he sped home along the back roads toward his home. It was a three-day weekend, and his manager allowed the staff to leave early as a reward for good performance. Charlie knew that there would be a two hour window before his children arrived home from school. He also knew that it had been exactly two weeks since the last time he had sex with his wife. All the stars, it seemed, were in perfect alignment.

As Charlie swerved into his driveway, he noticed an unfamiliar car parked in front of the garage door, blocking his entrance. Feeling annoyed that this unexpected company had ruined his plan for the afternoon, he parked behind the car and entered through the side door.

He tiptoed hesitantly up the stairs to the first floor of the house. Not knowing who was visiting, there was always a chance it was his sister-in-law, Marcie. If that were the case, he would tiptoe back down the stairs, jump back in his car, and drive down to the local bar. Better to spend a couple hours throwing back some cold ones than to listen to Marcie complain about her ex-husband again.

He placed his ear to the door, and not hearing any sound on the other side, carefully opened it and stepped into his kitchen. A sound from upstairs broke the silence. It was the unmistakable sound of a woman moaning.

As Charlie tiptoed up the stairs to the second floor, his heart raced and his palms sweat. He could now hear the woman practically screaming with pleasure.

"Fuck me hard!" the woman yelped. "Fuck me with that big cock! Oh, yes! Fuck, yes!"

Charlie reached the top of the stairs and nervously peered around the frame of the door to his bedroom.

"Cum for me!" the woman screamed. "Cum all over my face! Give me your hot cum!"

Charlie saw the back of his wife's head, shaking back and forth, and his heart sank. He felt a lump in his throat and swallowed hard. He hesitated for a moment, torn between choosing whether to sneak back down the stairs or confront the situation head-on. In that moment's hesitation, she spoke to him.

"What the fuck is this?" Lucy asked, turning to face him. Her eyes were like dark, painful daggers boring straight through him. He wondered how she even knew he was there, but then he noticed the bedroom mirror on the other side of the laptop, which was situated in front of her.

Displayed on the laptop was a pornographic video from Charlie's favorite porn site. It showed a woman being gang-banged by several well-hung men. Her face was dripping with viscous, milky-white fluid, and yet she was begging for more.

"More!" the woman screamed. "I need more! Who's next? Fucking cum all over my face!"

Lucy crossed her arms and patiently awaited her husband's response, but Charlie simply stood in the doorway of his bedroom, frozen on the spot.

"Well?" she said. The irritation in her voice made it clear that whatever fantasy he had concocted about that afternoon would be placed on hold, indefinitely.

"I...it's...just a video," Charlie stammered.

"I can see that," Lucy said. "Can you explain why this video was loaded in the background on your profile?"

"Why were you on my profile?" Charlie asked in annoyance.

"Don't try to change the subject, Charlie. I needed to check our bank account, and when I went to bring up your browser, this disgusting video popped up."

"I...I must have forgotten to close it."

"No shit." Her eyes looked almost black in color, and she hadn't blinked in a very long time.

"Whose car is that in the driveway?" Charlie asked, walking into the bedroom and casually placing his wallet on the dresser, desperate to talk about anything other than the video.

"As I told you," Lucy groaned, gritting her teeth, "maybe a thousand times, it's Marcie's rental car. She had her car serviced. Remember? Remember, I told you I had to pick her up, and then we have to return her car later? Remember? We had this whole conversation about this. I swear, you never listen to me."

As soon as he heard the explanation, the entire conversation returned to him. He remembered that he was in the middle of trying to install a new microwave when Lucy explained it to him. She did that shit all the time. She would talk to him while he was busy doing something, and then later complain that he never listened to her.

"Yeah, I remember," he said. "I just didn't recognize the car."

"Okay, now do you want to explain this video?"

"No, not really," he said, smiling in an attempt to lighten the mood. It didn't work. "Honey, it's just a video. I watch porn sometimes. You know that. It helps me...get myself worked up, so I can take care of myself and leave you alone."

"Oh, so you're doing it for me? How thoughtful of you."

"Well...in a way, yeah."

"How often do you do this?"

"I'm not talking about this, Lucy."

"Do you think she's pretty?"

"Who?"

"This girl. In the video."

Charlie looked at the video and cocked his head sideways. "Honey, honestly, I don't really care what she looks like. It's what she does that excites me."

"Oh, so you think it's exciting to see some whore fuck a roomful of guys and have them all spooge all over her face?"

Was this a trick question? "Lucy, it's just a weird turn-on for me. How many times have I asked you to let me cum on your face? Two dozen? More? And you've never let me do it."

"Yeah, because it's completely disgusting and degrading!"

"Whatever," Charlie said, and made his way toward the door. Then a clever comeback occurred to him. "If you think so, then don't watch it!"

He knew that comment would cost him several more days without sex, but it was worth it.

***

"So...you gettin' any?"

Tim began working at the telecom company the same week that Charlie began, almost a decade ago. Through the years, they somehow survived through multiple layoffs, reorganizations and office politics. They hit it off instantly, and worked in side-by-side cubicles for the same marketing department.

Having lunch together every day, five days a week, meant they knew everything about each other. Among their many common bonds was the fact that they had both been married to the same woman for more than a decade, and neither one of them admitted to having a satisfying sex life.

"No," Charlie said with a grunt. "You?"

"Nope," Tim responded, and then took another bite of his sandwich. Charlie marveled at the fact that Tim ate the same damn lunch every single day: a turkey sandwich, with honey mustard, lettuce and a tomato, and no cheese. For someone who constantly complained about having a boring sex life with no excitement or variety, Tim sure didn't seem to mind eating the same boring lunch every day.

"I just don't get it, man," Charlie said. "Lucy seems to enjoy it whenever we do have sex. So why wouldn't she want it more often? It doesn't make any sense."

"With me, it's not about the quantity, but the quality," Tim stated with a mouthful of sandwich. "Sally used to be a freakin' wildcat. Seriously. When we first met, we did it in a movie theater, in the car, in a back alley, you name it. She'd want me to tie her up and get all kinky. It was amazing. Now, it's missionary position, in our bed, in the dark, after eleven o'clock at night. Always. There's just no passion there anymore."

"Are you two bitching about your pathetic sex lives again?" Patty said, pulling up a chair at the table.

Patty joined the marketing team two years prior, and wasted no time bonding with her new co-workers. She had a very outgoing and outspoken personality, and she loved nothing more than giving Charlie and Tim a hard time about their sex lives. She was a proud "Jersey girl" with all the stereotypical qualities one might expect: big hair, big tits and a big mouth. At the age of thirty-two, she had never been married, nor did she ever plan to be, as she described herself as "blissfully single."

"You know," Patty said without giving either of them a chance to respond, "I read an article the other day that someone posted to Facebook. It made me think of you two."

She took out her smartphone and tapped it several times.

"Here it is," she said with a snarky grin. "Listen to this. According to this, a study was done by the American Sociological Review. They found that husbands that do little-to-none of the housework get far more sex than husbands who don't. So maybe the problem is that you two pussies are doing too many chores around the house!"

Charlie rolled his eyes and took another bite of his sandwich.

"That's bullshit," Tim said, "and I'll tell you why. That study is a classic example of confusing correlation with causation."

"Oh, shit," Patty said with a loud laugh. "Here he goes again. Dr. Timothy Linus, Professor of Statistics, is about to give us another lecture."

"He's right," Charlie added. "Never mind statistics; just use common sense. If a woman in this day and age is doing most or all of the housework, chances are that she probably has a submissive personality. And if you have a submissive personality, you're more likely to be attracted to the kinds of jackoffs who refuse to do housework."

"Exactly," Tim chimed in. "See, the dependent variable here is sex, right? But the independent or predictive variable isn't housework; it's a submissive personality."

"And that," Patty said with another laugh, "is exactly why you two nerds never get laid. Jesus...do you talk like that in bed?"

***

While sitting in traffic on the ride home after work, Charlie's thoughts continuously returned to his lunchtime conversation. He recalled all of the countless conversations he had with Lucy throughout their twelve years of marriage about their sex life. It was always a difficult conversation to have, as Lucy would inevitably get upset, and nothing would ever get resolved one way or the other. After a while, Charlie simply resigned himself to living with the way things were. Aside from their sex life, he was more than happy with their relationship.

Lucy always had plenty of excuses ready to explain why her sex drive was so much lower than it was when they were dating. She was a stay-at-home mother for a decade, and the kids wore her out. She was tired all the time from taking care of the kids and doing housework. Charlie helped out as often as he could, but being at work for more than forty hours per week, and commuting for another ten hours per week on top of that, he was exhausted as well, and preferred to spend his free time relaxing and recuperating.

When he arrived at home, Lucy was setting the table for dinner. Charlie gave her a kiss, and took the plates from her hand, setting the table himself. He then helped her put dinner on the table. After dinner, he insisted on doing the dishes.

"Thank you, honey!" Lucy said with a bright smile. He knew that Patty was wrong about her presumption that less housework would lead to more sex. But perhaps, maybe, doing more housework would reduce Lucy's stress at home. She would be more relaxed, and possibly more open to having sex. It was worth a try.

That evening, as they watched television while lying on the couch, Charlie took Lucy's feet and gently massaged them. Lucy gave him a strange look.

"You're being awfully nice to me today," she remarked.

"I'm nice to you every day," he retorted.

"Yeah...but you're being extra nice. It's arousing my suspicion. Did you do something wrong?"

"Now, why do you automatically assume I've done something wrong?"

"Hmm," she said, returning her focus to the TV. "Okay, you may continue, then."

"Well, gee, thanks," he said, shaking his head.

Later that evening, they climbed into bed. Lucy gave him a kiss and wished him good-night. Charlie shifted on the bed until they were spooning together. He put his arm around her and gave her a warm embrace.

"I'm so tired," she said, quietly. This was her traditional and unsubtle cue that she was not interested in having sex.

Charlie began to massage her back, and she responded with a groan. He spent several minutes kneading and caressing her muscles, to the point where his hand developed an aching pain. He ran his fingers along the center of her back, and let them briefly slip just beneath her pajama pants before he returned to massaging her upper back.

Since she hadn't responded negatively, he decided to make a slightly bolder move. He massaged his way down her back, slipped his fingers beneath her pajama pants, caressed her lower back just above her ass, and then slowly slipped his fingers beneath her panties as well.

Lucy flipped over immediately until she was facing him.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

Even in the darkness of their bedroom, he could see those dark eyes burning a hole through him.

"Nothing," he lied. "I just thought you'd like a massage. I thought it would relax you."

"You mean you thought it would get you laid," she said.

"Well," he said, contemplating his next words carefully. "I mean, it has been more than two weeks."

Lucy sighed heavily. "Unbelievable," she said. "I knew you were being nice to me because you wanted something."

Charlie could feel the anger begin to boil within him. "So, wait a minute. If I'm not 'nice' to you, as you put it, then you don't want to give me any affection. But if I'm nice to you, then you also don't want to give me any affection. So, basically, it doesn't matter whether I'm nice to you or not!"

"Lower your voice," she said. "You'll wake the kids."

"But that's it, right?" he said, lowering his voice to a whisper. "Why are you never in the mood, Lucy? I don't understand it. You seem to enjoy it when we do have sex."

"I do," she said. "I just...I don't know. I'm just not horny all the time like you are."

"Well, you used to be. When we first met. What happened?"

"Kids," she stated. "Life. Old age. I don't know."

"That's bullshit," he said. "Your sister is four years older than you, and she's out fucking half the town since her divorce. And you told me she hardly ever wanted sex when she was married!"

"Well, I'm not my sister. Maybe horniness doesn't run in my family. I can only tell you how I feel."

"So there's nothing I can do, then," he said, more as a statement than a question. "You will never be excited to be with me ever again."

"Charlie, I am excited to be with you. I love you. You know that."

"I love you, too," he said, reflexively. "You just have a strange way of showing it."

As soon as the words escaped from his lips, he wished he could put them back. He could tell by her silence that those words hurt her a little more than he intended. He ran his fingers through her hair.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean that to come out the way it did."

"I know," she said. There was an awful sadness in her voice. "You know I would do anything for you. And I would give anything to regain my sex drive. If there were a pill I could take, I would. But I can't help the way I feel."

She placed her head on his chest, and he continued to stroke her hair softly. Moments later, he felt her hand on his thigh, groping for his crotch.

"You don't have to do that," he said.

"I know," she said, "but it's been more than two weeks." He couldn't tell whether she meant that as a joke or a jab. Either way, he was feeling too guilty now to have sex. He tried to push her hand away, but she grabbed a hold of him tightly and refused to let go. At last, he gave up the wrestling match and conceded defeat.

She stifled a yawn and lazily stroked his half-hard cock while resting her head on his chest. She continued her unenthusiastic handjob for several minutes until he began to feel raw from all the dry-rubbing. The more he tried to concentrate on getting hard, the less it seemed to work. Despite the fact that he was incredibly horny, her lack of enthusiasm outweighed his horniness.

She moved down the bed and placed her mouth over his cock head. The sensation of her warm, wet mouth awakened his lifeless member, and within moments he felt as though he were fully-engorged. She placed only the tip of his cock in her mouth, and continued to stroke his shaft a little more quickly.

He could tell that she wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible, and he made his best effort to oblige. He couldn't help but feel like a cow being milked; as if he were just another chore on her list of household duties. She removed her mouth and shifted on the bed to switch hands, indicating that she was getting tired.

He tried to push her off and climb on top of her, but she pushed him back down on the bed and stroked him more quickly.

"Aren't you going to join me?" he asked.

"Not tonight," she said. "I told you, I'm tired."

He gave a deep sigh and considered his options. He could insist that she stop jacking him off, and simply roll over and go to sleep. But he was so horny, he knew from experience that he would merely toss and turn for hours, seething over the fact that he had been rejected yet again.

He could insist that she participate. He could easily overpower her, roll her over onto her back, yank down her pajama pants and panties, and take her against her will. Maybe she would like that. Some women like to be manhandled like that. But again, he had learned from experience that Lucy was not one of those women. She would simply lie there, motionless, while he pounded into her. Eventually, he would feel like he were raping his own wife, and he would lose all desire to continue.

At last, he opted for the only remaining option: to simply lie back and let her milk him like some horny cow. On the positive side, this would allow him to sleep. On the negative side, she would consider this to be sex, which would more than likely mean another two weeks without sharing the level of intimacy that he desperately needed.

She placed her mouth over his cock head once again, while jerking him off with intensity and purpose. His mind wandered back to the days when they first began dating. He recalled with great fondness the way she used to suck his dick with such passion and enjoyment. She would literally spend more than an hour simply playing with his cock, bringing him to the edge of orgasm, teasing him slowly away from that edge, and then bringing him back again. Over and over. She loved making him squirm on the bed and beg for her to finish him. Hell, she even let him cum in her mouth back then. That particular act ended the moment they said, "I do."

He glanced over at the clock. It was nearly midnight now. She had probably been working on him for twenty minutes. Maybe longer. If only she would move to the center of the bed, where she could take him in her mouth at an angle where he could feel her tongue along the sensitive underside of his shaft, he would have likely finished much sooner. Not only did her lazy "side-saddle" method give him less pleasure, but she would always rest her elbows on his hips in an uncomfortable way, which would counterbalance whatever pleasure he felt.

Doesn't she realize she's only making it harder on herself? Charlie thought to himself. If only she would elicit a moan or talk dirty or show any enthusiasm whatsoever, she would be finished a lot sooner, and would get to sleep much quicker. It wouldn't even take that much effort.

She began bobbing her head along the top of his shaft while continuing to use her hand in a rapid motion. Charlie's thoughts turned to a porn video he had seen, where a wife was giving her husband head and he finished in her mouth. The woman in the video continued to bob her head along her husband's shaft as a massive amount of cum leaked from her mouth, down along his shaft, and onto her hand.

That mental image was enough to propel him over the edge. He felt a surge build, and for a moment, he considered giving Lucy a warning. The possibility of seeing his cum drip from her mouth like that woman in the video was so provocative, he remained quiet. Lucy, however, always seemed to know when he was about to cum. She removed her mouth mere seconds before the first stream erupted from the tip. She tipped his cock back, and he felt several spurts of warm liquid splash across his abdomen.