The Domestic Equality War Pt. 01

Becky Sandford wanted to kill her husband. She wanted to take his overpriced laptop and bash him over the head with it. Okay, it would leave Tara without a father, but Becky reckoned it would be worth it.

When Bryan asked Becky to marry him, she had agreed on one condition: that their marriage be an equal partnership. That her career be treated as equally important to his and that they would have equal responsibility over the housework and, when they had children, the childcare. Bryan agreed, she moved in with him, and they set a date for the wedding.

But promising equality and delivering it were two different things. Bryan showed a tendency to 'forget' household chores and Becky grew intensely frustrated at continually having to take up the slack. After close to a year together, she finally put her foot down and threatened to call off the wedding if Bryan didn't take their equality agreement seriously. He was mortified and promised to change and this time he kept his word. There followed a period of three good months in which Becky finally felt they had got the balance just right. Then, at the beginning of the fourth month, she discovered that she was pregnant.

The pregnancy changed everything. Becky was shocked at how physical the changes were, way more than she expected. She had mood swings and would burst into tears without knowing why. Worse still was the feeling that her mind was being taken over. The words 'the baby... the baby...' repeated like a mantra in her brain. Often it was just a background hum, but sometimes it was almost a shout in her head, like a sergeant-major barking orders. It scattered her thoughts and sapped her will power.

Fortunately, Bryan was a rock. He was excited about becoming a father and his obvious delight rubbed off on Becky, not dispelling her anxiety but mitigating it to a great degree. After weeks of ups and downs, Bryan sat her down and gently suggested they put their equality agreement on hold while she had the baby. That, for a temporary period, they play the traditional roles: he, the husband and provider; she, the housewife and mother.

Becky almost howled with relief. She had been thinking the same thing herself, but didn't want to bring it up because it contradicted her principles. Bryan suggesting it sidestepped the whole issue. Now it was his idea, so she could gracefully accept while adding the caveat: 'Don't get used to it, Bryan. When our child is old enough for me to go back to work, I expect us to go back to being an equal partnership.' Bryan said, 'Of course' and from that day on, they acted as traditional husband and wife.

For the following three years, things were fine. Well, actually things were bloody difficult, with Becky giving birth and looking after a newborn and Bryan losing his job, which led to several weeks of terror until he found a new one. But things were fine between them. They got properly married, with one-year-old Tara being held by Becky's mother as Becky and Bryan exchanged vows before the registrar. The baby girl was a sweetheart and Becky found that she liked being a mother more than she expected. She had already given up her job--which she'd never liked that much anyway--and she was happy that earning money was Bryan's problem, although she took care to keep that to herself.

But nothing lasts forever and as Tara approached age four, her parents cautiously put her into nursery school. They worried about their little girl adapting, but Tara loved being around other kids and her growing independence suggested to Becky that it was time to go back to work. The little family had moved house by now and she wanted to get a job within a half hour drive. It took nearly six months before she found something she liked: four days a week working as an account manager in what seemed like a friendly office with an easy-going male boss. The pay was reasonable -- albeit half of what Bryan brought in -- and after four years as a housewife, Becky was looking forward to being part of a professional team again.

On the Sunday before her first day at work, Becky and Bryan sat down at the dining table with glasses of red wine to redefine their domestic arrangements. Becky was using her phone agenda to tap in the times she would be doing the school run, but Bryan had his software engineer's laptop set up before him, as well as a notebook and pen. Becky refrained from making any remarks. She wanted this process to go smoothly, to recreate the situation in the three months just before she got pregnant, and if Bryan needed to make spreadsheets because he was incapable of remembering what needed to be done, she could live with that.

The first thing they did was work out Tara's school runs. That done, Becky put down her phone and began to recite off the household chores from memory. Bryan studiously tapped them into his computer.

'I have a question,' he said, raising a finger.

Becky looked at him.

He said: 'You want us to hoover the house three times a week?'

'Well, it's not that I want it,' said Becky. 'It's just necessary.'

'Why?'

Becky glared at her husband. He frowned and said:

'You don't think that's a fair question?'

'Bryan...' said Becky, using the voice that implied infinite patience. 'We have a child. That means we have a responsibility to maintain a clean environment. An equal responsibility.'

'I get that,' said Bryan. 'But doesn't equal responsibility also mean that I get an equal say in what housework needs to be done?'

'Why do you think the two of us are sitting here?'

'Great! So can we discuss the issue of how often we hoover the house? I would like to suggest once every two weeks.'

'What?!'

'Listen, Becky, hoovering takes one hour and fifteen minutes, so if we--'

'Bryan, no!'

Becky had to hold herself down on the chair. She was furious. They had only just started again as equal partners and Bryan was already trying to wriggle out of doing housework! What was wrong with the man? Meanwhile, Bryan sat back from his laptop. Enraged as she was, Becky realised that Bryan had anticipated this. He was calm and alert, waiting for her tirade like a tennis player waiting for his opponent's serve.

Becky forced herself to take a deep breath. She reached for her wine and took a controlled sip. Bryan kept his silence, watching her with the faintest hint of amusement in his expression. Becky took another deep breath, looked at her husband with what she hoped was a counter expression of withering unconcern, and said:

'Bryan, why are you doing this?'

Bryan took a sip from his own wine glass as he pondered the question.

'Do you remember when you threatened to call off the wedding?' he said.

'Yes.'

'Well, the three months that followed was one of the worst periods of my life. I was so miserable that after a couple of months I considered calling off the wedding myself. And now that we're doing "equal partnership" again, I want to avoid repeating that situation.'

Becky stared at him. She was genuinely shocked. Bryan refilled his glass and topped up hers. When he picked up his glass, he gazed into his wine as though seeing his future in it.

'You know,' he said, 'the fact that this is a surprise to you speaks volumes.'

'That's not fair! You never told me!'

'How could I tell you? You made it very clear that I either played it your way or you'd break up with me.'

'I wasn't asking you to "play it my way"! I was asking you to keep your promise about us being an equal partnership!'

'Becky, your idea of equality is that you make all the rules and I do half the work! You decided how clean the house should be, the kind of food we should eat, and what times we should have meals. You decided that hoovering had to be done three times a week, that sheets had to be ironed, and that we did our Saturday shopping "as a couple".'

'But we like doing it that way!'

'No, you like doing it that way! I do it out of some vague hope that if I do something for you, you might let me read a book for half an hour without glaring at me!'

'You make me sound horrible!'

'Your behaviour was horrible. You were like a dictator.'

'That's not true!'

'So hoovering three times a week is negotiable?'

'No!'

**************************

The issue was not resolved. In the end, Bryan gave in and agreed to Becky's housework regimen on the understanding that he was doing so under protest. Becky waved an impatient hand, promising herself that Bryan would get no sex for at least three days for his intransigence.

But Becky was not great at keeping those kinds of promises. Her first day at the new job was both a joy and a terror and she came home almost breathless with excitement. Her family were in the kitchen-dining room, Bryan cooking the evening meal and Tara playing in her assigned corner, and Becky burst in with a tale about her new co-workers, introducing them like characters from a TV soap. Bryan poured wine and Tara sat in her mother's lap, watching the round, red glass with big googly eyes as Mummy talked.

Eventually, it was Tara's bedtime. Part of the Sandford equality agreement was that whichever partner cooked and cleaned up the kitchen, the other would take Tara upstairs and do the whole bedtime routine. So Becky gave her daughter a bath and read her a story, spending way longer with her than usual. When Becky came downstairs, Bryan was on the living room couch reading his latest 'classic' novel. Becky climbed onto him, pulled the book out of his hands and started giving him hungry kisses. This led to the two of them stripping off and having vigorous sex on the couch. A highlight for Becky was kneeling against the armrest and being fucked from behind, her man's fingers digging into her buttocks as he pounded her. She reached down to finger herself as he fucked her and came to a screaming, shuddering orgasm.

After an hour of this, Becky was an aching, grinning wreck. The only grey cloud was that Bryan hadn't come. He shrugged it off, but Becky was irked. After they went upstairs to bed, she invited him to fuck her missionary style, nice and slow, with her fingernails lightly scratching his back and buttocks and her tongue and lips on his nipple, the way he liked it. This kind of attention would usually result in ejaculation within thirty seconds, but not this night. Bryan clearly enjoyed himself, as evidenced by his unwavering erection, but an orgasm felt somehow distant. Eventually, they stopped and Bryan lay on his back with Becky in his arms. She snaked a leg over his body, wanting to feel close.

'What's going on?' she murmured.

She felt the man swallow the word 'Nothing'. Her heart began a nervous patter. She knew from experience that Bryan was steeling himself to be honest and although Becky told the world that she valued honesty, she never liked being at the receiving end in practice. Bryan knew this and was choosing his words with care.

'Part of me is still angry with you,' he said.

'Why?'

'I suspect you know why.'

'You're not still pissed off about the damn hoovering, are you?'

'You make it sound unimportant.'

Becky's body stiffened and she had to force herself to continue touching him. This was exactly what she hated about Bryan -- he would say things which forced her into a box. If she responded, 'Well, it is unimportant', he would inevitably say, 'Then why can't we hoover once every two weeks?' But if she admitted it was important, they would have to keep talking about it and--for Becky--hoovering three times a week was a done deal. The subject was closed. On to the next thing.

'You've gone quiet,' said Bryan gently.

'I'm frustrated,' said Becky.

'With me?'

'Of course with you! Why do you have to be so stubborn?'

Becky's palm was flat on Bryan's pectoral muscle. She could feel his steady heartbeat as he considered his answer.

'I don't like taking orders,' he said.

'I'm not ordering you!'

'Aren't you? You've determined the entire household regimen and made it very clear that "This is how it has to be".'

'Bryan, this is the housework I've been doing for four years!'

'I know.'

'Alone, I might add!'

'Yes, I know.'

'Well, I never heard you complain about it then!'

'I didn't have the right to complain. I wasn't the one doing it.'

'Exactly! That's exactly the point!'

Becky sat up in bed and looked down at the man in triumph.

'Things were fine when I was hoovering three times a fucking week!' she said. 'But now that you have to do it, it's a problem! And it's not even like you have to do it three times a week, because we're sharing the work fifty-fifty! So, at most, you're hoovering once every four or five days! How is that "too much"?'

Bryan lay with his head on the pillow, his expression troubled. He looked over to the corner of the room, then back to his wife. She was sitting up straight and his gaze flickered down to her breasts. Becky saw his cock stir and stiffen. She smiled, pushed her hair to one side and lowered herself, taking his cock into her mouth. Bryan groaned and his cock rapidly hardened to full erection. Becky licked and sucked, dripping plenty of saliva over the shaft and gently handling his balls. She heard Bryan gasp.

'I need your cunt on my face,' he said.

Becky winced. He knew she disliked that word! Still, with his cock in her mouth, it was not the best time to remind him. She continued to suck him off while the rest of her body swung around to accommodate him. Bryan pushed himself away from the headboard to give space for the woman's legs and Becky positioned her vulva over his head. She felt his hands on her ass as he guided her down and then she felt his nose and mouth on her dripping gash. Becky groaned in pleasure and redoubled her efforts on his erection.

This time, Bryan came. At the moment of orgasm, he held her hips tight, his cheek against her warm, wet flesh, and ejaculated into the woman's mouth. Becky held his cock and swallowed his semen, feeling a strange combination of horniness and relief.

***************************

Becky finished the first week of her new job. Then the second week. Then the first month. But as she proceeded through the second month and novelty morphed into routine, she grew increasingly irritated at her husband.

Yes, Bryan cooked when it was his turn to cook and cleaned when it was his turn to clean. He looked after Tara when he was supposed to and did his share of the school runs. But he never took the initiative for anything. Tara's best friend at nursery school was a girl called Sally and it was Becky who suggested inviting her parents, Graham and Caroline, over for dinner to get to know them. It was Becky who suggested they rearrange the furniture in the living room; Becky who had plans for the garden. The last time Bryan suggested doing something as a family was to take Tara to the latest Pixar movie, and that was only because he wanted to see it.

At the beginning of the third month, Becky made a mistake at work, accidentally emailing sensitive information to the wrong party. Her boss fixed the situation and then sat her down to discuss how to avoid such a mistake in the future. It was all very professional, but Becky still felt like a failure when she left to pick up Tara from school. When they got home, Becky got them both a drink--strawberry milk and cup of tea--then sat working on her laptop at the dining table while Tara worked on a Lego castle in her play corner. After a while, Becky thought she had got over her feelings of failure, but when Bryan got home and walked into the kitchen-dining room carrying his computer bag, she found herself impatient for him to stop talking to his daughter so that she could have him to herself.

The moment Bryan took her into his arms, he knew something had happened. It was as though his hands on her body could detect her inner mood--one of the things that made him such a good lover--and Becky found herself spilling the entire story of the email. Bryan was at his best in this kind of situation, listening to her story, asking the right questions, and holding his wife in those big, strong arms until Becky felt the inner turmoil slowly calm and even out. She turned her head on his chest, caught a glimpse of the kitchen and felt a knot in her stomach.

'Listen, Bryan,' she said. 'I know it's my turn to cook, but I really don't feel like it.'

'No problem,' said Bryan. 'We'll get a take-out.'

'I don't want to eat take-out.'

'What, you want me to cook?'

Becky heard incredulity in his voice. She pushed herself away from his embrace and stared at him. Bryan lifted his hands and said:

'Fine, we'll swap.'

'No!'

'What, you want me to cook tonight and tomorrow night?'

'Bryan, I cooked every night for four years!'

'Oh, right! So our domestic equality agreement is now void?'

Becky wanted to scream at him, but Tara was watching with big eyes. So Becky went over, knelt down next to her daughter and said, 'What are you making, darling?' Tara told her and before Bryan realised it, the two women in his life had their backs turned and were talking about castles and princesses and ponies. He stood very still for a moment and then put his bag on a dining room chair. Rolling up his sleeves, he went into the kitchen area and began preparing dinner. 'Clang!' went the stainless-steel pot on the cooker. 'Thump!' went the kitchen drawer. 'Bang!' went the wooden chopping board on the kitchen counter.

There was a tightening in Becky's chest. Tara was asking where they should put the bedroom in her Lego castle, but Becky was too distracted by the banging sounds to answer. The stress from her mistake at work felt like a warm bath compared to the tension she was now feeling. She took her daughter's little head in her hands and looked into her eyes.

'Darling, would you like to watch some television for a bit?'

Tara gave an enthusiastic yes and Becky gave her a kiss. The two of them got up and went to the living room. Becky sat her little girl down on the couch and went through the channels until she landed on something suitable. Seeing her daughter's eyes glued to the screen, Becky felt a repeated sense of failure, but this one at least she could lay at Bryan's door. She marched back to the kitchen-dining room, spoiling for a fight.

Bryan was chopping vegetables on the marble-topped counter which stood opposite the cooker. Behind him on the range, the stainless-steel pot had gas flames burning underneath and a package of raw spaghetti lay waiting on the draining board beside it. Becky also saw that his laptop was open on the marble counter to one side.

'Cooking a recipe from the internet?' said Becky sarcastically.

'No,' said Bryan. 'I'm adding tonight's meal to my domestic chores spreadsheet.'

'What?!'

Becky marched up to the counter and turned the laptop around. Sure enough, there on the screen was a spreadsheet with details of household tasks, days of completion and hours spent doing them. They were even subdivided by 'HOUSE', 'TARA' and 'EXTRA', and that last column had entries like 'Peeled potatoes for B' and 'Corner shop to get B wine'. The time taken for those activities were included in his weekly total. Becky looked up at her husband, her face a mask of disgust.

'You really have no sense of trying to make a loving home, do you?' she said. 'It's all just a list of tedious chores to you.'

'Yeah, like you never complain how boring it is and how suffocated you feel and how you are, quote: "sick to death of this housewife shit!": unquote.'

'That's normal! Keeping track of the hours you spend taking care of your own family is not!'