I press the end button, exit the elevator and head for the lobby. I can’t decide if I should just get room service and wait for them to call me back or head to the bar, like I’d planned. I teeter between the bank of elevators I just left and the hallway towards the bar, drumming my fingers over my mouth.
Fuck it! I did my job and called home. I worked my ass off today. I deserve a hot meal and a cold beer and maybe I can catch some of the game too. I’m not ready to hop into bed and turn in for the night. Just because they go to bed at seven thirty doesn’t mean I have to. I’m always abiding by their rules, Mia’s rules, and she doesn’t even have the decency to answer her phone when I call to talk to them?
Not really sure why I’m so aggravated at the unanswered call, I turn on my heels and march myself to the podium outside the bar. The hostess looks up at me from whatever she’s doing behind the large wooden podium and her contented gaze lingers on me before she picks up a heavy looking menu, “Would you like to sit at a table or the bar?”
“The bar would be great. I’m alone tonight.”
The young, attractive girl smiles at me and I notice the faint trace of redness on her pale complexion. Did I say something to warrant such a reaction? Was I flirting? Mia warned me about this. I don’t even know I’m doing it sometimes.
The girl ushers me to an empty seat at the dimly lit bar. I take the menu and thank her, careful not to make eye contact. I feel her watching me. I guess I haven’t lost my charm. Heh! I still got it!
Yeah, I still got it, but the wrong girl’s noticing it. Mia’s been so distracted lately that by the time I get in the bed to get some loving from my wife, she’s passed out and snoring with an unfinished book laid across her chest. I want to be laid across her chest, preferably with my head between her tits and my dick inside her delicious, wet...
The bartender breaks me out of my cock-hardening musings to take my drink order. I settle on a Guinness, adjusting the uncomfortable bulge in my pants.
He walks away and I’m back to worrying about my painful need to get laid. It’s not like I haven’t tried waking her with a playful grope of her juicy tits or by copping a feel inside her panties. But she usually just rolls over and swats me away, complaining of a long day or day-old underwear. Lately I’d be willing to look past the so called ‘dirty underwear’ just to get a quick go at it. It’s been so long I’d probably be done after a minute anyway. Pathetic. Married all of four years with two unplanned rugrats and I’m already headed down the harrowing path of sex limited to birthdays and special occasions. Whoop-di-doo! Christmas is coming maybe the birth of Christ will encourage Mia to give me some head or something.
My wife is pretty fucking amazing—still smoking hot, even after two kids, back to back. I think I’ve loved her since the moment I laid eyes on her. Her stunning beauty and the fact that she is so clueless about how gorgeous she is would be enough for any man to go all in. But it was her spunky, take-no-shit attitude and humongous heart that did it for me. I was done for that day in the library.
But lately things have just been weird. And the lack of sex is infuriating. Mia’s a goddamn wild woman in bed. Is it girly to say that she can make my toes curl? She does things to me that I never knew were possible. Then again, I have nothing to compare to. I married the one and only girl I ever banged. I’ve never regretted it, not one single day of my ordinary life, but I’m starting to think that maybe I’m not enough for Mia.
Aside from being preoccupied with the kids, she’s just been so distant. I can’t seem to do anything right these days and these goddamn business trips aren’t helping matters. Maybe I’ll surprise her with an overnight get-away, just the two of us. We could use some time alone, to rekindle the romance, to screw around without a kid walking in for a good night kiss. I know life changes a person, but is it a fucking crime to miss the woman I fell in love with? The old Mia—the woman who used to look at me like I was her knight in shining armor. Now, there are days I see daggers in her big brown eyes. A pair of rolled up socks left on the side of the bed might trigger fucking World War Three. And God forbid I come home a little tired from a long day at work. I can hear her now, “You’re tired? Try dealing with these two beasts in disguise all day!” I know it’s not easy. Being a stay at home mother is a full time job, but being my wife, my best friend, should still be one of her priorities. And right now, I’m not feeling much like a priority, considering we haven’t spoken since yesterday afternoon.