just Sex

In a moment of weakness, a marriage dissolves.

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3. Morning Sets

I awoke in a panic in a few hours at the first sounds of my children in their rooms.  Thankfully, a keen sense of hearing, and a simple understanding of habit gave me enough time to get up, assemble myself, and get to our bedroom before the kids had made themselves down into the kitchen.  It was only a little before 6, and I knew I could reasonably get a few more minutes of sleep by sliding into bed.  My wife barely noticed my entrance, stirred more when the cat began meowing in the hallway, she instinctively rolled back over, revealing a small segment of marginal space for me to lay.   
A part of me was still running from the night before.  My dreams, a fitful mixture of Christine and my own wife’s reaction, or lack there of.  My mind frantically tried to fill in  and resolve all that I had been working on in the previous day, ironically making sleep less of a period of rest and more of an unallotted slot of time.  
It was Saturday, the week was over, and yet I still felt the week hadn't yet ended.  I lay quietly, half dosing, silently trying to remember if I had forgotten anything.  My wife by this time had already gotten up, and had left me to sleep in.  While I really did enjoy and relish the extra sleep I so desperately needed, a part of me continues to pine for the times earlier in our married life.  When it was not the kid or the cat that got us up each morning, but each others warm embrace.  
When my wife returned briefly to start her makeup, I quietly leaped up, wrapping her up from behind, pinning myself as closely to her back, hoping to elicit some sort of playful response, only to receive a defensive swat, and backhand which landed me back on the bed behind me.
“I'm still mad at you, and you know full well the kids are up.” She said, half of her face made up, yet her eyes still piercing.
“They would never know, besides, we've gotten away with it before.” I said, unusually ambitious.
“Give it up, I would think you would have had enough from the two women you disappointed last night.” She said, by now completing her makeup and starting to brush her hair.
“That's my problem, I can only disappoint, it’s a shame I'm so good at it.” I said, vagrantly playing with the bible on our nightstand. A part of me wanted to pick it up, and quote from Song of Solomon, or 1st Corinthians about the roles and purposes of an ideal wife.  Before I could complete the thought, I was stopped by my wife’s swift hands, ripping the sacred book away from me.
“It's a shame that you only take solace in it when it comes to sex.” She said, interpreting my partially defined intentions.  “You get so much more on Sundays when you're not sleeping.” She said, quickly wisking away, leaving no recourse or rebuttal.  Sheepishly, I picked the leather cover up from the floor, straightening some of the dog-eared pages, skimming through part of James.  A part of me felt completely guilty, and in that, I was completely surprised to even have any contact with such a damning document defining all that I had been doing in the last 24 hours as sin.   But what in the past would have driven me to take stock and reconsider my life, only depressed me back into a insolent stupor.  A greater part of me grinned slightly as I put the Bible on the top on the same shelf that contained numerous other adult books hidden underneath.

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