Just after 11 PM. Laura and Kevin enter their darkened-house. The food was good at Olive Garden, the service poor, the movie mediocre. Home Depot tomorrow; it’s been decided: Kevin’s doing a half-day. He doesn’t always work on Saturday; feels he needs to go in, quarterly taxes due next week. Such was their conversation on the ride home.
Laura enters the house first, Kevin follows, locking the front-door behind him. She tags him on the shoulder, her face lights-up, huge smile, playfully she says, “You’re it!”
Sex play, she’s frisky. Kevin smiles back. It’s on. The dash to the bedroom is on. For two minutes, they’re not thirty-something years-old, in a boring, unfulfilling-marriage, going through the-motions. He’s chasing her, hunting her: full speed — the living room — dining room — up two flights of stairs — into their bedroom — Clothes fly-off, for a brief moment they’re in her college dorm-room, making love — her orgasm’s were so violent, she’s so wet, he’s so hard, she can barely breathe — They kiss — then remember, almost simultaneously: they’re 30-something with kids. They’re not in love, more-like roommates with occasional-benefits.
Laura remembers how they used to make love to each other, it wasn’t mechanical; it wasn’t routine. His tongue was more passionate, yet more sensitive of my clit’s needs. She hides her feelings as best as she can, pretends to be enjoying it. Her gasps sound real — she thinks — yet her moisture’s not there. Not that he’d notice anyway. Kevin’s not fucking me, he’s fucking a porn-star, if he actually saw ME beneath him — stretch marks, sagging breasts — he’d lose his erection. How carefully and passionately and patiently he used-to eat me out — now, she taps him on the shoulder. I’m not feeling it.
I got the The Hook? She gave me The Hook? What did I do wrong? What am I doing wrong? I was gentle with my tongue. He looks up between her legs puzzled; she’s had enough of his mechanistic-ritualistic tongue twirls. Neither she nor her clitoris are in the mood tonight. Has he changed? Or has she? Laura ponders for a second, then says “Quickie?”
Kevin smiles. Fine by me, I’m tired anyway.
With excitement she says, “OK!”
Lube from ‘the sex drawer;’ the newest addition to their bedroom assistants. She turns over on her belly, he mounts her, begins to fly. Laura starts getting louder, “That’s gonna make me come!” “Oh!” “Oh!” “I’m coming!” She begins to pulse —
Kevin knows she’s faking, or perhaps exaggerating, but he doesn’t care; the fact she’s pretending almost excites him more; he releases. It’s over, just before she actually comes — it’s always just before she comes.
Kevin’s beside her now, she twirls his chest hair, thinks He doesn’t know I faked it. If he really cared he’d know.
Kevin looks at Laura, smiles and thinks, You think I don’t know? You think I can’t read your thoughts? I know — but I don’t care and that’s your fucking problem. How about them apples? Your lack of self confidence is your circus and your monkeys. He says, “Love you.”
Liar. He doesn’t love me. Obligatory smooch. She thinks, right back at you man. Then she replies, “Love you too.”
Kevin falls asleep and begins to snore. What happened to the Johnny Depp I married? He looks more-like FAT Joey Tribbiani. He just bought new fat-pants a few months ago; now they’re too-small. All he eats is fat, stuffed with cheese; deep fried. At least he’ll die young. I shouldn’t think like that. She runs her fingers through his thinning-hair as he snores. Is this all there is?
Laura falls asleep about an hour later, after reading her secret, latest, man-hating, ‘self-empowering,’ Oprah-book, written by the latest, coolest, hippest, sexless-male or man-hating lesbian.
Read more: PRIONS