Darling Husband rarely minces words. To my point is his direct phrase, “So, you you want to fuck?” And my answer–because this request always catches me off guard–is “Uh, yes!” The balance of sexual power, at least in the timing department, is in DH’s hands lately. Stressed out by daily life, with our libidos hiding in the shadows, it takes a direct statement like this to get down to business. 

“In 10?” DH asks. Which means, “You go back in the bedroom, warm yourself up, and I’ll be back in 10 minutes.”

I gulp a glass of wine and trot back to the bedroom. Close the curtains. Light the sex candles. Strip naked. Lay in the bed. Wait.

After 10 minutes, I think, “I’m getting rather horny. Where is he? Any minute now…”

After 20 minutes: “If I had my phone, I’d text him and tell him to get his ass back here…”

After 30 minutes: “Seriously?! Not horny. Just bored and frustrated.”

After 35 minutes, the door opens and DH enters. He gets undressed, and lays down on his back, eyes closed. I flop my arm over his chest and don’t move. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks. Perceptive bugger. I tell him. He listens. He understands. He apologizes. I resolve to keep my phone with me next time and sext him seductive reminders.

So what ended up happening after this 35 minute holding pattern? We had sex. Glorious, orgasmic sex. Best of all, it was happy sex. That’s all I ever ask for with someone who knows me and my body as well as DH does. That, and to be on time.