Stacy had stretched out on her side of the bed, as she did almost every night, her head propped on her pillows, reading again. She read every night. Mostly paranormal or historical romance novels. She read several each week.
I went downstairs, sat on the sofa, turned on the TV, and surfed the ‘Net using my tablet computer. Another night of TV in the background as I perused technology and science news sites, reading about cosmology, optical computing, clean energy, and anything else that caught my fancy.
I knew, when I finally gave up, and went to bed, I’d find her asleep, with the lights still on, and her book on my pillows. It was what our life together had become.
As I sat on the sofa, I looked at a few pictures of 20, 30 and 40-year-old women on a modeling site. It was a close as I’d come to sex in years. I vaguely remembered sex. What it had been like. The fun we’d had. And I wondered, that night, as I had so many times before, what happened. Where had the sex gone? Where had the romance gone? But I never asked, “Will it come back?” I knew it never would.
We’d grown too old and tired, and long since lost the energy it took. Now, she got her sex from her romance novels. I got mine from pictures of naked girls. That’s all the energy I had left.
I wrote this for Siobhan Muir‘s #ThursThreads, Week 81. Please go read all the entries in this week’s #ThursThreads. They are good reading.