The young dont know about love—love how it is lived out over years, over life. Nor should they, of course. It isnt yet their time.
Edward is a good man, but tired. For the last several years we have been happy, I guess. We travel and we golf. Sometimes we go to movies or the theater. All in all, we are comfortable and get along. Edward is intelligent and converses well, but the passion is no longer there. After twenty-five years of marriage, I suppose those feelings wane.
There is still sex, of a kind. I am, to use the animal phrase, serviced. Usually twice a month, on alternate Fridays. It is mercifully short, though not sweet. One or two kisses, passion optional, clothes off, dick in.
I now use lubricants. We have no children.
There are times I wonder about this. Edward is an attractive man. Hes quite handsome and reasonably thin. His hair is thick, his body toned from gym. I hope I am at least so well preserved. My figure is as trim as ever, thanks to the Stairmaster. The crows feet are still faint and even they, Ive been told, are becoming. Theyre little smile lines, Ellen. They make you even more beautiful. I wish I could believe that. When I notice men watching me, I am pleased and reassured. I dont know why our love life has gone cold.
We both have jobs of significance. Edward is partner in an accounting firm and I am an architect, so quick cook or home delivery is common for our meals. Ordering out usually means classic fast food cuisine: pizza or Chinese.
I know what youre thinking—sex-starved wife, hot delivery boys. Ooh-la-la.
In my dreams, perhaps.
The pizza guys look young and hung, but also dumb. They suffice for the idle fantasy that accompanies a swift afternoon buzz with my vibrator, but thats all. The movie they play in my mind has sound but no dialogue, if you catch my drift. But the Chinese takeout guy? Lets just say that there, sometimes, is a more subtle flavor. One in particular—tall and angular—a guy with wire-frame ... Läs hela novellen
