The Between Years

cheek and neck. She never moved. He loathed asking for sex, not just because he thought it ruined the mood, but because he felt that sex was an act a couple entered into naturally. The few times when she would let him make love to her, he asked her if she was still on the pill. She nodded, and Randy rolled his head back and forth on the pillow, squeezed his eyelids shut, and gritted his teeth.

    Then he rubbed his leg against hers, their feet meeting, and he slipped his pajama bottoms off. His dick sprung out, pressed against the cleft of her ass, and he whispered his breath on her neck. That used to be the cue so he wouldn't have to ask. Some nights, she slipped her bottoms off, silent, and let him slip his dick inside of her.

    What followed was Randy thrusting inside of Carol, her limbs motionless, her hips stagnant. She groaned if he hit just the right spot, moaned when he rubbed her clitoris, but she never called out a single dirty phrase and never worked her hips into it like she used to. Randy wondered if he was fucking a corpse. Masturbating would have been preferable had pleasure and not procreation been the purpose, he thought. Even if she was on the pill, he could still hope. Other times, she didn't let him fuck her at all. She kept her pajama bottoms pulled up, rolled over and went to sleep. Pretended to fall asleep. Sometimes he wondered if she was faking it just to spite him.

    Randy held his breath and squeezed his eyes shut as he shuddered with orgasm. He left his member inside of her as the final shots of semen drained out of him. After, Carol rolled out of bed and slipped into the bathroom, no doubt to clean the semen from her vagina, but Randy knew he could do nothing about that.

    The nights Carol refused him Randy spent staring up at the ceiling, his hands laced over his sternum, feeling his chest rise and fall. His balls ached so badly the next morning that he had to inch out of the bedroom. Her feelings about having a second child were different from his, but he was certain he could change her mind.

    Can't we give it more time? I feel like we're just trying to replace Kenny!

    But we're not, Sweetie. We were going to try for another baby anyway, remember? At least we can plan for a child properly this time.

    We'll do it one day. We really will. But we've got to wait until we're both emotionally ready or we'll risk fucking everything up.

    Randy was certain that she didn't care about his feelings and he had grown tired of being rejected. He prided himself on being progressive and never chauvinist, but he felt he was owed some affection in their marriage based on principle. That and he felt he needed to exert his authority as the man of the house. Simply thinking about it in those terms made him feel funny, and yet he refused to be shoved around any longer.

    Last night, they laid side by side, Randy's dick growing hard, throbbing, but he knew that even if Carol let him use it, he might not enjoy it. But then, enjoyment wasn't really the point, he decided. He slipped his pajama bottoms off, rubbed her ass with his dick, and ran his finger up and down her arm.

    Not tonight, honey.

    let's give this another chance. Okay, hone?

    Another night, sweetie.

    Fucking bitch!

    Randy only whispered the last two words, but he couldn't believe he'd said them. Every disagreement between them large and small had been solved by words and reason, he reminded himself. Why set precedent? And why stoop so low? He decided this wasn't like other arguments, like whether Kenny should be baptised, or what carpet to lay down in the living room. Those were always petty things, peacefully resolved. This time, Carol meant to hurt him, had calculated a method to rip his heart out.

    When someone-the person you love no less-made such an effort to wound, he wouldn't back down. He knew reacting would only cause tension to escalate, but he didn't care. He was up for a good fight if she was.

    Carol shot up in bed, turned to stare down at him and demanded to know where a remark like that had come from and, frankly, Randy wanted to know too. He knew that the words had escaped his lips and that there was no calling them back. But he would never take them back, because she deserved it, as far as he was concerned. And thus began the process by which Randy wound up packing his bags and storming out of the house.

    Regret wasn't something he would admit to, not yet at least. He did wonder if the fight was really worth it. He