Storytime with Amber

Today was the day Camille would seduce her husband. 

She awoke before him, but that was normal. One of those obnoxious morning people; she was frequently up at dawn. Mark, on the other hand, enjoyed staying up all night until dawn. On any of his days off from work, he would sleep until noon. She didn’t understand how he could, especially when he should be used to waking up at 7 for work every day, but she supposed that was just another one of the ways they were different. 

Today, though, she was glad she woke up first. 

She very carefully slid out from under the duvet and crept off of the bed before tiptoeing to the bathroom and shutting the door as quietly as she was able to. Camille looked in the mirror. Her reflection showed the number one reason why her husband might not want to sleep with her in the morning anymore. Her hair was haphazardly pulled up in a bun above her head and she pinched the weight she had gained during the last couple of years through her old see-through green tank top. Despite having just woken up, bags darkened the skin under her eyes. She didn’t even want to imagine what her breath smelt like. 

Camille started with briskly brushing her teeth, and followed with some mouth rinse just to be sure. Then she let down her hair and brushed it all out; shaking her head back and forth to make sure it looked sexily tousled—like she had woken up that way (despite the fact that Mark would know exactly what she looked like when she woke up). Next she washed her face and finished by splashing some cold water on it. That made her look a little more awake at least. Camille examined her reflection once more. Now that her hair and face were a bit more respectable, her eyes went straight to the faded pair of boxers that she had worn to bed. Definitely not sexy. 

Camille left the bathroom and snuck over to the closet, careful not to make enough noise to wake her sleeping husband. She pulled out a never-worn pair of lacy black hip huggers that she had bought a few years ago. While she was at it, she changed her tattered green top for a tight, satiny, black one. Much better. She gently got back into bed without moving the mattress, thinking of the best way to wake Mark while she did so. If he saw her looking like this, he might be more inclined to give her some of the physical attention she was craving, but she had to go about this carefully. She didn’t want to have him wake up in a bad mood, as he so often did these days.

She cuddled up to him and nuzzled her lips up to his neck. “What are you doing?” he asked groggily.

“Wishing you a good morning,” Camille replied in the closest approximation to a sexy voice that she could muster. She tried to kiss him then, but he turned his head away. 

“S’too early,” he mumbled before rolling over and closing his eyes. He was probably already asleep again. She felt a small sting of rejection. They needed intimacy. How many times had she heard that intimacy was one of the most important things of a marriage? And how important it was to keep the romance alive? They had steadily decreased the frequency with which they made love until it had seemed to completely disappear from their lives. Camille understood that it was her fault as well. But she was determined to start this part of their relationship up again. Maybe it would fix everything. Maybe it would make the loneliness go away.

She perched herself up on her elbow and watched as Mark dozed. He likely needed the sleep. He stayed up too late most days of the week. This sleep he got on the weekend was probably important to his health. Camille resolved to wait until he was more receptive to her advances and curled up next to him until he was ready to wake up by himself. Thankfully, he was asleep, so he did not shy away when she gently curled up to him.

This was nice, being close to him. They used to sleep like this, pressed up against each other, but now every time she reached out, he asked what she wanted and why she was touching him. The few times he had reached out, she had moved out of the way and apologized before realizing it was intentional and not just him accidentally bumping into her. A series of miscommunications that led to sleeping as far apart as possible while still being in the same bed. 

Which made this closeness feel all the better. She breathed in deeply and nestled her face into his back while her toes curled around his calves. He was tall and comforting and warm and she felt herself relaxing and drifting into the safe sleepiness of being near to him.

When Camille awoke, Mark was already out of bed. Shit! She had fallen asleep while waiting for him to wake up. She got up and went back to the bathroom. It looked very much like she would need to start the beautification process anew. A few minutes later, Camille emerged from the bathroom and looked for her husband. He used to say he craved her attention and now he wouldn’t even look at her. But she had made it her mission to get him to respond to her advances at some point during the day.

He was, as usual, in the computer room. Camille looked at the screen—and he was playing video games. She always thought that men would all eventually reach an age where things like World of Warcraft died out. She was very wrong. At the age of 34, he still put in at least 40 hours per week, often more. It was like a second job. More than a second job, as he would give up eating and sleeping in favor of sitting at his desk. And he was never available to help around the house, expecting instead that meals be brought up to him while he gamed and plates cleared for him when he was done. Mark had explained how there was a social component to the time he spent, that he had to be online for raids or he’d let down his friends, but surely her needs were just as important as whatever imaginary quest they were up to this time. 

Camille was filled with a deeper sadness than she had previously felt in her marriage. Sure, she had felt sad before—the feeling was becoming more and more common over the years. She had certainly noticed how her relationship had begun to grow stale. But she had not felt hopeless, as though it was over, before this moment. It was as if the sadness that she felt, the loneliness and longing, coursed through her veins and radiated out to her fingers and toes. 

No. She refused to allow herself to feel this way. Her marriage did not have problems. She was fine. Camille wrapped her arms around Mike’s shoulders from behind in a very familiar way.

“Hey, you’re up,” was the response that she received.

“I am,” she purred into his ear. “And I’ve been thinking about you since I woke up.”

“Well, that’s not very long,” Mike replied with a chuckle, oblivious to her tone of voice or the way she was attempting to imply what it was she wanted. He was not picking up on subtlety or hints this morning. He had not picked up on any of her advances in months. 

“Why don’t you come back to bed with me?” Camille asked. That statement was probably one of the most forward things she had said to her husband in the last few years. But, she thought to herself, you gotta do what you gotta do. 

“Babe, I’m busy. Maybe later tonight.” And with that response, she left the room. Camille knew full well that “maybe later” always meant no. She had learned not to get her hopes up once he gave that reply, and once again, her feelings were hurt. Maybe a shower would help. 

Camille ran the water and got in before waiting for it to warm up, allowing the still cool water to fall onto her body. The shock provided a temporary relief, but as the water warmed up, she could not help but feel enveloped in sadness again. Where was this coming from? They had been drifting apart for quite some time, why was she this sad now? Then again, why was it so important that she try to spark some romance between them right now? She did not know the answers to the questions.

Camille felt her eyes sting and a lump form in her throat. Before she knew it, the first tear had escaped and began falling. The tear was lost amongst the other water droplets from the shower before it made its way down her face, and another soon joined the first on a journey down the drain. More came and Camille just let them fall, glad that there was enough water and steam to mask the fact that she was crying. This was unlike her. She was not the type to become undone by a slight rejection, especially for something so base as sex. Camille had faced countless hours of stress at work, a car crash, the death of her pet fish, and even a break up without a single tear. To dissolve into a puddle of them now made little sense.

But she let her sense wash down the drain as the tears came more freely. A sob shuddered its way through her and she quietly shook as she cried. Everything felt like too much. Being a woman in this world was too difficult. She had to keep up the house and take care of Mark while still working full time, always keep up appearances, balance a stagnant income with increasing costs of living, and handle all of that stress without needing any help from anybody. The continued lack of attention from her husband on top of it all was too much. It hurt too badly. How could he love a computer more than her? She let it all come out as she cried. Maybe this was the release she needed. 

The minutes passed and the water began to grow cold. Camille straightened up, turned off the water, and stepped out of the shower. As she toweled off, her resolve hardened once more. She had cried, she was finished with those emotions. Anger threatened to replace the sadness, but she refused to be angry with her husband over his video games. She had been angry about them off and on throughout their marriage, but it never ended well for either of them. So she stuffed the anger down and attempted to replace it with other emotions. A determination rose up and she felt that she could, in fact, bring romance back into their lives. She had just gone about it the wrong way this morning. She would try again tomorrow night, when the stinging sensation from her previous attempts had had a chance to die down a little further. She could do this. She could fix their marriage—by herself if she had to.