The Future Is Not Now

Thursday, February 15, 2007

Yesterday I predicted the possibility that sex may not be exactly, umm, coming soon.

Ah, the great prognosticator, I.

The evening went generally well. And, despite what you probably think, Donna loved the pneumatic stapler/nailer I gave her. Seriously. I wrapped it in a collage of photos I printed on the oversized printer at the office. A gift like that says, "I cherish the memories we've had together" and "Please build something from this load of lumber I have... in my pants." Control yourselves, ladies, I'm off the market.

As I came home from work, Donna and the girls were rolling sushi and there were fresh roses on the table for me. Donna unwrapped her new tool and we enjoyed a lovely meal as a family. Picture perfect. All was well, so far.

It may have been the raw fish talking, but after dinner I suggested we go visit Donna's parents. My father-in-law is building a new garage behind the house and I hadn't seen the progress since the slab was poured a few weeks ago. Construction sites are like porn for me. After reminding my father-in-law how to build a structure to my exacting standards, it was time to take the girls home and put them to bed so we could enjoy some time together as a couple. I'm talking quality time... XBox time.

After the circus we call bedtime was over, we settled into the basement, cleaned the Cheetos dust/soda pop residue out of the controllers and got down to business.

"You wanna split a root beer?" Donna asked.

"Sure, get me some chips while you're up", I said, blankly. She blinked at me and I went to the fridge for the root beer.

If you're keeping score at home, you'll know that this root beer has been in the fridge for a week. The fermentation should have stopped by now. I knew as soon as I opened the plastic bottle that it had not. This was much less root than beer by now.

I took a swig and silently handed the bottle to Donna.

As she drank I said, "Is it just me, or is that a bit fermented?"

"It tastes OK to me."

Who was I to belabor the point? I was sure to let her have the rest of the bottle... and the next. We eventually made our way to bed. And though there was not a ridiculous amount of alcohol in the root beer, I suspect Donna was feeling tipsy whether she knew it or not. Enough to prime the pump, I hoped.

I should point out that to this point, Donna was still wearing her church-issued underwear, tops tucked into bottoms and bra on top, along with her regular layers. This is aggravating at times of expected romance, to say the least. More than half the fun of being naked is getting naked. And, as any woman will tell you, romance doesn't just happen at the flip of a switch. It takes all day. It takes flirting and teasing. A glimpse of skin here, a brush of the breast there. With garments, there's no glimpse of skin. A lot of the motivation to flirt and teased is simply not there knowing full-well that what I'd get for my effort is an expedition through the onion skin of cotton long-john's and "modest fashions".

As I slipped into the bathroom to brush my teeth and double check I wasn't wearing the boxers with the hole in the chode, I heard rustling from the bedroom. I flossed and made my way back to the bedroom.

Donna was in bed with the sheets pulled up to her neck. As I climbed into my side, she kept her arms on top of the quilt to form a dam that kept her skin from being revealed. I have seen this before. I call it naked hiding.

What she does is takes all her clothes off while I can't see her and then keeps me from seeing her naked. The getting naked seems like something of a token, a fulfillment of obligation. What she has really done, is bypassed the part of being naked that really matters. The intimacy, romance and passion.

There she lay, as if to say, "fine, I'm naked, do your thing. Now at least you can't say I didn't make an effort." But I can say that... and I did.

"I'd really have at least liked the chance to seduce and slowly undress you."

She turned the light off and didn't say a word.

This morning, as I showered and shaved, she avoided me. I left the house in silence and we haven't spoken since. Since I know I'll be sampling my first bottles of homebrew tonight, I suspect I'll be getting more of the same for a while.

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Permanent Link: The Future Is Not Now
Filed under: Donna | Love | Sex

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