I don’t fuck because I should. I fuck because I want to. I don’t receive him as a chore. I receive him because I claim him.
There’s a difference between being available and being taken for granted.
I know it.
Most women know it.
But we stay available anyway;
for peace,
for duty,
for fear.
For years, I thought I had to sleep with my husband because that’s what wives do.
Keep the marriage alive.
Keep him from looking elsewhere.
Keep the peace.
I thought sex was wife-duty and mandatory.
Service.
Obligation.
And so I stopped wanting it.
On why I don’t get to London often enough. Fish and chips on Notting Hill. Noodles and dumplings steaming in Chinatown. And the correct Brasier.
He ruled the wok and the pot. He cooked tong from scratch with rice fluffy and hot and sweet. He pulled me out of abuse and hospitals and brought me home when I was lost.
No spam. No marketing partners. No tracking. No data collection.