The Plight Before Christmas(34)

“Jesus,” she scoffs, “try twenty-nine.”

“What?”

“It’s been twenty-nine days. Sometimes we go over a month.”

She reads my expression. “I know. Not good, right?”

“I’ve never been with a man for more than a decade, so I’m not sure what a good number is, but I’m pretty sure that zero is not the number to aim for.”

She hangs Peyton’s towel on the back door rack. “It’s been this way for a while. He’s like a roommate now.”

“So, shake things up.”

“How exactly am I supposed to do that?”

“You’re asking me?”

“Yeah, I am, Whit. What would you do?”





Standing at the entryway after helping Allen clear the windshields, Ruby sidles up next to me. “Eli, be a dear would you and give Peyton’s coat to Serena.” She hands me the tiny coat. “I’m sure she’s looking for it.”

“No problem.”

After taking the stairs and finding the bedroom empty, I walk through and lift my hand to knock on the slightly ajar bathroom door, pausing when I hear a hushed conversation on the other side.

“It’s just…he’s passive now. He used to call for me to come to bed every single night. Now it’s like he doesn’t care if I’m in there or not.”

“You’ve emasculated him in a teasing way twice since I got here. When is the last time you made him feel like a man?”

“So, this is my fault?”

“We aren’t four. Stop playing the blame game. But let’s choose a starting point. It could be as basic as shaking things up.”

“What do you mean?”

“When is the last time you got your white pants dirty?”

“What?”

“Get on your knees,” Whitney instructs, “and while you do it, look at the man like he is your king, wrap your lips around him, and suck.”

Jesus Christ.

“So, you watched or read something that says to degrade yourself to make your husband feel superior?”

“Of course not. You asked for my advice, and I get what you’re saying but hear me out before you go feminist. In my opinion, men need to feel like men in order to act like men in the bedroom. You treat a man like a lamb long enough, and he’s less likely to want to roar.”

“What the hell? Where did you get this from?”

“Uh…I think I’m giving mixed advice I’ve gathered over the years. Let’s just start with the special job.”

“You’re seriously telling me a blow job will solve my marital problems?”

“No, this is the attention grabber, you get me?”

Half hard with special job images of the past popping up like cartoon balloons, I weigh my choice to stay or go and decide to listen a little longer. The damage is already done. I can’t help but to think about Whitney and how good it felt when we were together. She never made me feel like anything less than a superman, was always supportive, rarely argumentative, and, if I’m honest, gave the best fucking head of my life.

“You really are a ridiculous encyclopedia of information, Whit.”

“Look at it like this, Thatch bends over backward to be a good husband and father, but I’m sure it puts a drain on the testosterone. Men are truly simple creatures when it comes to sex, especially when deprived of it. Apes, really. It’s a basic primal urge for them, though more emotional for us. That’s not theory. That’s fact. It’s not rocket science. Spice it up. Do something unexpected. Maybe it’s not a solution, but it’s a start. The promise you made to one another goes both ways. Good times and bad, he trusted you to take care of him too, all those years ago.”

“And then he’ll expect it all the time.”

“Just like you expect him to take out the trash, do all the heavy lifting, mow the lawn, and interpret a fifteen-page instructional manual on crap you ordered off the internet.”

A pause.

“Don’t look at me like that. I know you do your share too, but where are his perks? Doesn’t he deserve them?”

“I’m always the bad guy.”

“No, sis, you’re tired. You’re tired, and you’re starved for affection. But instead of worrying about your own needs for the moment, try to concentrate on his needs and see if that helps spark something. You take the first step and surprise the shit out of him and see what happens. It might be a real turn-on to see his reaction. Don’t go in all half-assed either. Suck that thing like it’s the fountain of youth.”

God help me.

I’m a creeper, a total fucking creeper for listening to this.

“You’re a pervert.”

“And if you ask me, which you are, you’re not perverted enough. You’ve turned into a prude over the years. What could it hurt to—”

“Fine.”

“You’re really going to try?”

“Maybe.”

“Special job aside, is your pride worth it because you couldn’t tell him or show him how important he is to you? This might not help bridge the emotional gap but—”

“You can shut up now.”

“Why?”