Weeds

On Saturdays, we always lunched on the patio where we had a dining set of plastic-coated wicker chairs arranged around a wrought iron table and a large patio umbrella. From where I sat, I could just about see the back fence, past the trees. I know it was my imagination, but I wondered if the dog was wandering up and down, scratching at the gate, wanting to see its bitch again.

Was that what I had become? A bitch to a dog. Rutting like a wild animal in public. Maybe it won’t happen again, maybe it never happened at all, but the scratches on my legs reminded me the experience was real. Don had seen my scratches earlier, and I mumbled an excuse about stumbling into a rose bush.

That Saturday night I lay in bed as Don reached over and started to paw at my breasts through my nightie. I wanted to get wet at his touch but knew it wasn’t happening, so I needed help. A few months before, I had been to the doctor, who had explained that my dryness was one of the symptoms of the onset of menopause. The easy solution was to add a tube of KY jelly lubricant to my weekly shopping delivery.

Once prepared, I lay on my back with my nightie pulled up around my waist as he rolled on top and, with a little effort, inserted himself into me. After he had finished his three pumps and a squirt, I lay on my back listening to him fall asleep.

I am probably being unfair with my description of our lovemaking, but compared to the Golden Retriever on Friday it felt very short. I then did something I hadn’t done since I was much younger: I touched myself. Normally I would have got up, cleaned myself and then gone to sleep, but tonight was different. As my fingers danced over my clit, rubbing and teasing, I thought for a brief moment about the vibrator but dismissed the idea as it would have woken him, even as he snored. Bringing my other hand into play, I pushed two fingers into my wetness as I rubbed my clit, fucking myself, trying not to make too much movement or noise. I curled my fingers and felt them touch something the pulsing part of the dog had touched, and I came. I had to bite my lip to stop myself from crying out as I felt my body convulse as it had on Friday afternoon. Collapsing back, I started to drift into a contented slumber, but just as I was falling asleep, I knew deep down what I would be doing on Monday.

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