Commitment

Dean

So far, anniversary number eleven … or was it twelve? Shit, I wasn’t sure, but whichever it was, it was a success. Dinner went well. I’d managed to cook the steak to perfection and had even steamed some green vegetables because Tash liked miniature-tree-looking food. I didn’t. The green stuff gave me wind, which normally pissed her off. And a pissed-off Tash was the last thing I wanted tonight. But so far so good, as she’d been happily occupied with my culinary magnificence and not said a word during the entire meal.

I smiled smugly to myself. In all honesty, I knew she’d like the meal. She always liked it when I cooked. Apart from the ‘we need to eat more vegetables’ nagging, she never complained. I also knew she’d like my save-the-damsel-in-distress-from-the-killer-balloon-swords act.

She was terrified of the things.

It was a no-brainer.

It was also a sure thing that there would be sex when we hit the bedroom later on. How could it not be? I’d rescued her and pro­duced a feast.

‘Stop the CAT!’ Thomas yelled in his sleep, his body half draped over Tash’s lap.

It startled her, and she flapped her hands like a bird, nearly buck­ing him off. ‘For the love of f … frisbees.’ Tash adjusted her position on the sofa next to me, the leather upholstery creaking beneath her. ‘I wish he’d grow out of this sleep-shout shit. The kid is gonna give me a heart attack one day.’

I couldn’t help but laugh. Firstly, her new thing of replacing the f-bomb with other f-words — her best friend Alexis’s suggestion — was stupid but funny. And secondly, I was fairly sure Thomas’s out­bursts were genetic; I’d been a sleep-shouter as a kid, too.

She glared at me. ‘It’s not funny. I think I peed a little.’

Holding up my hands in mock defence, I looked down at my sleeping son, gently lowering my hand to touch his face. ‘I wonder what the cat was doing?’

‘We don’t even own a cat anymore.’

Tash shuffled again and pushed my arm from its draped position over her shoulder. She looked uncomfortable.

‘Here.’ I stood up and levered Tommy’s little seven-year-old body into my arms. ‘I’ll put him to bed.’

‘Bring back the dead bird,’ he mumbled.

Tash shook her head and stretched, yawning. ‘Well, now you know what the cat was doing.’

I chuckled, but the way she pushed out her perfect tits when she arched her back had my cock stirring to life. My wife had the most beautiful set in the world — bigger than handfuls, smaller than bagfuls.

‘I might go to bed as well,’ she said, dropping her hands to her lap. ‘I’m so tired.’

‘It’s only ten-thirty, babe. The night is still young.’ I waggled my eyebrows at her.

‘Yeah, but I’m not.’

My waggling stopped and I frowned. I wanted to make love to my wife. It was our anniversary, for fuck’s sake. Anniversaries, birthdays and Valentine’s Day were guaranteed sex days. I looked forward to those three days in the year just as much as I looked forward to the AFL Grand Final and the Bathurst 1000.

Crouching down and nearly hitting poor Tommy’s head on the lamp beside the sofa, I whispered, ‘You sure you don’t want me to look for your cat, love?’

‘The cat’s dead,’ Thomas mumbled. ‘Dead.’

Tash kissed his golden hair. ‘What he said.’ She then stood and made her way to our bedroom. That’s it? Her cat’s dead? I thought the fuckers had nine lives.

Slumping my shoulders as I watched her leave the room, I turned my attention to William, who was sitting on a beanbag in front of the TV, oblivious to his surroundings as per usual. ‘Come on, Will, bedtime.’

His head snapped in my direction. ‘What? Now? But, Daaaaad …’

‘No buts,’ I answered, glaring at him, my tone a little grumpier than I meant it to be.

He grumbled and slowly stood, kicking the bag into the corner of the living room. ‘Sleep is for pussies.’ Don’t talk to me about puss­ies, young man.

‘Go pick that up and put it back properly,’ I said sternly. ‘And sleep is necessary.’

He trudged over to the beanbag and positioned it where it was supposed to be. ‘But it’s still early.’

‘Goodnight, William. And thanks for scaring your mum with the balloons tonight.’

‘Sure,’ he murmured, moping as he went to bed.

Feeling as dejected as my son looked, I carried Thomas to his room and tucked him into bed, accidentally letting one go as I bent over — an escapee. ‘Shit. Sorry, matey,’ I whispered, swishing the air around my arse. ‘Lucky you can’t smell when you’re asleep.’

I stood up and retreated to the door, recalling the knickers I’d bought Tash to wear this evening. They were the ruffly ones she liked and was always dancing around the house in. I wouldn’t exactly call them sexy knickers, but when she wore them and jiggled her arse, my cock definitely liked it. Something told me I wasn’t going to see her in them tonight, though, which meant my hand was gonna be dealin’ cards in the shower once again. And to top that off, I’d had a shit day at work. Fuck.

I groaned. I didn’t feel like jerking off in the shower. All I wanted was to be buried inside my wife. To relieve the stress I dealt with daily for being an accountant at a firm full of arse-kissers. All I wanted was Tash and how good she made me feel: as if I mat­tered, as if I were worthy. And I was worthy. I was a great father and husband. I worked hard and provided funds to keep a roof over our heads and food on our table. I put the toilet seat down, washed the toothpaste from the sink, and I always gave her the last Clinker in the packet. So did I deserve anniversary sex? Yeah, I fucking well did.

Feeling a renewed sense of hope, I left Thomas’s room, leaving the door slightly ajar so as not to entomb him with the escapee. Right, little Tommy, sweet dreams. I’m going to give CPR to Mummy’s pussy.

***

‘Mmm … yeah,’ Tash moaned.

‘Yeah?’ I moaned in return and slid my cock back inside her.

‘Mmhm.’ She nodded, her eyes closed, her hands gently gripping my arms. She looked completely relaxed.

I smiled. My rhythm was good, continuous, and that sometimes relaxed her a little too much and she would nearly drift off to sleep, which was cute but not what I wanted during sex.

‘Wakey wakey, love. I know I have a masterful dick …’ I grunted, pressing deep. ‘A dick that can massage you to sleep …’ I grunted again, drawing back and thrusting into her to jolt her eyes open. ‘But you need to be awake when you come.’ ‘I’m awake,’ she mumbled groggily, her body loosely bouncing with my drive.

I shook my head and thrust harder, groaning when I released an entire month of tension into her. ‘Yesssss,’ I bellowed, slumping on top of her.

Tash was the perfect pillow. Soft. Warm. Comfortable. I loved how smooth her skin felt beneath my chin and how, when I nuzzled my nose into the crook of her neck, she smelled of flowers and laun­dry detergent; how she smelled of home.

My home.

Breathing her in, I held her scent and then exhaled, sated but exhausted. I was fucking spent both mentally and physically, and my body ached from holding myself above her while we’d made love. It was hard work on the old biceps; they weren’t like they used to be. I really should start lifting weights again.

Maybe tomorrow.

‘Dean,’ Tash slurred, patting my back.

She did this every now and again. It was weird, but I never said anything because I was fairly sure it was her way of applauding my efforts. It was also soothing and it made me sleepy.

‘Dean?’

‘Mmm?’

‘DEAN!’

‘WHAT?’ I exclaimed, springing up onto my hands.

‘You fell asleep on me.’

My eyes found her squinty glaring ones. ‘Really? Are you sure?’

‘Unless you’ve recently learned to speak pig and snort in a rhyth­mic manner, then yes, I’m sure.’

She shuffled beneath me and rolled onto her side, so I nestled in behind her and wrapped my arms around her body, settling my hands on her perfect tits. ‘Happy anniversary,’ I whispered against her neck, smiling because we’d had a great night.

She shuffled once again and loosened my grip a little. I laughed to myself. She hated being hot in bed and apparently my hugging ‘roasted’ her. ‘Yeah, happy anniversary, babe. Thanks for dinner.’

‘Any time, sweetness. Any time.’