When Sex With a Spouse Becomes a Duty

He was back early today! Time was just 12pm. I recognised his measured steps as he mounts the stairs. It was the bulging belly that first barged in through the door. The shirt buttons fought like mad to remain in place over the bulge. He has hit the bottles again. I could tell from his bloodshot eyes. I looked at him as he belches and sprawls on the nearest chair. I walked away to check the sleeping children. They were now my life! I leave his cold dinner on the dinning table and goes into the master’s bedroom. 

How could I have married this fat fob of a flesh, I wondered. I shuddered as the forthcoming sexual ordeal presents itself in my mind’s eyes. God! The stench of alcohol as he grunts and grinds away his life. I hate it! But it is my duty, I tell myself. With that thought, I fling off my wrapper and lay nude on the bed. Waiting like a lamb about to be taken to the slaughterhouse. I told myself repeatedly that it was my duty to accept the nasty parody he calls sex and stay with him because of the children.

Richard looks at me as i set the table. He knows the food would be a cold one. He remembers how trimmed and pretty i had been when he first met and fell in love with me. He remembers the well-manicured and polished nails. The breath-taking hairdos and clothes, with shoes to match. My attractive appearance never ceases to set his blood pumping back then! It took just two babies to destroy the beauty called Rose.