Forever Together

by Naughty Aphrodite

  “I didn’t know that was still an option,” I said, blindsided, trying not to look at her--it was too painful. “I didn’t think you wanted me anywhere near you.”

  “Why would you think that?”

  “Because I’m not the only one who’s pulled away!” I cried out. “You used to….you used to seduce me. That hasn’t happened in a long time.”

  “How am I supposed to seduce you when I feel so unattractive--”

  “Unattractive? Honey, you’re still a knockout--”

  “Don’t say that when you don’t mean it. Don’t try to make me feel better.”

  We sat in silence for a moment. How the hell did we get here?

  “I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to fix this,” I said. And I really didn’t. “I still want you. Of course, I do.”

  “I still want you,” she whispered to her plate, unable to look up at me.

  “Then come here,” I pleaded.

  “No, no... my face is all puffy, I have to clean up--I don’t feel very good…” she stammered, standing up and gathering up our plates hurriedly, the food still untouched.

  I stood up and walked towards her, hoping to draw her into a hug, but she cut me off with, “Actually, I think I’ll clean up in the morning. I just want to go to bed.” She set the plates she held in the sink, went into our bedroom, and closed the door.

  I wandered into the living room, bewildered by the whole, ugly scene. I sat on the couch and looked at my briefcase, completely unmotivated to go over the contracts I was so desperate to dig into just minutes before. It seemed unimportant now.

  I picked up the newspaper sitting in the magazine stand next to the couch, and tried to read, though the words made no sense, my mind occupied as it was. My eyes simply scanned, moving from line to line, taking in nothing, until an advertisement caught my eye:

  DR. THOMAS LOVEJOY

  MARRIAGE COUNSELOR

  Specializing in sex therapy

  Rekindle your passion in just one session.

  Make your love brand new again!

  (862) 555-5921

  Was this what we needed? I thought of Olivia, alone in our bedroom, and wondered if the tears were still streaming down her face. Her words were still ringing in my ears: How can I seduce you when I feel so unattractive? My guts turned inside out at the prospect that I had made her feel that way. I didn’t know how to bring her back. I didn’t know how to bring myself back.

  I picked up my phone and called the number. I was directed to leave a message.

  “Hi, my name is Peter Warren. My wife and I would like to book a session.”

  Chapter 2

  I wasn’t sure I wanted to be here. I didn’t want some stranger judging our marriage, asking us about our insecurities, digging at our wounds. But Peter seemed so sincere about wanting to fix things between us when he presented the idea. I was touched to find that he cared enough about our marriage to try something like this. So I agreed. But still, I was nervous as we sat outside of Dr. Lovejoy’s office, waiting for our appointment. Who knew what kind of tortured conversation awaited us inside.

  “You can go in now,” the plump secretary informed us. Peter took my hand in his, looked me in the eye, and smiled encouragingly. We opened the door and stepped inside.

  His office was serious and austere: Dark wood, lush ferns, diplomas on the wall, a handsome and tasteful couch for us to sit on. He stood from his chair to shake our hands. “Hello, I’m Dr. Lovejoy. Have a seat.”

  We did as we were told.

  “Now,” he continued, returning to his chair. “What brings you in to see me today?”

  “We can’t seem to...we don’t…” Peter couldn’t find the words.

  “We haven’t had sex in a long time,” I said.

  “With each other? Or at all?” asked Dr. Lovejoy.

  “With each other! I mean--we haven’t had sex at all. We’re monogamous!” I said, shocked at his question.

  “I see. Why do you think you haven’t had sex in a long time?”

  “Peter doesn’t think I’m seductive anymore.”

  “I didn’t say that!” Peter looked at me, flabbergasted, and I immediately felt regret at the way I’d put it--though it was exactly how I felt. “I said I didn’t think you wanted me anymore!”

  “Okay, let’s calm down--I can see emotions are running high,” the doctor tried to calm us. “Let’s try this. Raise your hand if you would like to be having sex with your spouse.”

  We both raised our hands.

  “Now raise your hands if you feel too unattractive for your spouse to want you.”

  We both raised our hands.

  “Now raise your hands if you think your spouse is crazy to feel unattractive.”

  We both raised our hands.

  “Now raise your hands if you think your spouse only raised their hand to make you feel better.”

  We both raised our hands. And then laughed at our own ridiculousness.

  “So, you both feel unattractive. We know that much. This happens quite a bit with long-time couples. You’ve been together how long?”

  “Fourteen years,” Peter said, happy to be able to give a definitive answer.

  “That’s a long time,” Dr. Lovejoy continued. “After that much time, it’s hard to see each other with fresh eyes. And it’s difficult to know if your partner means it if they say you’re attractive, or if they are just trying to avoid a fight. Am I right?”

  “Yes, that’s right,” I responded. I was beginning to relax a bit. This wasn’t what I expected. I expected a lot of “I feel” statements and crying. Dr. Lovejoy seemed able to simply cut to the heart of the matter. I was ready to take in what he had to say.

  “But looking at the two of you, I have a feeling you both mean it. You just have a hard time expressing it these days. Now, Olivia: I’d like you to state, plainly, a fantasy you’ve had in the past week about Peter.”

  I was taken aback--this I definitely didn’t expect. I appreciated how he cut through the bullshit but did he really expect me to talk dirty to my husband in front of a virtual stranger?

  “Uh...I...I had wanted to make love on our anniversary.” I said.

  “No, not make love. What specifically did you want to do? Just what exactly did you fantasize he would do to you?”

  “I don’t really feel comfortable saying that to you,” I said to the doctor.

  “You don’t feel comfortable saying that to me? Or to your husband?” The doctor countered. “I’m not anyone that matters to you. Your husband does. Your husband’s opinion is the one that matters. If I don’t think your fantasy is sexy, it doesn’t harm your marriage. But if your husband doesn’t find it sexy? There’s a lot more at stake, there. Now, Peter: Can you vocalize what it is that you’d like to do with your wife, sexually?”

  “Well...uh...there was a thing you used to do that I liked. It was...you know...with your...you know? You know--the thing you used to do?” Peter was trying so hard. My face turned red and I put my head in my hands, embarrassed about the whole situation.

  “Just forget it,” Peter said and crossed his arms.

  “No, it’s not you--it’s not that! But why can’t we do this anymore? We used to talk dirty to each other all of the time!”

  “Don’t worry, Olivia. I think I know how to fix this,” Dr. Lovejoy said, smiling. “You simply need a different environment. It’s all gotten so familiar, it’s become embarrassing for you. It’s sometimes easier to express yourself sexually with someone who is brand new when the stakes aren’t so high. You need to be some place where you can see each other with brand new eyes.”

  He got up and picked up two brochures from his table and handed them to us. They advertised a luxury cruise.

  “A cruise?” Peter asked skeptically. “You think we can fix this by going on a cruise?”

  “I think you can fix your marriage by going on this cruise.”

  “Ho
w is an all-you-can-eat shrimp buffet going to give us back our sex life? I mean, I like shrimp, but come on.”

  “Yeah, I don’t get it, either,” I jumped in. “Do you work for this cruise line or something? That’s an awfully expensive treatment plan.”

  “You’ve spent so much time being married, you’ve forgotten how to enjoy each other. You’ll be in a new environment, you’ll be away from your home, you’ll be out on the ocean with nowhere to run away from your desires. And this cruise is specially designed for people in your predicament. It has a one hundred percent success rate with couples in your situation.”

  “One hundred percent? What makes it so different from any other cruise?”

  “Well, if I told you, it would spoil the surprise,” he said with a mysterious smile.

  Peter and I looked at each other, trying to gauge what the other thought.

  “He said one hundred percent...” I broke the ice.

  “I mean...I do like shrimp…” Peter shrugged.

  “We could probably use a vacation….” I conceded.

  “And you’ll have to wear your bikini,” Peter smiled mischievously, with a sparkle in his eye I hadn’t seen in ages. I blushed, happily.

  “See? It’s working already!” Dr. Lovejoy said. “That’s it! Quick and painless, right? My secretary out front can actually book you for this cruise right now. Now all you have to do is go home and pack!”

  He ushered us to the door, shaking our hands again, wishing us bon voyage, closing the door behind us.

  “He definitely works for the cruise line,” I said.

  “He might,” Peter smiled. “But, hey--The worst that can happen is we have a nice vacation, right? And I would love to take a nice vacation with you.” He took my hand in his and kissed it. He gave me a reassuring smile, and for the first time in a long time, I felt hopeful. Perhaps we could find that part of ourselves again.

  Peter turned to the secretary and said, with a wink, “So, we hear you aren’t just a secretary, but also a talented travel agent?”

  Chapter 3

  Getting ourselves onto the cruise was not the relaxing vacation I’d hoped for. There was the flight to Miami, the check in, the long lines, the double and triple checking documents, the emergency drills, the waiting for luggage--it was a tense and stressful two days of getting ready to sail away. But finally, it was all done with. Our cabin was set, our luggage had arrived, and now there was nothing to do but put on our best cruise-wear and enjoy the sail away party.

  “Let’s see, tomorrow there’s swing dancing. There’s a Frank Sinatra impersonator in the lounge. There’s Zumba in the morning...well, I definitely want to rip my panties off!” Olivia teased as we sat at the bar, sipping martinis, looking over the next day’s itinerary.

  Olivia looked amazing. She bought some new clothes for the cruise and was wearing a red, deeply low-cut halter dress that showed off her ample cleavage and delicate shoulders.

  Her auburn hair was swept up fetchingly in a loose bun, wavy tendrils framing her face. She had aged like a fine wine, her natural beauty enhanced by the wisdom of age, delicate little crows feet springing from the corners of her big, brown eyes like rays of sunshine. Though I found it hard to believe that she could for a moment believe herself to be anything less than a goddess, it was true that I had neglected her in that way. I was getting older, too. I was a bigger than I once was. My hair was beginning to gray. I didn’t have the energy I did at 25--a goddess like her deserved better. So I’d left it to her to decide if she wanted me. I still was unsure if she did, but one thing was certain: I knew I wanted her, badly. Watching her red lips as she sipped her martini, her fragile throat contracting as she took it down, I found myself overcome with desire, and I felt my cock stiffen at the prospect of her pouting lips working their way down, down, down my body.

  But I wanted to take things slow. I didn’t want to spoil this opportunity by coming on clumsily. I downed my martini and ordered another one.

  ***

  Peter looked the picture of manhood in his white linen shirt, unbuttoned to his broad chest, standing tall and strong, a martini in hand. James Bond at leisure, I thought to myself, smiling. Like a lot of men, he’d had the audacity to age very well. He was like the college professor young girls fell in love with. He was the older man who taught you how to be a woman.

  The martini was making me feel warm. Peter was gesturing to the bartender for another martini and just the way he moved his hands was sure and strong and filled me with longing for him.

  But I wasn’t 25 anymore, and I knew how it worked: Men were more appealing with age, women less. How could I bat my eyelashes at him or any man and seem anything less than desperate and past my prime? I didn’t want him to fuck me because I was his wife, I wanted him to fuck me because he simply couldn’t help himself. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever experience that again.

  “Finally, the bar!” a woman exclaimed, plopping down on the barstool beside me, in exaggerated exhaustion. “Have you gotten your luggage yet?” she asked me.

  “Yes, they brought it to our room about an hour ago,” I said.

  “They can’t find mine--can you believe it? I know these things happen, but you go on a cruise to relax...Oh, well. They said if it hasn’t turned up by tomorrow, I’ll get a gift certificate to one of the stores here so at least I won’t have to walk around naked the whole cruise.”

  I was sure if she had to walk around naked, nobody on the cruise would be angry. She was stunning. Thick, wavy blonde hair with golden skin, wearing a white jumpsuit over her taut, long legged frame. She looked expensive and elegant from head to toe.

  “We just have to get you into the party mood,” her husband said, coming up behind her. “Can we have two dirty martinis?” he said to the bartender.

  “That’s what we’re drinking,” Peter said, raising a glass.

  “Well, then. Here’s to new friends!” the man said smiling, as he received his drink. “I’m Craig, and this is my wife Lisa.”

  “It’s nice to meet you,” I said. He was every bit as gorgeous as Lisa was--the two were an arresting pair. His hair was a light, wheat brown; his physique was slender and well toned like a runner. Tall, relaxed, tan-- they were golden and statuesque, the two of them. It was a bit intimidating.

  “Ever been on a cruise before?” Peter offered some small talk.

  “No, this is our first one,” Lisa said, taking Peter in with a smile.

  “Ours, too,” I said.

  “You look like you belong here,” Craig said to me, a glint in his eye. “You look like a woman accustomed to luxury.”

  “I’m not sure what you mean,” I said.

  “Not spoiled--sophisticated is what I meant,” he laughed embarrassed. From his expression, I wondered if he wasn’t feeling a little intimidated by us, as well.

  ***

  Craig and Lisa, Olivia and I crammed into a tiny booth and ordered more drinks. They were from Northern California and were taking their first vacation together in ten years. Like us, they’d spent the last decade working hard, and now they were trying to learn to have fun again. But all four of us found it was like riding a bike. After a few martinis, we felt comfortable and at ease with each other, laughing at each other's jokes, shouting “Me, too!” at every little thing. It reminded me of the day I’d met Olivia--that same energy, realizing you’d met someone that got you.

  Olivia was as charming with them as she’d ever been. It was a joy to see her make Craig and Lisa double over with laughter as she told them stories from her wild youth. It was a joy to watch Craig and Lisa watch her, entranced. I still had the most beautiful woman in the room. Though Lisa was a close second. I couldn’t help but notice the way she instinctively put her hand on my arm when she talked to me--it was so familiar, intimate, flirtatious. It emboldened me--reminded me of my old self. Under the table, I let my hand graze up Olivia’s upper thigh, and to my delight, she responded by opening her legs
a little bit wider.

  “You poor thing,” Craig said to Olivia. “I bet you never get a rest do you?”

  “What do you mean?” Olivia asked, smiling.

  “I bet Peter’s got his hands all over you night and day. You must be exhausted by all of the attention. No wonder you need a vacation,” he winked, downing his martini.

  Could he see what he was doing, or was this just harmless flirting? Either way, it was a touchy subject, and I wasn’t sure how Olivia would handle it. I was utterly surprised by her light-hearted candor when she laughed and said, “Not even close. We’re here on the recommendation of our marriage counselor.”