Serial no. 9 Cold Sheets

I think my wife is straight. It’s a horrible feeling. Crawling into bed with the one you love. The one you’ve celebrated gay marriage with for over two years. Suddenly, she’s no longer interested.

She used to hold me so tight that her breasts would push against my back. Her nose would tickle my neck and her kisses would warm my shoulders.

Her soft breathes would soothe and excite me.

Often in the middle of the night, I would roll over and kiss her beautiful sleeping face. I would roll my palm over her cheek. So perfect.

She’s stunning and most nights I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from waking her with my own kisses beneath the sheets.

Now, she makes every typical excuse.

“I’m tired, I have a headache.”

Even when I dress sexy for her. Lingerie that’s white and silky with silver chains running down my naked back, there’s still no sparkle in her eye. Her lips stop moving. Her hands fall to her side and her eyes open. She’s not interested.

My only option is to stop trying. But then what?

I roll onto my side and the bed is cold between us.

It’s the silent tears that are the most painful.

When you reach for a loving hand and end up holding your own.

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