Big Time

Twenty Five

When Barbara’s mother fell sick, so did John and Barbara’s sex life. John supported her as best he could, but having someone dependent on him for emotional support was a new thing. While he pretended it wasn’t suffocating, it was at times. He was there with her whenever she was home but he still needed some “me” time. John was also worried about how Barbara would react if her mom passed away. It would be a seismic shift in her life. And how will it affect us? John knew he was being selfish even thinking such thoughts, but they were there.

Sex was a big part of how John felt loved. It was also a release for him that he missed. Instead, he masturbated. He did it to Penthouse magazine, fantasy, memories of Barbara and other women—to just about anything that got him going.

Four months after the diagnosis, he raised the issue with Barbara. He felt bad about doing it, but figured it had to be done. It coincided with her mother coming home from hospital and a positive assessment from her oncologist. The chemotherapy seemed to be working.

“Babe, we haven’t had sex in probably six months.”

Barbara didn’t want to look at him and went back to putting their underwear in the tallboy in their room.

John walked over and put a hand on her shoulder. “I know there is a lot going on for you at the moment, but I think we need to talk about this.”

She burst into tears. “I’m sorry. I know—”

He felt lower than gum on the sole of a shoe. “It’s alright, we just need to talk about it.”

She wiped her eyes. “I’m conscious of it too. It’s just really hard right now.”

“We need to try and get things started again, for both of our sakes,” he said.

Tears continued to run down her cheeks. “I feel so broken.”

“You aren’t broken, Babe, you are beautiful.” John thought of giving her a passionate kiss, but the stress of raising the topic for him ironically had made his libido disappear. Instead, he gave her a kiss on the side of her forehead and held her.

“Give me a few days and I’ll see if I can get into the mood,” she suggested with a half smile. Relieved, he continued to hold her for as long as he felt he had to, then headed off to his study to occupy himself in work.

There were a few nights over the next fortnight when they tried to resume their intimacy, but the passion and fire were noticeably absent. It was transactional, without foreplay or electricity. While it provided some satisfaction, it made it even more apparent what was missing. John was beginning to wonder if the passion would ever return.

* * *

Two months later, John woke at half six and tiptoed to the bathroom and showered. Sex had ceased again and he pleasured himself while there. This morning, his mind couldn’t help but think of Barbara’s colleague Eloise in her bright red-dress and heels. He wasn’t sure why she’d come up, but she’d help satisfy his natural urge first thing this morning. He had an eight a.m. breakfast meeting and it was already seven. He got dressed and rushed out the door. A minute in a cab heading downtown and he realized he’d left his phone on the dresser. He jumped out and ran back up the street and into his building while the cab reversed.

He inserted the key softly, to hide the noise and opened the door slowly to avoid a creek.

He quietly walked to their bedroom, took hold of the doorknob and carefully swung it open.

Barbara was lying in bed, apparently still comatose. John tiptoed over to his bedside table. His phone wasn’t next to his alarm clock, where he thought he’d left it.