A Life Less Monogamous

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Ryan found himself captivated by the small crack in the ceiling even as he knew he was supposed to be having sex with his wife. He stared at it, focused on it. Two and a half weeks since their last sexual encounter. That gap of time was a new record for them – at least when period, family, or occasional business trips didn’t factor into things. He couldn’t attribute the waning urge to age, either. As much as he felt old, past his prime, he knew he couldn’t classify himself as “older” with a straight face. While thirty-two may once have been middle-aged, these days it still qualified as quite young. It meant figuring things out. Still unsettled.

Still unsettled, indeed.

Even if he could consider himself old, the fault didn’t lie there. Things had always been like this. He and Jennifer had never been one of those couples that couldn’t keep their hands off each other, not even in the beginning when they’d first started dating. Young when they got together, only eighteen and nineteen, with Ryan older by just a few months. They’d been good kids. They’d waited a couple months before the first fumblings, first blips of fluid, first trembling fingers down pants, perhaps stymied by the fear of pregnancy instilled in them from overzealous sex ed classes.

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