“Sorry, but it’s still the same as when I told you the last time and the time before that. It’s too painful, and I haven’t got a vagina anymore!” Lyn Fuller sighed as she removed her husband’s wandering hand. “Can’t you just accept it?”
From a clear vantage point between his wife’s legs, Neil Fuller let out an expletive as he risked a quick second glance.
“Yes you have, I can see one!” His finger pointed directly towards the object of the dispute.
“It’s for exit purposes only.”
“Shit.”
“No, that’s the other end.”
“Well, can’t you stick something up there to help?” He took another glimpse; his erection deflating rapidly as he spoke.
“Wild yam is supposed to do the trick if you can’t take HRT.”
“Eh? You’ve got to stick a yam up there?” Neil looked quizzically at the size of the introitus on display, mentally comparing it to the dimensions of the root vegetable.
“Wild yam cream, dickhead.” She rolled her eyes.
“What good would that do?” He exhaled forcefully.
“I’ve no idea, but what else would you suggest?”
“How the fuck do I know? Ask the Quack for some bombers or something?”
“You mean pessaries?”
“Yeah.”
***
Lyn felt the mattress give a little creak of protestation as her husband flopped down onto the pillow.
“What am I supposed to do then? Tie a knot in it?”
“You know I don’t want to take HRT. Pessaries are also full of oestrogen, and you chucked away the KY, so if the wild yam cream’s no good then we’re stuffed.”
“Or not, as the case may be.” Neil had a sudden enlightening thought. “Marlon Brando used butter in ‘Last Tango in Paris.”
“Well I wouldn’t fancy spreading it on my bread after you’ve dipped your willy in it, and Maria Schneider shot him at the end anyway, so it didn’t do him any good in the long run.” Lyn closed her eyes and wished his obsession with sex would go away. “And no, you’re not sticking it in there either. Yeah, I saw that film too.”
***
She opened up one eye to watch as her husband turned over on his side, lifted himself up on one elbow, and reached over to turn off the lamp.
“We’re only in our fifties. Does that mean twenty or thirty years plus with no sex then?”
“There are other ways; you know that. It’s all about getting used to the new normal and accepting it.” Lyn shuffled over towards him and cuddled up to his warm back.
“I don’t want to get used to it.”
“Well, I’m afraid you’re going to have to. My body is fifty five years old. I’m not the nineteen year old I was when we first met.”
“You can say that again. You were as randy as a sack full of rabbits back then.” A small smile played on Neil’s lips in the darkness, as he enjoyed a brief wave of nostalgia.