It’s our anniversary today. Our 14th Anniversary, not the first or the tenth. Just a run of the mill steak dinner at home anniversary.
But the pretty box on my side of the bed has been carefully placed while I was in the shower. Pretty lingerie, a body brush and a pot of chocolate, all wrapped in tissue and sprinkled with sparkly testicle confetti sit before me.
She just doesn’t get it. It’s not that I don’t want to, not that I don’t think she’s the prettiest lass in town; I do. I do want to, and I do want her. But I just can’t, I can’t. I don’t know why, and I hate myself for it.