Mikvah Night Fight

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A91 mfight
Written by Davida. Davida is a first-time Jewrotica writer.

Rated RIt’s mikvah night and we are not talking.

He makes an offhand remark. It’s something that triggers my ire every single time he brings it up – but he does it just as I am leaving to dunk.

The whole time I am preparing my body, the dark cloud of anger hangs over me. It twists and turns in my gut. I am resentful that I have to do all of this work to sanctify myself when he’s made me so angry.

I’ve missed him, physically. The dreams I’ve had the last few nights have been X-rated. I want nothing more than to be naked next to him, under him, on top of him…

I dip into the water. I make the blessing. I get out and get dressed while a tempest still brews within. I come home and ignore him. I really want to run to him, to plaster myself against him, to tell him I cannot wait for him to be inside me, as soon as the kids are asleep – but I can’t. I am too pissed off. I crave him but I won’t let myself give in.

We’re both busy with the kids. My storm cloud is still hovering. He gives me a wide berth. It’s a smart move, yet a dumb one. All he needs to say is he’s sorry and I’ll melt in his arms. How can he not know that by now?

We head to bed. I’m sniffling into my pillow – I hate being mad at him. He’s lying next to me sighing and rolling his eyes. We eventually talk – he won’t apologize even though he knows that by apologizing he’ll get some. It’s more important to be right.

I am even more upset and cry harder. All I want is an apology so we can have some sex. At some point my tears start to bother him. He begins to feel like he ought to do something. He puts his hand lightly on my thigh – not moving it, just leaving it there. An invitation? An olive branch? I ignore it. I don’t move.

He moves his hand to my back. He strokes me on top of my grandma pajamas – the sex-repellers. I feel my resolve start to weaken. I haven’t had the pleasure of touch in 12 days. It’s a drug I’m craving.

He turns me around to face him. He holds me close, strokes my hair, wipes the tears off my face. He whispers “I’m sorry.” I say nothing. I feel him naked next to me, throbbing against my thigh. 0-60 in .4 seconds. He touches me and is raring to go. I tell myself he has to work for it.

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  • Great read. One of the most important lessons that I learned early on in my first relationship was to apologize, sincerely, when the occasion called for it. My thought is that if you want a good relationship, the other person’s feelings need to be more important than your pride and being “right”, so I try to suck it up and think big picture.

    Anyone else?