Anonymous member for 38 years 49 weeks

So, there I was last night, laying in bed, torturing my husband.

It'd been a rough day for both of us, to say the least. It had also been a really long day for him, since he'd covered for me most of day while I dealt with my own little situation. Quitting time didn't really bring him the reprieve it should have, either, since we had a situation with some keys for the office units on our property. So, after working the 10 hour day mostly alone, Scott was headed out to resolve the key confusion immediately after closing.

I went along with him. I guess I was feeling generous with my time at that point, since I'd had so much of it! I even had a really important duty during this little task: I was in charge of writing down the determinations made whenever a key was inserted into a lock. If the key worked, I wrote it down; if it didn't work, I wrote that down too. It was a gravy job, but it was just my speed at that moment.

So anyway, after about an hour tooling around the office building in the golf cart, we came back home for dinner and a movie. The movie was just sappy enough to keep me weepy the whole way through.

Now keep in mind that my poor husband has allowed me to PMS all over him, the house, the job and everything, all day long. Even the few minutes he had to ask me to watch the store while he went out on the property, all I did was sit here and lament to my fellow Alphas. Woe is me and all that.

Needless to say, by the time dinner was done and our movie was over, we were both ready for a good night's sleep. And, as much as he'd done for me during the day, I really, REALLY should have just left the poor guy alone.

But I was still a little weepy from the movie, and the day, and feeling guilty about being such a schizo bitch sometimes... I'm sure y'all can relate to the routine. So what did I do? Did I allow him to roll over into the sleep of the just?

Not just no, but hell no. I couldn't find it in me to do that, although he deserved it. Poor guy.

I wanted my back scratched, and not just a couple of quick swipes, but REALLY scratched. (The life-long issue with cystitis has left my back fairly scarred, and a good intense scratching is one of my favorite things.) Knowing he was tired, I literally maneuvered myself into a position in which he could not resist scratching my back if he tried...

I casually swung around in the bed so that my legs were jutting out over the edge and I was on my side--with my head directly in his lap. Perfect arms' reach for his scratching duties, and perfect control position for me.

Each little turn of my head, change in my breathing and little moan of pleasure I emitted was almost more than he could take. He scratched and he scratched, and when his interest flagged (we were also watching The Tudors) I just resumed my wiggling, to which he responded with renewed scratching vigor. I'm sure he was loathe to say anything and break the semi-lap dance situation, but at the same time he must have been thinking I am one crazy chickadee!

Ultimately we both slept like the dead, and this morning there's a bit of reciprocal crushing going on. He can't seem to keep his hands off me, and I'm carrying just enough of an emotional hangover to appreciate the extra attention.

Cruel, tricky wife or PMS-princess? You be the judge!