I finished cleaning my teeth and went to join Paul in bed. I left the cover slightly off and rolled over, rubbing my hand on his sadly soft dick.

“Hmm?” Paul mumbled.

“I think I want to feel you inside my baby-maker,” I whispered. “Make love to me.” I rubbed his dick through his PJ bottoms and slipped my hand through the opening and held his dick, slowly wanking him.

“Not tonight, Mica. I am knackered,” Paul said and rolled onto his side.

I could remember the days when we shagged two or three times a day. When I used to wear two panty liners just to soak up his spunk. His desires had waned; mine were the same. I wanted him inside me. I wanted to feel him stretch my fanny; I wanted to feel his balls on my thighs. I wanted his pubic mound to crush my nubbin.

I lay back and parted my legs. There was no choice; it had to be self-service. I didn’t care if it disturbed Paul’s sleep; I wanted to cum. I eased my petals apart and ran my finger gently along my valley, circling my fanny and then slowly back up to brush against my nubbin; ooh, that was nice. A little jolt and the warmth started. I licked my lips with my tongue and moved back down to my entrance, circling and then dipping my finger gently inside, my nail grazing the little scar tissue of my G spot.

I was pretty sure I was murmuring and mumbling and definitely groaning in pleasure; I didn’t care. Paul had his chance and had rebuffed me. I moved my finger around, stretching my fanny, feeling the moistness increase as my arousal grew. I rotated my hand back, my finger leaving me, my fanny feeling empty and needy, and I found my nubbin once more. A light dab. Then a heavier, more pressing one, and then a light one again.

Oh God, I was so close, closer than I had thought. My crotch was feeling like a cauldron of fire; flames full of electric made their way to my nipples and to my toes. I rubbed my little button again and again, harder, then softly.

“Fuck!” My orgasm erupted and I arched my back, my whole body spasming as waves of pain and pleasure coursed through me. God, that was a big one. I relaxed back into the bed.

“Really?” Paul said as he plumped his pillow.

“You had first refusal, darling,” I said as I pulled the covers over me, sure I would sleep well. As I was just going into the land of slumber, I realised our bedroom door was partially open; I guess Paul hadn’t pulled it to when he came in after me. Oh well.

Paul wasn’t in bed when I awoke in the morning. I threw the cover back and headed to the ensuite. I took my negligee off and dropped it in the hamper, turned the shower on, and as the water warmed, I sat on the loo.

As I washed, my fingers rubbed into my sex, of course, and memories of last night’s orgasm danced in my head. Oh, why wouldn’t Paul? Why wasn’t he interested? Was he having an affair? All kinds of thoughts played in my mind as I cleansed. As I got out of the shower, something caught the corner of my eye. I looked around but couldn’t see anything. I looked out of the ensuite, but there was nothing there. Odd. Oh well.

I put my pale blue chemise on, silky and a bit too sheer to be worn on its own with a teenage son in the house, and added my silk robe over the top. Knees down, visible; knees upwards, covered; and went down to do breakfast.

Paul was drinking tea and had some toast and marmalade in front of him. “Did you do me anything?” I asked.

“Tea is in the pot and toast on the side if you want it.” His eyes were on his tablet, presumably looking at today’s news. The news was always the same these days: a war here, a terrorist attack there. I just didn’t bother with it.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” I said and popped a kiss onto his forehead. He gripped my arm and gave it a squeeze and then went back to his tablet. I sat at the island and poured a tea and buttered a piece of toast. As I munched on my toast, I wondered again about Paul. He really didn’t seem interested these days. I was still in good shape, with no excess weight, boobs slightly saggy, and no wrinkles or grey hairs that I knew of. We didn’t fall out or have arguments. He held my hand when we went out; he just simply showed no interest in me sexually.

“Are we alright, baby?” I asked

“What do you mean?”

“Last night, you rejected me again.”

“I love you, baby; I just don’t have those needs anymore.”

“Well, I do.”

“You do what, Mum?” Mik asked as he came into the kitchen, hair all over the place, dark stubble on his face, his pyjama bottoms barely held in place. God, he looked a mess in the mornings.

“Oh, nothing, darling. What do you want for breakfast? Dad made some tea, and there is a piece of toast if you want it.”

“Oh, er, can I have some bacon and eggs, Mum?”

“Of course you can, sweetie.” I put the last of my toast in my mouth and washed it down with some tea. I got up and opened the fridge, taking out the bacon.

“This is the last of the bacon, Paul; we will need to go to the farm shop.”

“Okay, we can go after breakfast if you want; then I need to go into the office later.”

“Okay, yes,” I answered. The frying pan was hot, and I put the last two rashers of middle-cut bacon into the pan; there was a nice-sounding sizzle, and the aroma of cooking bacon started to fill the kitchen. I took two eggs from the egg stand and started shaking them to get the yolks properly in the middle.

I turned the bacon and cracked the eggs into the pan. “Is that one piece of toast enough, darling?” I asked Mik.