In his kinder moments, Peter would accept his role breakdown of his relationship. This kindness would seep away after about the third beer. But on that third beer, he’d think about those last months, those summer days when they still had sex.
He should have told Grace he wanted to undress her, to feel her skin as the air softly caressed her after he’d slipped off her top.
But these days, sex between them seemed to be a function of being married and not the other way. She’d stand on her side of the bed and undress. There was no malice or fear, but the bed being between them seemed to represent the distance between them. She’d slip off her socks and slip under the bedsheets.
Grace always wriggled herself into some sort of comfortable spot as he ripped off his own socks.
Once beneath the sheets, they felt each other, knowing how to reduce the inefficiencies of the act so they could either roll over or get up to do something more important to their increasingly separate lives.
More than once, Peter would go to the bathroom, piss and then masterbate to the memories of his wife straddling him as she angled herself to orgasm.
The release and the fourth beer moved him to anger and resentment. Grace closed herself off to their love, making it a perfunctory aspect to raising two children.