“Well, probably every day,” she informed her. “For best results, I think every three days should work.”
I looked at my wife.
How the hell did she look like she was eighteen again?
She looked so young.
I’ll admit, I looked down at my growing beer belly and kind of resented her.
If hand jobs were making her younger, I should probably be a baby accounting for how much I have masturbated since we had kids.
Well, my wife’s love of giving me hand jobs did fade but her circle of friends became a bit larger.
But once they were all at the age they felt they should be at, everything stopped.
“It’s not working,” my wife told me one night.
“What’s not?” I asked, kind of annoyed that I had to stop playing Candy Crush or whatever game I was playing at the time.
“Us,” she informed me.
“How is it not working?” I asked. Sure things were boring now that we had kids. We don’t go out like we used to. We both gained a bit of weight, well, until she rejuvenated herself by jacking me off.
“Look at us,” she said. “I’m fucking hot again. You are kind of disgusting now. It’s like being with my dad.”
“Um, what.”
“Maybe in a couple years, things will be different,” she said, clearly lying. “Maybe when I’m a bit older and ready to settle down.”
“You’re 34,” I told her. “You are a mother and have two kids.”