One Pump Chump

“Excitement,” I said hesitantly from my wing of the sectional sofa. He was engrossed in the television set. “Excitement,” I tried again. This time he glanced up at me questioningly. I smiled seductively and said “I need some attention.”

He folded his hands over his mouth and stared at me as if deep in thought. I felt my chest begin to tighten. He was going to reject me again.

“Don’t get me wrong,” he began, “I’d love to spend some time with you but every time I do I keep remembering when you called me a ‘one pump chump’.”

I felt like I’d been slapped in the face. I’d said that in an argument weeks ago. How could that be coming back to haunt me now? We’d made up and said we were sorry. That was supposed to be over.

“You said some pretty hurtful things to me too,” I reminded him.

“That’s not the point,” he quickly responded. “The point is that I don’t want to be ridiculed for having sex.”

“Well maybe if you would pay a little attention to me instead of getting in and getting out it wouldn’t be such a big deal.” I snapped back.

“I’m not asking you for sexual advice; I’m asking you for a little compassion!” He was starting to raise his voice now. We needed to diffuse this situation before it blew up in our faces.

“I don’t mind you being brief. That’s fine. I was just saying that maybe you could pay a little attention to me before hand so that we could both be satisfied.” I thought that sounded level headed and compassionate. He apparently disagreed.

“I’d love to have sex if you wouldn’t turn around and make fun of me afterwards!” he bellowed. I felt tears coming to my eyes. “And I’d love to have an adult conversation where you didn’t cry like a little kid!”