A Conversation between Man and Wife.

We were in bed smoking salvia, drinking wine, and listening to an alarm clock radio playing nineties rap and r&b hits.

"I don't know, I don't really fantasize." She said.

"No?"

"No, not really."

"Hmm." I nodded. The concept was foreign to me. "Not even during private shower head time?"

She shrugged. "Well, I mean sometimes. But, no, not really even then. If I'm at the point where I need to get off so bad that I'm taking care of it in the shower, I don't really need a fantasy to help get me there."

"Wait, I think you're looking at this wrong." I said. "You're not supposed to fantasize to just get in the mood. I mean, you could, I guess, but you do it to enhance the situation. Sure, I mean, I can do the job without it, just hand on dick very math-like and boring, sure. But you add a fantasy, some salt, some art, to it, and it becomes something else. No longer is it just guilty touching, but it becomes this whole other experience."

"Yeah, I don't know. My brain just doesn't work that way."

I pulled off of the wine bottle, passed it over to her, and took a drag off the salvia.

"Not everyone is the same, you know." She said.

"No, I know, it's just odd to me. The total disinterest."

"It's not a disinterest. You make it sound like I'm some dried up old fuddy duddy. I do masturbate, just not as much as you. And, occasionally I fantasize, just extremely rarely."

"Why do you think that is?"

This conversation had become perfectly me. A chemically influenced psychological analysis of my partner's masturbation habits.

She drank the wine, but passed on the salvia this time. "I don't know. It's just how I am. Why do you masturbate? Why do you fantasize?"

"Are you making a point, or do you want answers?"

"I'm making a point. Like you need a prompt to go on about your mighty sexual prowess and callused hand."

I smiled.

"All I am saying is, I'm not you."

"I know," I said,"I was just curious why you thought your brain behaved like that."

"Childhood? Society? Breakfast cereal? How should I know?"

"I love you."

"Why do you say that?" She asked.

"Because I do. It's a little adorable how you take offense to my inquiries."

"Well," She said, "it's sort of a private area, you know? I'm not used to getting into in-depth conversations about jerking off."

"Fair enough, beautiful."

We sat there for a few seconds. I drank the last of the wine, and she finished the salvia. She curled herself up under my arm, kissed my chest, and exhaled. I ran my fingers through her hair, and kissed the top of her head.

"Can we please shut this terrible fucking music off?" She asked. "It's making my pussy dry up."