Trying to become a husband?

 I've been working outdoor for a week. 

I took advantage of this time to write a letter to my wife. I tried (as softly and thouroughly as I could) to explain what I'm living and hoping. Seven handwritten pages. Maybe too many. She answered after two days with a WhatsApp message, two lines. Maybe too few.

When I went back home, I put there a joke. She loves getting coffees. I told she could ask for them, but she had to pay every single coffee with a kiss. It worked. Once. At her second coffee, my kiss has been forgot. 

I had hoped in some answer, by words or by works. I passed half an hour of our first night together caressing her. Till I fell asleep. But it would have been the same caressing a doll. Even if I had an embarassing erection. 

The following night I found her already sleeping... out of sheets (it's summer and a hot one). Nearly naked. And I started desiring her. But. Would it have been a harassment? She not only didn't allow me to do things, but actually it seemed she hadn't desired them. I did nothing. Except lying down on my hardness. And dreaming about reaching my computer, opening a site and... 

Today, at least, after having burst in an attack of nerves and having fled away (no, I won't ever exit into violence against other people), we had something similar to a talking. She explained me how I've often been so mean and only asked for sex ("while I'm 80 y.o., haven't you understood it?" - obviously, this isn't true according to register office. And she often boasts being younger than me). And I must agree that we had it once, ten days ago. Out of nothing. I was in heaven. (this can be a way to keep a man tied: nearly never grant him some sex, but only "nearly": thus, once in three months will be a great gift. He will never get bored of marriadge sex). But it was soon closed. I can't blame her, if she says I'm an untolerable man, she's right. 

When I fled away, I had thought about falling down a bridge. Maybe it would have been better. She'd have mourned over me. And maybe she wouldn't have thought about me as a slimy dirty old man. Which I surely am. Actually, I'm 51 y.o. and I'd need sex. (Which I hadn't had till my 30). Surely slimy.

Yet, with my hardness in my hand. Actually, a dirty man. 

(Actually, every time I meet small-clothed girls, and even women and old ones... how much I'd want to lick them down their cleavage or between their legs...!)