Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. I just borrowed the names. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without written authorization. ©2010 SwedenSara. All rights reserved worldwide.

Thank you JillM12 and netracullen, my betas on this chapter!

Towels and Guilty Pleasures

x.x.x

EPOV

She touched me.

She touched me.

She touched me.

Now I'm horny.

I lie in bed, hearing her breathing evenly next to me. She is asleep, and I'm not sleepy at all. She touched me, she finally touched me, and now I'm horny. I'm so thankful I was able to hide it from her while she was awake, because I sincerely believe that she would have freaked out if she noticed the hard-on I was hiding under that duvet. It's a good thing she stopped before she got there.

I think about the look on her face when she realized she had withdrawn her hand just before reaching the hem of my underwear, and I feel awful. She actually believed I would be disappointed that she couldn't go further than that. Well, I felt a small amount of disappointment, I can't deny that. But to be honest, I didn't care. I was just so thrilled that she actually touched me.

I've craved for her touch for so long. I close my eyes and think about her small, gentle hands. I recall the feeling of those hands stroking my face, my arms, my chest and my abdomen. I feel the soft coolness of her fingers, and remember how her palm stilled above my beating heart. She really felt me. She never says that she loves me anymore, but I felt it in that touch, and that is all I need to know.

I realize that this must have been hard for her, but she got over it and she touched me. I know about her issues with touching, about the panic attacks she's been having when I get too close. She's working so hard to allow me near her, and some things are working better than others. One thing I do know is that she can't handle my desire. That is still too difficult for her, which is why I'm relieved she never discovered my hard-on. Now I know one more thing. Touching works better when she is in charge; when she does the touching, not me.

I can deal with that. Being touched is not bad…

Maybe, in a while, she will be able to touch me further down…

Before I can stop myself, I imagine her hands stroking the length of me, running lightly up and down my hard cock. I feel myself twitch, and groan as I imagine her fingers sliding over the head, glistening with…

Oh fuck, stop it Cullen, control yourself!

I cover my face with my pillow, trying to muffle the moans that are escaping my mouth.

Great, now I'm even harder. I have to take care of this hard-on, I can't sleep with this. If I do, I'll wake up with the blue-balls from hell.

I quietly sneak out of bed, and pad out into the hallway. I get a towel from the bathroom, and head for the computer in the living room. I fire it up and sit down, wincing as the back of my bare thighs come into contact with the cold chair. I tap my fingers impatiently on the table, because this always seems to take too long. I want to be back in the warm bed, listening to Bella's breathing. Instead, I'm about to soil a towel looking at naked women.

I feel like such an asshole. What kind of husband does this? My wife is apparently dealing with some issues, probably related to sex, and instead of supporting her I sneak out of our marital bed to watch porn and jerk off.

I would die if she knew.

The screen is waking up. I see the familiar window icon emerging, and I log into my account. I've hidden my porn stash way deep in the root directory, in a folder she'll probably never find. I begin browsing the pictures, looking for a particular girl. I have several pictures of her, and I like this girl because she reminds me of how Bella was when we first met.

I have to rearrange these pictures so it'll be easier to find what I want.

I settle for one black and white picture. The girl is wearing a school outfit with a short skirt and stockings. She's standing with one foot on a large stone, spreading her legs, and showing her bare pussy to the camera.

God, that is such a cliché. The fact that this turns me on is border-line embarrassing.

I lean back and try to relax. I stroke myself slowly, imagining Bella's soft, cool hand is doing the job, instead of my own warm and slightly rough one. I feel myself harden again, and I change the picture to a new one, with the same girl. I continue touching myself, sliding my fingers around my head, pressing lightly underneath it before dragging my hand down to cup my balls.

This isn't doing it for me tonight.

I need sharper ammunition, and I know just where to get it. I change folders and open up the first picture. This is the best folder of them all. This is my hidden desires in pictures, my secret wants on display. These are the things I always wanted to do with Bella, but could never tell her. With her issues now, it would probably scare her out of having sex for a long time.

I groan as I browse through the pictures. There, this one… A dark haired woman is on her back, bound to a bed, legs and arms spread wide. Here eyes are covered with a silky black blindfold, her mouth and pussy are open, inviting, wanting and waiting.

God, if I could watch Bella like this.

Waiting for me, trusting me with her body…

She would be so beautiful.

I feel my cock twitch in my hands and my balls tighten, and change to another picture, pumping my hand harder and faster. I look at a woman lying face down on a bed. A pillow beneath her hips is lifting her ass up. Her legs are spread, her knees are bent, and her feet are up in the air. Her hands are on the bed, close to her breasts, as if she is about to do a push-up. Her upper arms are tied together, keeping her elbows apart with a space exactly as broad as her back. Her feet are above her ass, and her ankles are tied to the wrists of her hands, making it impossible for her to lower her feet.

I close my eyes and envision Bella in front of me, lying like that, tied up with her pussy bare and open, waiting for me to touch her, caress her. I imagine myself sitting beside her, caressing her back, slowly massaging the cheeks of her small, perfect ass. I hear her moan in my head as I see myself dipping my fingers into her, pressing rhythmically on that sweet spot inside, making her come again and again and again…

So pretty…

Fuuuuuck

I feel my balls tighten as I'm about to come, and I take the towel to catch the juices I spill while watching other women than my wife.

I don't even look at the screen as I rise and turn the computer off. I toss the towel in the laundry basket, making a mental note to do the laundry myself tomorrow, so she won't have to pick up my used, filthy piece of masturbatory evidence, which by then will be starchy due to the dried semen.

I'm angry and disgusted at myself for doing this again. I feel guilty, and I don't want to watch those porn stash women. I want to watch Bella, but I can't. I feel like I'm cheating on her, in some twisted way. I mean, I think about her when I do it, it's not like I want any of those women instead. They are merely a substitute for the real thing, and something to get my imagination started.

As I head back to our bedroom, I try not to think about my nightly wank. I pause briefly before I open the door, wanting to leave the horny part of me outside of our bedroom.

I slide quietly back into bed, being cautious so I don't wake her up. I lie awake for a while, thinking, watching her sleep. She has been so distant for so long, and I've felt cut out of her life. Sometimes I've felt like an extra in a movie. It was as she was living in a bubble some days, detached from life. I was so sure that she didn't want me anymore; I had even looked into the legal aspects of a divorce, just in case she would want one. I thought it was the end of our marriage, that night when she ran away from me and hid in the bathroom. Thank god it wasn't. Maybe someday I'll be able to take the horny part with me to bed, and give that to Bella again. She did touch me tonight, after all. There is still hope.

I drift off into a light sleep, filled with pictures of a naked Bella, silk ropes and blindfolds.

x.x.x

BPOV

I touched him tonight.

I felt him, really felt him, and it was nice.

God, I've missed that.

I'm proud of myself.

Before we fall asleep, we lie together, silently watching each other. We say nothing, because there is no need to. He's got a serene smile on his face, and I feel blissful but confused. Touching him awoke feelings that have been forgotten for a long time, and it caught me by surprise. My fingers are still tingling from touching him; it feels like electric currents are running up and down my fingertips. The tension tonight has tired me out, and my eyelids are getting heavy. As I slowly doze off to sleep, his eyes are the last thing I see.

I wake up in the middle of the night, feeling the bed move slightly, and hearing Edward quietly leave the bedroom. He does this sometimes when he thinks I'm asleep. What he fails to realize is how lightly I sleep, and how easily I wake up. I have also developed that excellent night hearing that seems to come with motherhood. I guess that is the acoustic equivalence of night vision. On rare occasions I have pretended to stir in our bed, doing an "almost waking up"-impression, and that always makes him lie down again.

I know what he's up to, and I listen to his footsteps as they head for the bathroom. I hear him open a drawer and rustle with some fabric, which most likely is a towel or something that I'll find in the laundry basket tomorrow. Then I hear him pad to the living room, and I recognize the buzzing of the computer as he fires it up. I listen to the sound of the chair being pulled out, and hear a low gasp as he sits down. I'm guessing the chair is cold, and it makes me snicker a bit.

He apparently needs to cool down…

I hear a low tapping sound I don't recognize; I don't usually hear that sound during nights like these. As it stops, it is replaced by the clicking sound of the mouse.

I wait, without breathing, for the sound I know is coming. There it is, the quiet sound of skin stroking skin at a slow pace. I hear the chair creak as he shifts his position, and then I hear the clicking of the mouse again. I'm guessing he's not happy with whoever he's watching. The new one seems to be doing the trick, and I can hear the stroking sound going faster, adding a low slapping noise. His breathing increases and hitches. The sound of him exhaling soon blends in with the rustle of fabric.

So, I guess he's done.

I listen to him padding back to our room, and I reposition myself as I was when he left, slowing my breathing so he won't notice I'm awake. He falls asleep after a while, but seems restless. I lie awake for a long time, pondering his nightly escapades by the computer.

I'm not sure what to think about it. A part of me is sad, and a little jealous. I think I'm not that nice to look at anymore, with my empty boobs and all. I know it is irrational, since I feel so uncomfortable when he watches me with desire in his eyes, but it still hurts that he looks at other women. I know how they probably look: big breasts filled with silicone, sweet faces, no cellulite, firm abdomen, tanned skin, sexy underwear, or more likely, butt-naked. I don't look like those women at all, and compared to them I'm a failure. Plus, I don't do sex anymore. Those women do, apparently.

The other part of me, the not so jealous part, feels almost relieved that he chose to leave the room to jerk off, instead of bothering me. If he had turned his interest to me, I probably would have had a complete break-down. I can barely handle him kissing me on the cheek, and just a few hours ago I freaked out when I realized my hand was dangerously close to touching his cock. So, he wanting to have sex with me, instead of dating the porn stash and "Miss Manuela," would have been a bad idea.

I decide that I'm thankful, and that it was thoughtful of him to take the matter into his own hands, so to speak. I wish I could be the one to help him with this, though. It was probably my touching that made him horny anyway, so it's my fault that he had to please himself on a cold chair in the living room. If I was a better wife I would have done that for him, in the warm and cosy bed, with my hands and mouth. But I'm not, I'm a bad wife, and apparently also a cock tease.

I'm displeased with myself and my inability to be a sexual being. Sex never used to be an issue; I used to love it, maybe too much at times. I never said no to sex. Well, of course I did if the guy didn't do it for me, and I had my standards, but when I found someone I liked I always went for it. Being like this, as I am now, it isn't me. I don't recognize myself, and it freaks me out.

I started out good, with the touching.

But still, in some ways, I feel like I've failed.

I feel tears form in the corner of my eyes.

Oh no you don't! I hear Jake's voice in my head, scolding me.

You are not allowed to feel like a failure now. Small steps, remember? Imaginary Jake points his finger at me, narrowing his eyes.

I'm so glad I was born with such a vivid imagination. I smile at my inner Jake, wipe away the tears, and fall asleep.

A/N The inspiration for Edward's third picture is the teaser for chapter 18 of Tara Sue Me's "The Training". You can find the picture on her story blog, http://tarasueme (dot) blogspot (dot) com/ . Don't go there if you are under the age of 18!