False Witness by Dexter Dias Read Free Book Online

those days. I got drunk and wanted to make
     love. The irony was that I probably couldn’t, but that wasn’t the point.
    Surveying the target area, I tried to decide upon my best strategy. Penny always complained that my hands were cold when I
     came to bed after her. That was Step One: I put my cupped hands to my mouth and blew into them several times. Penny stirred
     and rolled on to her back, while I began to undress, balancing precariously on the bottom of the bed.
    “Tom, is that you?” she asked. I just told her to go back to sleep. Penny reached out with one arm, but I was too far away.
     When the hand fell limply back to the sheets, I put my head next to her on the pillow. Penny smelled of sleep.
    “What time is it?”she asked.
    I did not answer. That would have been certain disaster. Instead I moved closer and tried to kiss her forehead. Penny rapidly
     pulled away.
    “You’ve been drinking,” she said.
    I had made a huge mistake. Usually I would brush my teeth and gargle with that sickly tasting mouthwash, but she could smell
     alcohol and my task had become doubly difficult. As I crawled under the duvet, I thought that there was still hope. It required
     tact, timing and just a little luck. I giggled foolishly.
    Her body was curled tightly and she started as if shocked when I moved against her. There were obviously parts of my anatomy
     that I couldn’t warm up—the pulsing blood inside didn’t seem to reach the outer skin.
    “Pen,” I whispered.
    There was no response.
    “Pen, are you asleep?”
    It was, of course, a ridiculous question. She mumbled something.
    “Penny,” I started to stroke her hair. Mousy, she called it and seemed to wash it less and less as she grew older and it grew
     darker. My fingers got caught in the knots.
    “What are you doing?” she asked.
    She knew. We’d been through the routine on so many occasions. I felt humiliated. Although I believed that a husband has no
     right to expect anything from his wife, deep down I still felt ludicrous having to plot and scheme just to sleep with Penny.
     The longer we were together, the more difficult it became to make love.
    “I’m asleep,” she said.
    “Penny,” I whispered. It was my last chance. I slowly moved my hand across her body and started to caress her left breast.
     That was Step Two. Slowly the nipple grew harder.
    “What are you doing?” she said.
    “That’s obvious isn’t it?”
    “Well, don’t,” she snapped with a crashing finality.
    The bedside light went on and Penny looked at the clock. She stared at me but said nothing. As I tried to keep my eyes fixed
     on the ceiling, I could feel her feet passing against mine.
    “Thought so,” she said.
    “What?”
    “You want to screw. You’re so bloody predictable. Lights off, socks on.
So
romantic.”
    I knew it annoyed her, but my toes got cold when the window was open. There was no point replying—all was lost.
    “Been boozing, have you?”
    “No,” I said.
    “Don’t lie. You stink of alcohol. It’s revolting.” Then there was a much gentler inflection in her voice. “Darling, come here.”
    Dutifully, I rolled over. She ran her small fingers smoothly down my stomach, past my thighs. I ached for her and was melting.
     I thrust myself toward her palm but she withdrew it swiftly. Suddenly there was broken ice in her voice.
    “If you must accost women in their sleep,” she said, yawning, “if you must pester women, be decent enough to have a proper
     erection, Thomas.”
    She used my full name. That was a bad sign. Thomas meant I was in trouble. Thomas meant no groping, no fondling, no sex and
     no breakfast. It meant I’d cut your dick off with my nail-scissors if it wasn’t so pathetically small. I hated it when she
     used to call me Thomas.
    The light went off.
    I couldn’t stand it. I had no place in that house, in that bed. My bathrobe was still damp from the morning—nothing dried
     properly in those Arctic conditions. I flung it on