I've noticed this, as a woman: you toast a few bagels, iron a few shirts, and lust disappears without a trace. In its place there's this kind of mommywife love, this surprise--oh look, you're a nice girl after all, even though you sucked me off on our first date--this reverence. But reverence without lust can kiss my ass. Which you haven't done, as of late. And I want to toast your bagels and iron your shirts and help with the kid any way I can, but I need to know you care that the sound of your voice still makes me wet. Do you still lust me? Do you do you?
What are you talking about? he asked. You haven't toasted me a bagel yet.
Angels on Toast