Boring

“Are we boring?” she asked
after cumming.

“No, this is Patrick,” I replied.

She wanted to hit me, but I’d just hit it from behind.
The angles were all wrong
and I would’ve seen it coming.

“That’s not funny,” she said
but she was laughing.

“Are you bored while we’re fucking?” I asked
while withdrawing --
from her ass, I’ll mention proudly, because what an ass it is.
I really wanted her to play on the word --
‘bored,’ as in ‘into,’ as in me drilling her in the ass --
but she wasn’t in the mood
for joking.

“No,” she admitted, “but at times I feel boring.
We’ve been together for years,
and there’s been humping
and fingering
and sucking
and fucking--”
“And toying,” I chimed in,
having returned with a plug for her ass --
all the better to keep my cum inside of her --
“and even some hair-pulling.”

She wasn’t a fan of me interrupting,
but it was a good time to pause
for the pushing
and the grunting.
She continued after sighing,
the plug comfortably resting.
“I don’t know,” she said,
but why don’t we try something?”

I agreed in a heartbeat;
I was even relieved.
It was sure to beat the hell out of biking
or hiking
or bird watching.
Our better halves are always one discontented sigh away
from forcing us to engage in that most terrible and exhausting:
self-bettering, which never ends up better
than fucking.

We tried trussing and spanking,
spitting and scolding,
diapering and withholding,
caging and sounding,
flashing and streaking --
all paired with blindfolding --
pissing, but not shitting,
biting, but not bleeding,
and finally, lying about cheating,
but not cheating.

It was exciting until it wasn’t,
and then it was exhausting.
Then, in the twist that I’d always seen coming,
it was boring.

No costumes that night,
and just one toy awaiting.
“Just lick me,” she sighed,
“like you did when we were boring.
Then bone me while prone --
in the ass, if you’d like --
pull my hair just a little
and then plug me goodnight.
I just want to cum, and get cummed in,
alright?”

I hugged her and kissed her;
I stroked her and soothed her;
I still felt her feeling --
her feeling of failure.

“Couples play card games for decades,” I said.
“Couples get time shares and go every year.
They have favorite restaurants;
they have favorite bands.
The lucky ones even hold onto some friends.

“Do I bore you?” I asked. “Does my cock? Does my ass?”
“Well, your cock does,” she said, “you know – into my ass.”
I smiled so purely, so widely at that.
“No,” she said sweetly, while squeezing my ass.

“Baby,” I said, “from the moment we met,
I knew that the thrill of the new wouldn’t last.
I knew we’d get boring, but that I’d never get bored.
I knew we’d get old, but that boring you never would –
you know... like that.”

I bored her that night.
She bored me the next --
more doing, less trying,
and simply content.

Fading were the days of “I’ve never cum so hard,”
but what awaited were many of “so softly,” “so sweetly,” and “so long” --
not to mention foregone –
every single night, just about --
a very boring schedule
that was anything but.

That is our story;
our story is boring;
it’s ours, though,
and in it,
that adjective is verbing --
me into her,
her into me.
There’s worse things to do,
and there’s worse things to be.

You know, like becoming bird watchers, or hiking. I swear to god I’ll divorce her.

KIDDING.

Honey, I was KIDDING.