BORED

I’m currently lying in bed, watching Ghost, thinking. I’m thinking hard. About what I want, what I don’t want, what I need. I don’t actually know what I want or need, but I do know one thing … I don’t want Someone New enough to make him some next great chapter in my life. He’s barely a passing glimpse in it. A few words on a couple of pages, that’s it. I’m bored with him. He’s so lovely and very handsome and a truly wonderful man. He is. He really, really is. But he’s also not for me. He’s probably not boring to other women, but every time I think he’s this hunky, handsome, thrilling man he turns around and says something so romantic it actually makes me cringe.

He’s a control freak with a hopeless romantic streak. But the ratio of ingredients just isn’t right [for me].

The sex was good last night, but it wasn’t enough to keep me there for a second night despite him asking again and again. It’s no longer enough to keep me running back for more. I don’t want sex with him enough to do the other stuff – the awkward conversations, little disagreements, realisations that we’re not right for each other. But there’s no problem, that’s the problem. He’s done nothing wrong. It’s literally a case of “it’s not you, it’s me” but it feels like I can’t tell him that. And I definitely can’t tell him that he’s not right for me because he’s just not Jock.

Someone New is manly and forceful when we’re naked though, fucking me in all the ways I want to be fucked. Like that quickie on the couch with my skirt pushed up to my thighs and white, lace panties urgently shoved to one side. He pushed those panties inside me later on that night, gently and slowly, adding a little bit of lubricant as he went. And then, when they were in, he tortuously and playfully pulled them out, inch by excruciating inch, lowering his head to flick at my clit with his tongue as he did so. With the nipple clamps he brought before on my nipples, it was a gushing recipe for success. We shoulda put a towel down, that’s all I’m saying. 

He’s really good at what he does in the bedroom and I think that’s what has kept me running back up until now. When I’m in his presence, I just want to get him naked. When he’s not naked – when we’re not naked – I’m bored. I was bored in his company. Even after cocktails, I was bored. The dinner distracted us for a while, but when we got back to his and were fully-clothed and there I was again: bored. I kept playing around with him, trying to get his skilled hands down the front of my pants so he could do that awesome thing he does with his fingers around my clit, but he kept playfully refusing, occasionally throwing me a bone by yanking up my skirt and licking at my sex through my underwear.

“A little taste of what you’ll be getting from me later,” he said.

All I could think was: just fucking do it now, for fuck’s sake. I’m BORED now.

But we watched TV for a bit, had a chat, lounged around on the couch. Dishes were done, showers were had, teeth were brushed. It was the same pre-bed routine that we go through every time. But when, after that, we were in bed, naked, and he’d be doing that thing I like with his fingers around my clit …

If we could be in bed all the time, naked, playing with each other, we’d be just fine.

But we can’t. Sigh.

WANT MORE SMUT? LET ME RECOMMEND A FEW OF MY FAVOURITES …

TWO, MAYBE THREE TIMES

I MISS MY TWENTIES

INTIMACY, BUT NOT SEX.