The Neighbor and I have been very loving and close, but have had little to no action this week. I fondle his balls and get him hard, he squeezes my tits, motorboats me while we make dinner — we touch and bounce and caress — but never fully land on one another.
I’m in that weird safe place that inevitably happens to everyone to one degree or another: the spark is fading. There’s no danger left between us. He’s mine.
Nearly every morning I wake him up at 8 am at his place. I’m either up due to the cat or from taking Peyton to school. I quietly let myself in and creep back to his room. His king-sized mattress is on the floor inside his bed frame and I laugh every time I see it. He’ll be wound up in blankets completely passed out. Then I peel off my clothes and slip inside the bubble with him, press my cold body against his flaming hot skin. But that’s all.
There are no blowjobs, no early-morning moaning. He’s inevitably much too tired and I don’t care to make it happen. I’m content to let the ebb just be.
There’s a very small voice in the back of my head that is worried, but I’m trying to keep her quiet and enjoy what I have instead. I’m going to keep my eye on it, unpack its real meaning, ask good questions like, Why does my desire for him go down the safer I feel?
I know that successful erotic couples keep a healthy emotional distance from one another and perhaps he and I have gotten a bit too close. Maybe we need to renegotiate the boundaries a little, create more mystery and positive tension. Maybe we need more kink — we’ve been awfully vanilla for months and months now.
I should tie his white ass up and beat it until it’s a bright, cherry red and he’s writhing and begging and panting for release.
Or maybe I’ll just let the ebb do its thing and not worry about it too much and stick to taking pictures for my horny Internet Boyfriend.