Festive love

It’ll be pretty much ten years ago now that I first really questioned it.

We’d been in bed, I’d fingered her arsehole a little and she’d moaned in the right way and pressed herself against me more – one of those grunting embraces people do when getting fired up in bed. It ended up with her sucking me off and me coming all over her breasts. I’d said something like: ‘how’s that for a white Christmas?’ and she’d laughed. That’s why I’d said it – to get a laugh – a dirty one.

We’d been together five years and within those five years we’d got progressively closer in a physical way and more distant in all others. I barely fancied her anymore and it was simply because we continued fucking each other in the way we did that kept us together. It was the same for her too. I knew that much from her contentedly behaving exactly the way I did on every single piece of the monotonous. For example we’d make breakfast completely separately – same ingredients, eggs perhaps cooked slightly differently, but I’d cook mine, she’d cook hers and we’d eat them at the same table. Going for walks in public we’d be silent because the only thing we had left was sex and it wouldn’t have been clever to go on about it within earshot of grandmothers and the like.

Anyway, it was seeing my sperm spilled on her breasts this time when it occurred to me. We were fucking and fucking like this all the time to empty ourselves. I don’t think either of us felt as vacant as when we’d orgasmed. The worst of it was that we’d had times in the earlier days – the ones when we didn’t do anal or she wouldn’t swallow, that we’d make love together and feel the opposite – full. Full of love. But, it wasn’t love any more – it was porn and we were the only ones watching.

And it was that moment, when we both looked at each other, like porn stars forced to work together, that we knew we’d be over by Easter at the latest.

RuKsaK