Sometimes when you’ve been together with someone for a while time can seem to meld together.

A routine is set.

Wake up, breakfast, work, dinner, evening leisure time and bed. The next day it starts all over again. You talk, you go through life and the motions of those every day days. Weekends can vary but often they don’t. Cause your comfortable with each other you know what they like and they know what you like.


Maybe you’re a family with cats, dogs or children. Maybe you’re not at that stage yet or possibly have already passed it. It doesn’t really matter where or when you are in life.

You've become settled.

You wake up every day next to the same person, fall asleep next to the same person. You automatically push him onto his side when he snores in the middle of the night and he doesn’t wake up anymore when you get up to pee at three in the morning. You’re passed the grand romantic gestures instead you give and receive small acknowledgements that you are there and he is there. 

Coffee just the way you like it in the morning, using the laundry detergent he likes. Automatically making two cups of tea in the evening without being asked or asking. Cooking seafood even though you hate it cause he loves it.

Then the other small things in life that kind of drive you crazy.

“Babe? Where’s the big Teflon pan?”

“It’s in the carrousel cupboard.” You yell back from your desk. It’s nice he wants to cook for once cause your busy but after so many years he should know the kitchen by now!

*Rummage* “No it’s not!”

“Yes, it is! Right at the bottom.”

*Rummage* “No, it’s not! Honestly.”

You sigh getting up from you work, head the kitchen, open the offending cupboard and point straight to the requested pan right there in plain sight. “You mean that one?”

“Oh.” He flushes you can imagine him face palming in his mind. “Sorry I was looking right through it.” It’s cute and exasperating at the same time. It’s also not an unfamiliar scenario.

Just like the thing with coffee grinder. After he’s gone to work in the morning you find the coffee grinder still out. Man, he always puts everything away but never the damn coffee grinder. Though you don’t really hassle him about his cause you're more than a little messy even your socks turn up absolutely everywhere and you know it drives him nuts.

It takes two to tango as they say.

As for sex well sex is not as frequent as it used to be. You find yourself often smiling back at those first few years where you couldn’t keep you hands off each other. Every opportunity was a golden opportunity. Every night taken advantage of and often repeated in the mornings. You would spend whole days in bed doing absolutely nothing at all but being naked and talking.

Oh sex... 

You remember it being hot and steamy and fucking sexy as hell. You remember the times it was intensely sexual and the times when it was intensely intimate. Now the two seem kind of muddled together and it’s a little strange. Are we making love or are we having sex? Maybe both... maybe neither? 

The age-old sentences of horror seep into your bedtime conversation.

“Not tonight babe, I have a headache.” Your mortified you said it but you actually do have a pounding headache. Other times well, other times you just couldn’t be bothered with sex.

Sex while less frequent doesn’t mean it’s sloppy. That too has become kind of comfortable. You know what they like and they know what you like. It’s still fun and good but also comfortable.

You love his body but there are things you would rather see different. His nipples are so ticklish that you can’t play with them in any wayl, ever, while nipples fascinate you most of all. Then again he goes down on you and takes you to a realm of pure delight while you’re less then adequate in that area and don't really enjoy down on him that often.

So after a while your mind starts to wander.

It’s been so long since you’ve had sex with another person other then your significant other. Wouldn’t it be thrilling to be touched by someone new again? To touch someone new again? To feel that excitement coarse through your veins and make your heart pump…

You can’t cheat on him though.

Although you would only see it as sex he wouldn’t and loosing him over such a stupid thing would be a fate worse than death. He’d never cheat on you. You can’t do that to him cause you do love the prick. Cause he’s your prick and you’re his and you’d hate it if someone else dared touch him!

So the days go on in that comfortable way. However isn’t cause you’ve ordered that you can’t peruse the menu.

Your eyes wander too.

Oh, nice ass…
Fuck those perky nipples…
Gorgeous, handsome, tall, skinny, build, horny…

Your eyes stray but you don’t.

Nothing just happens, you need to feed a relationship for it not to sizzle out. You don’t want it to sizzle out. Love is a verb is it not? You work at it.  Then one night, you forget the circumstances or context of the evening you’re probably out with friends or something like that, you catch him looking at you.

- Butterflies -

That look.
That look with that wink.
That wink with that grin and BAM.
You’re weak in the knees. 

The prick’s flirting with you!

The air between you is zinged, you’re anxious to get home cause; hell yes that look!  That hasn’t happened to you guys in a while.

You remember every single reason you fell for this guy, you recall every day that has made you love him even more then the one before. You’re amazed he’s even with you cause in your eyes your not a catch but you’re thrilled he seems to think so. Straying? Oh hell no. You love the life you have together and wouldn’t give it up for the world.

You never could.

That night you’re reminded that the passion of those first years wasn’t gone. It’s been dormant that’s all.

Dormant but still very much alive. Heart racing and fingers fumbling. Panting, impatience, laughter and moans.

Loud moans. Furniture groans and cloth ripping.

That night it wasn’t comfortable.

That night it was hot.

All and any feedback is welcomed, comment and/or email me. Suggestions, tips or even a chat you know how to find me.

This is a piece of fiction. My piece of fiction which may not be borrowed, altered, taken or copied without my explicit permission. These stories are registered under my name.




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