Enough

[image error]He wants it to be easy. He wants it to be quick and quiet and to feel nothing but the urges of his body following their predestined path. He wants simplicity – a bit of friendly fun. Perhaps a reenactment of some two-minute video he used for last week’s wank.

Why can’t it be that way? Why do women always need to complicate everything? Why can’t she be thrilled at the dexterity of his fingers or the self-less task to which he’s willingly applied his tongue? She’s going to get her orgasm. What more does she need? He’s measured his cock. It’s almost seven inches long.

He’s told her she’s hot. Isn’t that enough? But no, she wants more – they always want more.  No matter how he’s laboured over her. No matter that he’s sweat-drenched and has held off coming three times already and his balls are taut and stinging with tension, her face is a passive plane of disappointment, of boredom, of a longing to be somewhere else, with someone else.

He’s bought her things. Nice underwear and jewelry and that ridiculously expensive little vibrator he thought they could have fun with together. But she never takes it out around him.

She waits until she thinks he’s asleep – like now.

He cracks his eyes open in the gloom of the room. At first there’s only her silhouette on the bed, and the soft buzz of the device. But, as his eyes adjust, he can see hers are screwed shut, as if the tighter she closes them the closer she’ll get to whatever it is behind her lids that means so much to her.