#MWBB 2.51 : The Thrill Is Gone

Jerry sat on his sofa every night waiting for her to go to sleep. She went upstairs about nine. She usually went upstairs between eight and nine most nights. He usually stays up till eleven, or midnight. Just to make sure she’s asleep when he gets to bed.

Sometimes Jerry wondered when it all started. When he stopped going to bed when she did. When she stopped asking him to come to bed. When he started wearing pajamas every night, even though she sent to bed naked.

“Used to be different,” he remembered. “Yeah. Used to be different.”

He remembered the first night, before they got married, when he woke up at stupid o’clock and she was on top of him. “Are we doing what I think we’re doing?” She hadn’t said anything, just kept moving.

Before they got married, they spent nights together at her house, in her bed. Hell, they spent whole weeks of nights together. Always at her house, always in her bed. Never in his apartment. But he didn’t care.

After they got married she got experimental. She started trying more positions, and more types of activity. Over the years, they’d tried everything, including oral and anal. They tried sex on the stairs, and in the shower. On the sofa, in the kitchen. Even in the middle of the night, with no lights on, and the curtains open. It was OK to experiment, since they were married. They could have all the sex they wanted. And they did.

After the kids were born, they didn’t experiment as much. As the kids grew older, the fun nights grew less frequent. When the oldest went to college, things pretty much stopped.

Jerry sat on his sofa and remembered what it was like. When she put her head between his legs. Or when he stood by the bed with her on her hands and knees. He used to watch every stroke. That was part of the fun for him. Watching.

But, those days were gone. And Jerry wasn’t like the guys he worked with. All of them divorced their wives and had married younger women. Women still interested in sex. If that’s what they wanted, Jerry was OK with that. But he wondered why they slept with women the same age as their daughters. “That just ain’t right, is it.”

Besides, it took energy to wake up in the middle of the night for that sort of thing, and he’d rather sleep. He knew, after enough times, it all became the same. Everything felt the same. All the new, all the excitement, had worn off.

The thrill was gone.

Around eleven-thirty that night, Jerry felt tired enough to go to sleep. He wandered upstairs, changed into his pajamas, and climbed into bed. The covers felt good. After a few minutes, she stirred, pulled his arm out, and snuggled in, her head on his shoulder.

Jerry smiled. The thrill might be gone, but the comfort and the trust of having her as his friend and companion more than made up for that.

511 Words
@LurchMunster

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This is my entry for Year 2, Week 51 (Week 2.51) of Jeff Tsuruoka‘s Mid-Week Blues-Buster flash fiction challenge. This week the prompt is the song, “The Thrill Is Gone” by B. B. King. Please, go read the other stories in this week’s challenge.

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#MWBB Week 2-30 : Man On The Run

Sunlight coming through the window, lighting up the room, woke me, plunging light beams through my eyes, into my brain. I covered my eyes, “Mother nature, you’re a bitch sometimes,” the words raced through the parts of my brain that still worked, “Turn out those lights!”

Morning had arrived. It was time to get up. I had to go. That’s when I noticed her. Her arm, and leg draped across me, her head on my shoulder. Not a stitch on. Both of us, starkers. “Oh, yeah. No I remember.” I looked at her blonde hair, “Julie.”

I untangled myself from her, staggered to the bathroom, relieved myself. It wasn’t my bathroom, wasn’t my apartment. I remembered we’d gone to her place. Mostly ‘cause I was too ripped to drive.

As I stared in the mirror, I remembered us getting naked, and doing everything. I mean everything. Every way. She wanted it all, and I was happy to do anything she wanted. It had been a fun night.

After a few minutes of memories, I headed back to the bedroom. Julia got up, and made her pit stop. She came back, and didn’t ask. She threw the covers off the bed, and planted her head between my legs. I watched her head move up and down. After a minute, she stopped. We rearranged, her on her hands and knees, me on my knees behind her. And I watched every stroke I made into her.

Yeah, I finished.

We showered, I let my fingers play. She gleefully rode them as the soap and water washed away. We wound up back on the bed, her on her back, humping my fingers, me sucking her tits. She peaked, then pulled me on top of her. I wound up on my knees, her legs over my shoulders, as I stroked. I watched every stroke, which made it better.

After I finished, we got dressed, raided a breakfast place, and she took me to my car. “Let’s do this again,” she said. “Tonight.” She kissed me. “OK?”

“I’ll do this every night you want me to.”

Julia. The fifth in a string of women. I wasn’t looking for a soul mate, a partner, a girlfriend. I was looking for a sex. And when things got serious, I’d run away. Move to another apartment. Change jobs if I had to. Change my phone number and email address. I’d escape her, and find another lay somewhere.

And another one after that. Hell, I’d fuck every woman I could find. Because it worked. It distracted me. Meant I didn’t have to remember her. Didn’t have to cry. Didn’t have to hurt.

Maya.

My Maya.

My heart, my soul, my life. Until the day she walked out. “I don’t love you any more.” That’s what the note said. “You’re not the same man I fell in love with.” She said I’d become stagnant, unchanging, dull and boring. She wanted more. She wanted someone who loved her, cared for her, didn’t treat her as a possession, a trophy.

She left.

So, I’d bang Julia for a while. A couple of weeks, or a month. Then, I’d leave. And find another woman to fuck. Then another.

No way was I ever gonna care for another person again. No way was I ever gonna hurt like that again.

Not after Maya.

558 Words
@LurchMunster

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This is my entry for Year 2, Week 30 (Week 2.30) of Jeff Tsuruoka‘s Mid-Week Blues-Buster flash fiction challenge. Please, go read the other stories in the challenge.

A Tale Of Lust : Pictures Every Night [Adults Only]

[The following is for adult consumption only. If you can’t handle explicit sexual content, go away.]

11:30 at night. Thomas’s wife was asleep. “Finally,” he grinned. “Now I can do what I want.”

He pulled his tablet out and opened the WEB browser. “I’m not a bad guy. I’m not.” He typed in the familiar URL, and watched the page load. “It’s just. She’s not interested anymore.” He remembered when the two of them spent late nights exploring each other. He remembered how fun sex with her had been.

It wasn’t fun anymore. He didn’t know when that happened. Or why. It just had. “It’s not what I wanted.” But he wasn’t sure that was true. Perhaps, they got tired of each other. Perhaps the sex was always the same. Perhaps they ran out of things to try. “The thrill is gone,” he heard the song play in his mind. It wasn’t spontaneous anymore. She scheduled it, when it happened, and when it happened, it was a chore.

He hadn’t screwed her in two years, maybe longer, he’d quit keeping track. It was one of those never going to happen things. They’d done everything. And he’d enjoyed it all. Especially oral sex. She knew it. She used to tell him, “I know you liked that. You got your rocks off.” And, “I know that felt good to you,” when he finished.

Now, he never finished. “Sometimes, I wonder why we sleep in the same bed.” He looked at the screen of his tablet. A pornography site, with daily videos and pictures. He wondered when it became more fun to watch the videos, and stare at the pictures that it was to screw her. “It’s not my fault.” Thomas shook his head. Yeah, it wasn’t his fault. He didn’t know whose fault it was, but it wasn’t his. “It’s like she got tired of everything, and stopped.”

He clicked on the link for the daily video, and watched a girl do it all. The camera never left her. All it showed of her partner was his dong and his hands. It started with her getting naked, and riding her fingers. Next, she off his clothes, then knelt in front of him, and sucked his cock. Thomas always liked to watch the blow jobs. They reminded him of when his wife used to suck him. Since she never did anymore, he liked to imagine the girl in the video was sucking him, her head riding up and down the length of him, like in the video. He wished it was him she was eating, so he could feel it for real, instead of imagining it. He wished it was him she was taking in her throat, him exploding into her.

Hell, it never happened in his life anymore. Why shouldn’t he enjoy a little fantasy? What was wrong with that?

The girl in the video got on her hands and knees. She turned her ass to the guy, and used her hand to spread herself. Thomas watched as she finger fucked herself, and spoke of how much she wanted the man to fuck her. After a few minutes, she got her wish as the man slid his cock into her, and started stroking. Thomas listened to her moan with each stroke in the video, and imagined it was him doing the stroking, watching each stroke he made.

He knew what was coming, he’d seen enough videos to know. “How’s he gonna fuck her ass? With his fingers, or his dick?” He waited knowing he’d enjoy watching whatever happened. He licked his lips, and used his hand to adjust his crotch. “That’s better.” He waited, watching the girl drive her hips into the man so each stroke was a deep as it could be. “God, I wish it was my dick she was humping.”

Thomas grinned as the man moved his hand to her ass, and slowly slid his index and middle fingers into her. He liked how she moaned, “Mmmm. That’s what I wanted.” It was what Thomas wanted too. He wished it was him in the video, his dick in her, his fingers in her ass.

He watched every stroke of cock and fingers until the man peaked, and the video ended.

“That was good. Now, for the pictures.” He clicked through the daily pictures. There were pictures of a dozen naked girls, sucking dicks. Thomas thought it would be great to fuck a dozen different faces. Pretty faces. Watching them ride up and down his length. Making him feel good.

There were a dozen more girls with dicks in their pussies. Some on their hands and knees, taking it from behind, some sitting on the man, some on their backs with their legs pulled up, and their cunts wide open. “I’d love to line them up, and fuck them all. Watch my dick pump into them. God, that would be good.”

There was a third dozen girls getting their asses fucked. All of them smiling, moaning, or groaning. Some on their knees, some sitting on the man, and some on their backs with their legs over his shoulders, and their butt cheeks spread. “I’d love a bunch of asses to fuck. Whenever I wanted. As much as I wanted.” Thomas imagined it was him in each girls ass, stroking away. “I like fucking ass.”

The fourth set of pictures had lots of naked girls, eating each other. “I’d love to have two at once. Two mouths, Two pussies. Two asses. And I could fuck them while they licked each other. God. That would be fun.”

The fifth set of pictures was of two girls and one guy. The girls ate each other while the guy fucked them everywhere. Faces, pussies, and asses. “It’s what I’d do. God I wish I could do that.”

When he finished the pictures, it was past midnight. Thomas turned off his tablet, “God, I needed this tonight.” He knew he’d sleep well, with fun dreams, and he knew he’d find release for the stress between his legs in the shower the next morning.

“God knows, I won’t find any release with her.”

He fell asleep dreaming of fucking a 20 something blonde’s face. Shoving himself all the way in. Exploding. Her swallowing it all.

Lust sat in on his sofa two hours later, “A guy needs a few fantasies,” he told Thomas’s wife, as she reviewed the browsing history on his tablet. In another month, she’d file for divorce, and get him thrown out of her house.

She knew he didn’t love her anymore. Their marriage had died years ago. She thought of it as a mercy killing.

Lust laughed. “It’s too easy, isn’t it. A few pictures, a video, and presto. Another happy couple bites the dust. And he’ll never see it coming. Everybody wins!” Lust would feed on human misery. Thomas would have his fantasies. His wife would have her freedom. And the girls in the pictures would have their money.  Everybody’d win.

“Whores. The world has always had them. And always will. No matter how much it changes.” He laughed. “And men will always find them.” He looked at Thomas’s future ex-wife. “Just like he has.”

Life was good. And Lust knew it. And it would stay good, so long as men had dicks between their legs. Lust laughed, and laughed until dawn.

#MWBB 43 : Heartbeats

I met Rachel in the produce department of the grocery store. I was picking out my weekly supply of fruit. mangoes, kiwis, papaya, plums, pears, apples. She asked how to pick out a good papaya, and if kiwifruit was good to eat. “You have to peel them, right?”

“No. Cut them in half, and scoop the fruit out.”

We had Mochas in the store’s Starbucks café. She had the prettiest green eyes I’d ever seen. We talked about fruit. It surprised me when she asked me to help her make a fruit salad. “I got volunteered to bring a fruit salad to the office party tomorrow, and I have no idea what to do.”

Of course, I said I’d help.

We picked out a pineapple, four different types of apples, bananas, grapes, and cherries. We added a bag of coconut, and a few other odds and ends, then checked out, and went to her place.

We washed the fruit, sliced it, and mixed it together, stirring in the coconut, a touch of sugar (not much), and the other ingredients. She asked me to show her how to cut the pineapple. Then she tried to cut it. I wound up standing behind her, looking over her shoulder, my hands guiding hers, teaching her to slice up the apples and bananas.

When we finished the salad, she asked if I’d like a drink, as a reward for all the help. We wound up downing half a bottle of Cabernet Blanc. “You’re not in any condition to drive. Sleep here tonight.” Well, you know how it goes. We woke up naked, in her bed.

We met for dinner the next night, and I stayed at her place again. She was a work of art, with curves in all the right places. It was like my hands had to move all over her. All the rules dropped away, and we went crazy.

Rachel was my fantasy woman. The one that does everything you want, and begs you for more. The one with no rules. No limits. No taboos.

I loved every square inch of her. And when I ran out of things to try, she made suggestions.

Only an idiot would have said no.

Oh, I knew it wouldn’t last. Each morning, I expected her to say, “Don’t come back. Don’t call me.” Each morning she didn’t, I went through my day imagining all the sex we’d have that night. All the things we’d try.

It lasted ten nights. The first nine night were sheer bliss. Ecstasy. I slept exhausted, in her bed, holding her naked body. My hands on her perfect breasts.

The tenth night, as we reached her place, she looked up at the sky. “The sun will set soon, won’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Lets not wait.”

She pulled me inside, shut the door, and we got naked right there, screwing in the foyer as the sun set, and night replaced day. When we finished, she pulled me to the TV room. “I’ll be back in a few.”

“What are you up to?”

“It’s a surprise.” She gave me this sly look, and licked her lips.

My brain cells screamed at me, “Yes! Oh, this is gonna be good! This is gonna be fun! I can’t wait to find out what she’s planning!”

While I waited for her to come back, I watched the moon rise through the patio door. A full moon. Full moons were always beautiful. That one was no different. I heard her come back into the room, but I didn’t turn from the window. “Come over here and surprise me,” I encouraged her.

That’s when I felt her claws sink into my back, followed by her teeth sink into my neck. I couldn’t breathe, as she lowered me to the floor. She surprised me, alright, as she stood on her hind feet, stared at the moon, and howled.

Then, she turned back to me, and sunk her claws into my chest.

I’d always known my fling with Rachel would end badly. I’d always known my heart would be torn apart when she said, “We’re through.” I just never imagined she’d literally rip it out and eat it.

697 Words
@LurchMunster

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This is my entry for week 43 of Jeff Tsuruoka‘s Mid-Week Blues-Buster flash fiction challenge. Please, go read the other stories in the challenge.

#ThursThreads Week #78 : Will It Come Back?

Stacy had stretched out on her side of the bed, as she did almost every night, her head propped on her pillows, reading again. She read every night. Mostly paranormal or historical romance novels. She read several each week.

I went downstairs, sat on the sofa, turned on the TV, and surfed the ‘Net using my tablet computer. Another night of TV in the background as I perused technology and science news sites, reading about cosmology, optical computing, clean energy, and anything else that caught my fancy.

I knew, when I finally gave up, and went to bed, I’d find her asleep, with the lights still on, and her book on my pillows. It was what our life together had become.

As I sat on the sofa, I looked at a few pictures of 20, 30 and 40-year-old women on a modeling site. It was a close as I’d come to sex in years. I vaguely remembered sex. What it had been like. The fun we’d had. And I wondered, that night, as I had so many times before, what happened. Where had the sex gone? Where had the romance gone? But I never asked, “Will it come back?” I knew it never would.

We’d grown too old and tired, and long since lost the energy it took. Now, she got her sex from her romance novels. I got mine from pictures of naked girls. That’s all the energy I had left.

244 Words
@LurchMunster

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I wrote this for Siobhan Muir‘s #ThursThreads, Week 81. Please go read all the entries in this week’s #ThursThreads. They are good reading.

#MidWeekBluesBuster : Week 8 – Living Room

Cherie was one of those women guys just go stupid around. Big, blue eyes, dark red, almost brunette hair, breasts that were just the right size, and an ass that you just had to watch as she walked away. She was my greatest mistake. I’ll never forget her. And I’ll never blame her for the way she was, the things she did. She was a work of art, a goddess to behold, to hold, to kiss, to sleep with. And she was absolutely heartless.

I learned she had each of us scheduled into her life. Nick on Monday, Tom on Tuesday, Frank on Wednesday, Robert, Steve and Jim on Thursday, Friday and Saturday. I was her Sunday plaything.

I met her on a Sunday morning, at church of all places. She came in that first Sunday, and sat next to me. “I’m looking for a church home,” she explained.

“You are always welcome here,” With all the empty spaces on the other pews, I should have known something was wrong when she singled me out to sit next to.

Sunday after Sunday she showed up, and she sat next to me. After a month people began to talk about her, and about how she was corrupting me. “Do you see the way she dresses? That hussy!” I didn’t care. I relished having a pretty girl sit next to me. And Cherie was gorgeous. Everything she wore exhibited her curves, and they were the best curves I’d ever seen.

After two months, she asked me to lunch. Of course I said yes, why would I have said anything else? Lunch after Church, with a hot chick? It was a dream come true. And the rumors at church took off, expanding, “They’re having an affair! She’s sleeping with him now!”

After the third month, she asked me to come watch the football game at her house, in her Living Room, on her big screen TV. “I don’t want to watch the game alone,” she declared, as she took my hands in hers, lacing her fingers through mine.

When we got to her house, we sat down in her Living Room, and she turned on the game. But, I never saw a single play. She got naked, and then got me naked, and then the sex started. Sundays became filled with sex. In the morning, before church, in the afternoon, watching a game, or a race, or whatever she put on the TV, then well into the night. “I just want to be loved,” she explained. “I need to feel loved. To know you love me. I need to feel alive. Make me feel alive.”

Hell, she gave me everything I wanted. Right there in her Living Room. Me, with a fantasy women like the ones you stare at in magazines, and on-line, and pray no one sees you staring. And there I was, every Sunday, having sex with a fantasy woman.

Until she grew tired of me, and replaced me with Harry. That’s when I realized how much I’d spent on her. Buying her anything she asked for.

When it was my turn to be thrown away, I wandered into a bar a few blocks from her house. That’s where I met Nick and Steve. They were there, drinking and telling stories of Cherie, waiting to see if another of her victims wandered in. And I did.

Now we’re a group of ten. Any day we should grow to eleven. Cherie’s still out there, collecting men, then throwing them away. We sit here once a week, at a set of tables, and we laugh about how stupid we were.

It’s like Tim Allen said once, “Breasts make men stupid.” Yep. No doubt about that. And if you add a good ass and blue eyes to the breasts, we don’t have a chance. Trust me on that. The ten of us are proof.

666 Words
@LurchMunster

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Trying Jeff Tsuruoka‘s Mid-Week Blues-Buster flash fiction challenge again, and finding I had to cut oceans of words out of this one to get it under 700. Please, go read the other entries in the challenge.