Just an intro, I guess

I think it’s over between me and Graham, or maybe not over yet but heading there, so I’m starting this blog as a sort of pep talk to myself because even though things aren’t that great between us anymore, I know it’s going to hurt like hell when they end.

And be scary.

I’m used to Graham managing things—being bossy, as I say when I’m pissed at him, but yeah, it’s good too. I  don’t know if I remember how to be an adult on my own and it’s nice having two incomes and all those things that go along with being in a relationship. Having someone to call when you lock yourself out of your car. Knowing who you’re bringing to the company Christmas party. Snuggling. Sex.

Not that we do either of those last two much anymore. Guess the no sex thing is my fault, or so Graham says. He’s always up for it, but I don’t know. I just haven’t been. Not with him, anyway.

My libido’s still way up there, don’t get me wrong, but it so happens that I get home before he does, because I’m totally an 8 to 5 drudge and he’s a power attorney raking in the big bucks and did I mention I was going to miss his paycheck? Because, yeah. I wonder if you can get alimony from a guy you’ve been living with for three and a half years. Probably not, huh?

Anyway, I get home before he does and the internet is full of porn and I’m bored and my balls are full. You know how that is. Jerking off to some hot clip is fast and easy and I know I ought to wait for Graham to get home so I can sex him up good and proper like he thinks he deserves, but it doesn’t happen.

Every day I tell myself, “Alex, you’re going to leave your dick alone when you get home tonight. Do something productive with your time. Greet Graham at the door with nothing but a bow on. Show him you love him.” And then dick, porn, and there we are. By the time Graham gets home, I’ve got nothing left.

You think he’s mad about how little sex he’s getting? Imagine how pissed he’d be if he knew why.

It’s just … the sex between us is just … sex. It wasn’t always like that. We were hot once, and I know every couple says that but it was true. Now we argue about sex more than have it because Graham always wants to fuck me, and I like getting fucked OK but sometimes I want other shit—like to fuck him, or maybe get a blowjob or even a handy.

He doesn’t even want me touching myself when he’s fucking me which is ridiculous. I’ve told him I can’t come just from being fucked and he says it’s because I don’t give myself the chance, that I’d learn to do it if I stopped touching myself, but come on. I’ve got a dick. I’m going to use it.

So I do.

When he’s not there.

Back when we met, I liked him being toppy. Liked it? I fucking loved it. I remember the first time he turned me over his knee and spanked my ass and then he fucked the ass he’d spanked and I never touched myself because he had my hands pinned behind my back and I didn’t come but I didn’t even fucking care. All I cared about was that I was his. That was how it felt, like I was his.

But you know, you live with a guy and the shine comes off. He can’t own me every minute, not when there’s mundane shit to do like laundry and dishes and picking up dry cleaning and then someone gets sick or shit goes down at work and somewhere along the line we lost that D/s vibe and now it’s just him being bossy, which is what I call him, and me being a brat, which is what he calls me.

I hate that word: brat. I hate it because it implies I’m doing it on purpose and I’m not. The thing about submission is, he’s got to take it. I can’t just give it to him. And he stopped taking it, or maybe I stopped giving it, I don’t know, but I don’t feel that way about him now. If he tried to turn me over his knee, I’d probably just laugh.

So yeah, things have to end, which is too bad because there’s a lot of love and history and once upon a time there was so much potential, and three and a half years later, I’m still Graham’s boyfriend.

But I’m no longer his.


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