Comfort

So, I've been fucking this guy for nearly two years now. From day one, I've been disappointed in the sex itself. It's perfunctory. It's predictable. It's bland at best.

One has to wonder why I continue to fuck him, right? I've asked myself the same question countless times. I've come up with varying reasons, but I really think it boils down to one.

Reasons I've Come Up With in the Past:

1. His body is beautiful. It's truly amazing to look at.

2. He wraps his arms around me to sleep and stays wrapped around me all night.

3. He's interesting company.

4. Some nights I just don't want to be alone.

But the real reason is a combination of all of the above things plus the fact that there ISN'T any adventure in the bedroom.

Yes, in the end, it's a good thing that he sucks in the sack. With his absolute disdain for foreplay and anything other than the missionary position, there's no chance of him actually seeing or feeling my body with any great detail -- the body I've some to despise. That, in turn, allows me to be comfortable. And comfort is what I seek right now.

It's hard to find comfort in new things after hoping that you'd never seek comfort in new things again.