Ill Show You Boring

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***Republished with a bit more editing done. It was mostly fixing several grammar errors, with just a few words changed here and there.***

This is my first effort and I must say: I am not an English major, I don't have an editor, and I apologize in advance for any spelling or grammatical errors.

I tried to submit in formats that supported bold and italics, but it just wouldn't work out for some reason. If you notice an abrupt shift in perspective or tense, it's meant to be read as a thought. I'm sure it would be obvious for most, but I wanted to mention it regardless.

***Contains anal and a bit of a squirting fetish.***

Everyone is 18+.

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"It's not my fault you've become so fucking boring!" he yelled, loud enough for anyone in the house to hear.

Terri looked at her husband with a confused scowl on her face.

"What?!" she screamed, matching the volume of his voice. She jumped up from her seat on their bed, holding her hands up in a what-the-hell-are-you-even-talking-about kind of manner. "Where did this shit come from? So now I'm fucking boring? Wow, Greg! I must say this is a new one."

She couldn't help but start laughing hysterically, though nothing about what was happening was even slightly humorous.

They had already been well into yet another argument when her husband dropped this little grievance for the first time ever. She couldn't quite believe what she had just heard. It had to be the most hurtful thing he had ever said to her in their 19 years together, including 17 years of marriage. They were high school sweethearts and had been together since age 16, but the last few years had been anything but sweet.

"How can you even say that shit to me," she shouted, that being the main way they knew how to "talk" things out these days. "Okay, so maybe we don't go out as much anymore, or take trips and vacations, but how is that my fault?"

Tears were starting to fall now as she tried her hardest to calm her voice. "Look, we both decided to take promotions years ago, and we knew that meant longer hours at work. You knew that would happen and agreed it was best, considering we had a son that was getting older whether we liked it or not. That means a car, college, helping with an apartment, and god knows what else. We talked about how we needed to maximize our income and decided on that together. There is no way in hell you can put any lack of adventure in our life on me alone."

She just stood there shaking her head. "I can't fucking believe you said that me."

"That's not what I'm talking about Terri," Greg mumbled.

"It isn't?" Cue the confused scowl again. "Well then, Greg... sweetie, please do enlighten me so I know what the hell you're talking about."

Terri spoke with no lack of anger as she crossed her arms defiantly. She was staring a hole through her husband at this point. Greg sat on the bench at the end of the bed, head in hands, seemingly unable to meet her glare.

"Greg?!"

He finally raised his head and locked eyes with his wife. "I need more from a relationship... physically. It's just not working for me anymore."

Terri was shocked; she didn't even notice her jaw reaching for the floor. Perhaps her thought on his most hurtful statement was a bit premature.

"Well, I guess I really don't understand that at all," she muttered. "I know we don't lead the most exciting life right now, but we've always found time to be intimate."

Greg's head was back in his hands while Terri resumed her searing glare. They sat in silence as she thought about what her husband had said. This was the only man she'd ever loved, and now he was implying, what, that she wasn't putting out enough? Really?!

Not only did it hurt to hear Greg speak those words, but she knew that what he was saying wasn't the case at all. Terri was starting to feel the anger quickly rising to another level as her fists clenched tightly. What a load of fucking bullshit.

"I guess I didn't realize that fucking me several times a week wasn't working for you anymore," she hissed as the tears ran. "I have never denied you, you ungrateful asshole! I've never been too tired, never had too bad of a headache, or any of that other shit people use to not put out."

"It's not the quantity, okay?! It's the quality!" Greg angrily replied as he jumped to his feet.

He noticed the look that overtook his wife's face. It was clear he was taking her to another level of hurt with each new revelation. Oh well, what's done is done.

"What do you want me to say, Terri? It's Not. Fucking. Working. I'm so sorry I'm not finding excitement in a bunch of quickie fuck sessions anymore."

It was getting increasingly more difficult to not completely lose her shit. "Oh my god! You have to be kidding me. You're the one who always wants to just bend me over and hammer your dick in me until you cum, not seeming to give a shit about whether I get anything out of it. Have you heard me bitching? No! Now your gonna say this to me? What a fucking hypocrite!"

Terri was so angry that she was shaking now. She felt like she about to faint and fall on her ass, so she sat back down on the bed and tried to get her breathing under control; her mind was racing. What a fucking asshole. He is the one who started lowering the standards of their physical relationship.

She thought back, remembering how Greg slowly phased out anything more than the quickies he was currently bitching about. On the other hand, Terri was equally game for some nice, slow love making, or a thoroughly rough, nasty fuck. In fact, outside of swinging and being shit on, there was very little that was off of the table for her. These days, when she would attempt to initiate something reminiscent of the great sex they used to have, Greg would put an end to that by flipping her over, ramming her from behind for a bit, blowing his load, and going to sleep.

"Look, I'm not going to sit here and go back and forth with you on this, playing the blame game until the end of time," Greg snapped with finality. "I've said what I've had to say about it. Regardless of whose fault you think it is, I want more out of my sex life, and that's that."

At that moment, Greg walked towards the chair in the far corner of the room and picked up a suitcase. Terri hadn't even noticed it since she had been in the room that evening; she was too preoccupied with their latest argument. How long has this son of a bitch been planning this?

"What is this really about, huh?" She was back on her feet, pushing her vocal cords to the max. It wasn't too hard to connect these dots. "Who is it? Who are you leaving your family for, Greg? Is it Krissy? Are you fucking her?"

She'd had her reservations about the receptionist that started at his job a few years ago. At company gatherings, Terri had noticed she was always overly friendly, but she only seemed that way with Greg.

"Answer me!" she shouted. "How long has it been going on?"

"You're ridiculous," he replied.

"Oh, am I now?"

"Yeah! You are!"

Terri let out a loud laugh. "You tell me I'm a boring fuck and you need more, and now you have a previously packed suitcase in your hand. I don't think what I said is that ridiculous at all. Actually, I think I probably hit the nail right on the fucking head!"

Greg just shrugged his shoulders and headed towards the bedroom door, brushing past Terri on his way out. She let out a loud snort and shook her head in disbelief at what had taken place so far. She then turned to head towards the hallway as well; this wasn't quite finished yet.

"So you really expect me to believe that you're just leaving to go be by yourself? Really, Greg?!" she spat out as she followed him through the house. "How the fuck is that supposed to improve your sex life? Do you really think I'm that dumb?" Greg was reaching for the front door as she stopped in the living room. "You're going to go be with her. Just admit it... ADMIT IT!"

Suddenly, he stopped and turned towards his wife. "Maybe I am!" he yelled. "You really wanna know? Do ya? You wanna know that I've been with Krissy for almost two years now? Or that she has been ten times better in bed than you have? Fine! There you have it. I'm done, okay? I'm done just settling for... vanilla. I'm moving on. Goodbye, Terri!"

"You. Mother. FUCKER! FUUCK YOUU!" she roared.

Needless to say, Terri was fully encompassed with rage at this point. Although she had already figured as much, hearing her husband confirm everything she was thinking still, simultaneously, broke her heart and made her blood boil. Greg wisely let himself out the front door at this point, being sure to slam it as hard as he could on the way out. About half a second after the door slammed, there was a second, louder crash that followed.

*****

I'm not sure how long I had sat there on my bed, staring straight ahead at nothing in particular. My history book was sitting open in my lap, pen barely hanging out of the corner of my mouth, and my face wore a blank expression. At some point, I finally felt my brain rebooting. What the fuck did I just listen to?

I guess I should go ahead and get the introduction out of the way. My name is Lucas, I'm 18 years old, just about finished with high school—thank god—and I had been studying for my final semester test for history. That's about the time I heard the yelling back and forth about some shit I'd have been just fine never hearing.

Mom and dad were knee deep into an argument, which was pretty much standard ops these days. Luckily, I'd grown accustomed to it enough to where I could pretty much tune it out; it's a pivotal skill to have in this house. I'll actually never understand why, for such a nice place, we had shit for walls.

Anyway, being such as it was, my ear to brain filter was on point, usually. I guess hearing your parents screaming at each other about the frequency and quality of their sexy times, and in somewhat graphic detail, is enough to break down even the most well-oiled machine. Follow that up with my father's confession that he'd been fucking his co-worker for years and was now leaving my mother for her, and you've got a good recipe for one shell shocked son.

I just sat on my bed for a moment, thinking about how my dad seemed to be quite the piece of shit. Although I'm kind of a momma's boy, I had never really picked sides too much when it came to their constant bitching at each other. I generally just chalked it up to the fact that they had been together almost 20 years, and isn't that just what happens to a couple after that kind of time? However, after this particular disagreement, I just felt awful for mom; she didn't deserve this.

Before they started going at each other's throats on a regular basis, they seemed to be two peas in a pod. It was nothing but love and respect, at least it seemed that way to me. Then it all started to change; pretty suddenly now that I think about it. Coupling my dad's admission with mom's various accusations against him, it seemed obvious that his quest for a side piece was exactly what caused everything to go to shit between them in the first place. The timing sure seemed to line up to me.

So yeah, I felt bad for mom. Hearing her crying like that, dad leaving, and then the loud crash. Now that I think of it, instead of sitting here pondering, I should've been off my ass a long time ago to check on mom. Man, now I feel like the jerk.

*****

I hopped up and rushed out of my room, down the hall, and towards the living room. As I got to the front door, I barely noticed the pile of clear glass at the base of it. It was the remains of what was once a huge, Italian glass vase that used to reside on the coffee table. When that shit breaks, it shatters into a million barefoot altering shards. Luckily, I noticed them right before I would've lined the bottom of my feet with a nice coat of pain and anguish. I jumped clear of the jagged hellscape and landed gently on some nice, soft carpet. I wasn't interested in re-enacting any scenes from Die Hard, so that was a preferable alternative for me.

I found mom sitting in front of couch, on the floor, with knees up to her chest. Her make-up was streaked down her face, but she wasn't really crying anymore; it was just some light sniffling at this point. Cupped in both hands, was a massive wine glass that was half empty. I could tell by the bottle on the coffee table that she was probably halfway through a second or third glass. I pondered for a moment on how long I must've spent pondering.

I walked towards her and put my hand on her back as I sat down on the couch. "Mom... are you okay?" I spoke softly.

She continued to look forward, focusing on her wine glass. "I guess you heard us, huh?"

I nodded, though she couldn't see me do so. "Yeah, I heard quite a bit. These walls ya know... they're shit for noise cancelers."

"Yeah, I know. I'm sorry, I wish you wouldn't have had to listen to all that. Pretty fucked up right? Jesus... I'm so sorry." She tilted her head down onto her knees and started crying again.

"Mom, c'mon, you have nothing at all to be sorry about. I just wanted to make sure you were okay after all that. Do you... do you need to talk about it?"

As much I wanted to be there for her, I really hoped we weren't going to have to have any discussions regarding her fucking dad, dad fucking her, or any type of fucking scenarios involving either.

"Well, I guess there's really not much to say that you didn't already overhear."

Whew! Looks like I'm in the clear on that. Nice.

"GOD!" She exclaimed. "Your father is such a piece of shit. How did I not put it all together sooner? I always had suspicions about Krissy, but I never thought he would do that to me... to us. Come to find out, he was busy giving the receptionist his A-game, while he was just basically giving me pity fucks. I guess what I have between my legs just wasn't enough to satisfy him anymore. Then he says I'm boring in bed, fucking vanilla?!" She turned back over her shoulder and looked me directly in the eyes. "I am NOT a boring fuck. He chose to make things that way. I can be fucking amazing in bed. Fuck him!"

Well, safe to say I might have counted the chickens before they hatched on that one. I thought overhearing it was bad, but it was even more unsettling hearing it directly from my mother's mouth while her eyes locked with mine. I needed to divert this conversation quick-like.

"I... I'm uhh... yeah. So hey, look, you said it yourself. He was out giving his best elsewhere, 'cause he's an asshole. That's not your fault. He decided tonight that he wanted something else besides us, so yeah... fuck him. Now that I think of it, maybe it might be best to not rehash all that nonsense that was said, like, at all." I rubbed her back for a quick second. "We will be fine, mom. You know I got your back."

Mom looked back at her wine, drank the rest of it down in one swig, and promptly started pouring another glass.

"Hey," I said, trying to sound upbeat, "I just realized we haven't eaten anything yet. How about we order some pizza and watch something funny. We haven't done that in awhile. Maybe it'll take your mind off tonight for a bit."

The stone look on her face didn't change in the slightest. "Thanks, Lucas, really. I appreciate the thought, but... I think I'm gonna just call it a night."

Her words were starting to slur a bit at this point. She gulped half of her wine down, stood up, and clumsily started towards her room. She didn't make it far before stopping abruptly and backtracking to grab the rest of the bottle off the coffee table. She eyed me for a brief moment, giving the bottle a slight shake as if to say, "Can't be forgetting this now, can we?"

"Okay then. Goodnight, mom. If you need anything at all, just come and get me."

She gave me a nod and moped back towards her room. I had honestly never seen her look so sad.

"Oh, and don't worry about the glass. I'll take care of it," I called to her.

I kind of hoped she didn't hear me because I realized I might have sounded a little callous; that was definitely not what I was trying to do. Anyway, with a broom, dustpan, and a little vacuuming, I'd have it cleaned up posthaste.

Twenty minutes later, and I was still vacuuming the same section of carpet, still hearing glass being sucked into it. It's too bad she didn't choose the heavy-ass bronze candlestick—it was right next to the vase—to chuck at the door; this shit would be embedded in the carpet for life. After a few more minutes, I decided that was going to have to do.

I put everything back in it's home and realized, yet again, that I still hadn't eaten anything; my stomach was starting to let me hear about it. I didn't feel like waiting on a pizza to show up, so I decided on a soda—damn, we were out—a refreshing glass of... tap water, and settled for a couple turkey—shit!—bologna sandwiches. I'd never understood why dad would prefer the abomination that is bologna. So there I sat, eating in silence, and really wishing I would've just ordered the pizza.

I dropped my plate in the sink, and my body was telling me that sleep was now in order. I went and peeked into mom's bedroom to check on her, noticing the now empty wine bottle on her nightstand. She had a nice, loud snore going and was sleeping like the dead. I was happy that she was at least able to get some rest, considering how her world came crashing down just a couple hours ago.

Jesus, what a night. Though as they say, tomorrow is a new day. Mom and I could sit down in the morning and figure out how to start moving past all this shit. Hell, at least things couldn't possibly get any crazier, right? I gave the affected area of carpet a wide berth on the way to my room.

*****

I loved Saturday mornings. They gave me the perfect opportunity to not get out of bed; well, usually anyway. I had already decided last night that I was going to forgo my standard weekend routine of falling back to sleep a couple times before facing the day. Instead, I was going to be a good son and be up and around for mom.

I got up out of bed, eyes still half closed, and stumbled groggily over to my dresser. I had to be careful not to smack my morning wood, or my sack, on any bed posts or desk corners during my journey. I exclusively slept in the nude, as not doing so would be a perfectly good waste of silk sheets. After reaching my destination unscathed, I grabbed some boxer briefs, a plain t-shirt, and some basketball shorts; this was pretty much my standard weekend attire. I jumped in the shower and made quick work of washing off and drying up.

As I went to get dressed, I couldn't help but take a quick look in the mirror, which was something I did more often since I started running cross country. I really didn't partake in many extra curricular activities for most of my high school career, but for my senior year, I felt compelled to change things up. I decided to join the drama club and the cross country team. The former just being something fun to do, while the latter actually started to whip me into decent shape, which is always a plus for an 18 year old student.

I'm not a bad looking cat if I say so myself. I was going at about 5 foot 10 and a relatively lean 155 pounds. I wasn't stacked with muscle, but not as skinny as a rail either. I kept my brown hair a little long and shaggy. Top that off with a pair of hazel eyes and a decent jaw line, and I figure most people would say I'm at least a step above average. Anyway, I think that is enough vanity for one morning. I threw on my clothes and headed out into the hallway towards the front door but stopped in my tracks. I darted back to my room and slipped on some house shoes, not trusting myself to consistently avoid that glass ridden patch of carpet.

It was only about 8:00 when I wandered into the kitchen, so I wasn't surprised mom wasn't out and about yet with the night she had. I brewed up a couple cups of coffee and decided I was going to put my culinary skills to work to surprise her with breakfast.