Friday Night Poker: Wife’s Bull Ride While Hubby Plays

The bed creaks softly beneath us, a familiar rhythm that’s become a Friday night tradition. Taborn’s weight presses down, his breath warm against my neck. I can almost hear the cards shuffling downstairs, my husband’s laughter mingling with the clink of glasses. It’s a strange dance we do, him with his poker nights, me with my… arrangements. I don’t mind it, really. There’s a certain thrill in the secrecy, the knowledge that he’s down there, oblivious to the scene unfolding upstairs. And Taborn, well, he’s a gentle giant, always careful, always respectful. It’s a strange kind of tolerance we’ve built, my husband and I. He tolerates my nights with Taborn, and I tolerate his poker addiction. It’s a balance, I suppose, a way to keep things… interesting.

What Does Tolerance Look Like?

I often wonder what others would think, if they knew. The neighbors, his friends, even Taborn himself. Would they understand this delicate balance we’ve struck? Or would they see it as something sordid, something to be judged? But for us, it’s just another Friday night. The cards are dealt, the bets are placed, and I’m here, lost in the moment, in the rhythm of it all. It’s a strange kind of intimacy, this arrangement. Not the kind that comes with grand gestures or whispered endearments, but a quiet understanding. A tolerance that’s become a part of who we are, as a couple. It’s not for everyone, I know. But for us, it works. It’s our secret, our Friday night ritual. And as long as it does, I’ll keep playing my part, just as he plays his.

When Does Friday Night End?

The question lingers in my mind, a soft whisper against the backdrop of moans and shifting bodies. When does this end? When do we stop this dance, this delicate balance of tolerance and desire? I don’t know. And maybe that’s the point. Maybe the uncertainty is what keeps it exciting, what keeps us coming back for more. The cards will keep shuffling, the bets will keep being placed, and I’ll keep finding myself here, under Taborn, lost in the moment. It’s a strange life, this one we’ve built. But it’s ours. And for now, that’s enough. The night will end, as all nights do. But until then, I’ll keep playing my part, keep tolerating, keep desiring. It’s what we do, after all. It’s who we are.