"Are you embarrassed?"And with that he shoved me back down on the (slightly soggy) bed and continued to make my toes curl so hard they exploded out the top of my head.
"Well yeah, a bit. I mean hello, the entire bed is pretty much soaked. Except maybe that corner over there."
"So what? I like it."
Do you have any idea how often I am washing the sheets lately?! I need to go to Ikea and buy some more because I'm sort of embarrassed how much laundry I am doing, not to mention I'm sure my flatmates would appreciate it if I would stop hogging the clothes line.
Does Ikea sell rubber sheets? Actually since summer temperatures are rising and the flat has no AC, scratch that idea. I imagine rubber sheets plus hot weather would be like fucking inside a balloon left in a car under a broiling Texas sun; swelteringly hot, sweat gushing out from every pore and a suffocatingly limited air supply.
Bonus: Ikea has black sheets right now. Sweet. Wait, are cumstains more apparent on black sheets? If so, my bed is going to look like a reverse Rorschach Test...
I also need to buy some gloves because no matter how short I trim my nails, I manage to scratch the everlving shit out of his back. And ass. And thighs. And anything else with reach (well, almost). I honestly have no idea where he gets all this energy and stamina from; he works his ass off and by rights should be pretty damn tired if not exhausted. Nope. Has noooo problems going until 5 in the morning, at which point I fall into an orgasm induced coma.
I don't mean this to come off as complaining or bragging (ok maybe just a bit of bragging, considering how much I am giggling in front of my monitor), I'm just currently feeling a bit incredulous and wide eyed. Surely there's a hidden camera some where and at any moment Alan Funt is going to jump out and end the fun.
Seriously people, I am a Sociopath Magnet. So forgive me for wondering where is the catch to this wee liason...
I have got to stop overanalysing. And get some spare sheets...