getting a fuck (and remembering Catherine)

2010-07-12, 11:31 p.m.
WARNING: Contains self-abuse. Stop reading if offended by the thought of anyone over the age of 20 being sexually active.

If there were unexpected and freak weather conditions across the world yesterday � mysterious gusts of wind stripping all the leaves from trees and sending small family hatchbacks tumbling along streets like Dinky toys, then fear not.

It was only the massive sigh of relief I did when I realised L hadn�t utterly forsaken me, and the massive sigh of relief L did when he realised his willy wasn�t actually broken after all.

Yesterday didn�t start well, if Im honest. Despite my best attention (that is: being pleasant, smiling, wearing the shorts that have a hole in the back so he could see my arse) I was clearly still wearing a huge cloud of L Repellent as, any time I got near enough to touch him, he kind of veered away � like that cool thing you can do with magnets and a shiny table.

Needless to say, I had sent him to the pub by midday. He supposed it was so he could watch the motor racing, but it was actually so that I could spend some quality time up in the boudoir with a large selection of sex toys in an effort to stop myself spontaneously combusting. Especially as I�d found an old favourite � unloved and pretty much forgotten about � at the bottom of the toybox and had gone specially to B & Q to get the particular type of batteries it takes. I was kind of hoping that I would easily be able to find these batteries as I wasn�t relishing the prospect of that particular conversation at the customer service desk.

�Scuse me. Do you have any 12volt silver oxide? (its not those, but you get my drift)
Never heard of �em, love. How many d�you need?
Errr�..fifteen
Wellll, you�d be looking at a Trade Pack if we Do have �em. And what they for?
Umm�.G-Force Destroyer thingy �.umm �massage� ummm� multispeed� err� ummm�.oh, never mind. Can you show me where the powerdrills are please � preferably ones which run on petrol.

Anyways, a heady cocktail of quasi-cock later (one�s never enough, is it girls? The person who invents a �does it ALL� vibe would surely make a fucking MINT. If I knew anything about design. Or manufacturing. Or motors. (Or anything other than masturbation, clearly), I would do it myself. Oh, and it would be SILENT, so I don�t have to lock every door in the house and put a CD on extra loud in case anyone comes a�knockin�.) �as I was saying, quasi-cock cocktail blah blah blah and I was ready to face the world again.

Not having sex makes me snippy. And snippy is not a good thing for me to be, as I have a fairly short fuse as it is and SNIPPY + SHORT FUSE = likelihood of deaths, possibly amongst those of whom I am generally tolerant (idiotic shopgirls, slow-walking old ladies, husbands etc etc)

Needless to say I was nicely mellow (if a little flushed) by the time L came back from the pub so we went down to the river to have a stroll and catch a bit of afternoon sun.

Restored somewhat by sitting on the river bank watching our friend Ray (on the opposite bank) hand-feeding a young fox with dog biscuits while Ray�s dog sat impassively at his feet, I thought I�d chance a bit of a chat with L about his missing Mojo. The reading glasses still haven�t turned up, btw.

He did the whole �Its not you � you�re still lovely � but to be honest the entire cast of Slut Orgy III could turn up, begging for a seeing to and I�d be �not now girls, I cant really be bothered�, and I think that if I worry about it, it�ll only make it worse, so Im trying not to worry about it.�

I said, �when it gets to the stage when you ARE worrying about it, you WILL go and do something about it, wont you? I mean, in a �doctor-ish� kind of way�

He said he would, and kissed the top of my head which was reassuring, yet avuncular and slightly dismaying.

It was hot walking back home and I wished I�d taken a drink with us � we were going to stop at the garden centre but its so expensive that we said we�d wait til we got home. Just as we turned the last corner before our street, like an oasis in the middle of the Sahara, was the ICE CREAM van. And, barefootruby, it was MARIO�s!!!!!

I waited until I was halfway through mine before I told L I thought that kind of icecream lent nothing to the words �Ice� or �Cream� and what we were eating was basically air-whipped margarine and milk powder. �And a flake!� he said, helpfully.

It was delicious.

After dinner, we went back to the pub to watch the footie. It was unremarkable.

Once I�d wobbled home (�1.65 for a double whisky. It just don�t get better �n that!) I thought I�d just have one last attempt at seducing my poor unsuspecting husband.

I ran a bath, lit some candles and we both jumped in (under the pretence of me offering to wash his hair � I know no subterfuge too underhand to get a naked man within my grasp).
I didn�t wash his hair, but I did kiss him a bit and generally be nice to him and stroke bits of him with my cute little toes. I DO have cute little toes, btw, not hideous pterodactyl claws or the sort of toes that looks like someone stood on a packet of cheap sausages. My toes are perfect for nipple twiddling. So there.

There was no pressure and I would have been quite happy to have jumped out once we were relatively clean and gone fast asleep in our big bed, but, well, I don�t know if it was the lovely relaxing water, or the fact that we�d had a few drinks, or the toe job or possibly because I am just SO FUCKING GORGEOUS, but before long L appeared to be fashioning some kind of underwater lighthouse. Or something.

Out of the water quicker than you could say �Hurry the fuck up, I wanna make some use of THAT!�. L called into the bedroom to me �put some sexy underwear on� but I was in a rush (and still not really convinced that anything spectacular was going to happen) so I yanked the first thing that I found out of the drawer. It was a pair of lilac and cream lacy granny pants retro knickers which make me look a bit like a 1950s secretary, caught unawares.

�They�ll do� says L, making a lunge for me.

WOOOOOOOHOOOOOOOOO!

Ended up upside down in the bed, feet on the pillows, trembling and incoherent.

This morning, L came into the spare room (I�d de-camped there at around 3am, when his snoring had started to shake bits of plaster off the walls of our bedroom) and slid his head under the covers while I was still half asleep. Just his head, mind you. The rest of him was still standing by the bed.

�Hello baby� I said. �Found your Mojo then?�

�I think its in here somewhere� he said, between mouthfuls.

Oh and, totally unconnected to this story, this is for barefootruby. He knows why!

later
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