Hour the first. Clothes ripped off, heat cranked and a bed becomes re-occupied. Talking. Giggling. Laughing at the rest of you who went to work this ordinary Tuesday. A Tuesday unlike any other, except that he and I both tossed responsibility out the window in exchange for an indulgence in emotional and physical intimacy.
Hour the second. Talk. Giggle. Dive under the covers for some NC-17 brand of fun. Wait. Better make it X.
Hour the third. Buzzing cell phones. Unselfishly checked in with people who needed each of us. Called back the ones I wanted to. Didn’t call the rest.
Hour the fourth. “Hi Mom. Yeah, I’m enjoying my day off. What am I doing? No, I’m not sleeping, exactly. I’ve been up for a while. How are you and dad? Uh huh. Charleston, huh? So, uh, how soon before you’re in D.C.? Oh. Good. I mean, err, yeah, Thursday’s fine. Well. Drive safe. No I don’t have any plans for today.”
Hour the fifth. Basmati rice, peas and potatoes paneer and spiced lentils. Unidentifiable dessert. Half price Easter chocolate at Target. Whose idea was it to get out of bed? Mine? Damn. Let’s go back. Dueling cell conversations, he on his with work, me on mine with work. Patsy in labor.
Hour the sixth. He wonders if he’ll miss me when I’m gone later. I think so. His cock ain’t gonna suck itself.
Hour the seventh. How good does that feel? Do you want me to keep going? Turn this way. There. Much better.
Hour the eighth. TV on. Forensic Files. Can someone go get Sammy and Thora? I’m not going home anytime soon. Patsy had a C-Section.
Hour the ninth. Wonder to self, “What has Sixes been up to with the blog today?” Envision her in a Marie Antoinette outfit screaming, “Let them eat cake.” Not sure why this is the image to pop into my head. Positive that “E” is assisting in the revolution. I think there was a virgin sacrifice.
Hour the tenth. Zzzzzzz…
The eleventh hour. Turn over. Move your leg up here. Where’d that pillow go? I want to put it under you. Don’t stop, don’t ever stop.
Hour the twelfth. Pretend we’re on that lie detector show. Okay, you’re hooked up. Now I get to ask you any questions I want. Ready?
Lucky thirteenth hour. Pass the half price chocolate since it’s obvious we’re not going to dinner. Ipod and Marilyn Manson. American Idol. Paula Abdul is a trainwreck.
Hour the fourteenth. Where’s my bra? Please kick me out of bed. My dogs hate me. Call me when you’re home.
What’s that they say about home is where the heart is? I’m home. I’ve been home all day.
Your day sounds MUCH more fun than mine was.
And … “in Dupont” isn’t accurate. Should be “Velvet in [your choice here]”.
Haha… Patsy stole my comment. Granted, by the time she commented I had only been awake for 15 minutes, but who’s counting?
I would like to take credit for your half-price chocolate idea (and the sex all day—how do you do it? I always get tired/sore).
PS, you need to start proofing Sixes’ posts: “I’m Not Gonna To Write” is not right-good English.
Patsy! How on earth are you reading blogs already? I bet you played Warcraft too, didn’t you?
Mr. X – Or {your choice}… in Velvet. For Tuesday’s festivities, anyway.
I66 – Actually, you weren’t awake. Patsy’s in Tex-Ass. So that comment was really at 5 a.m.
E – When I was in grad school I worked for this shady land developer in Columbia MD. We worked in a village center over a Giant. Every holiday I would go downstairs the day after and stock up on tons of chocolate at half price. It’s amazing that just because the wrapper is a different color that they would cut the price in half. In the last three + years since I’ve moved into D.C., it’s harder to find. More people / smaller stores etc. But out in the ‘burbs, it’s plentiful! And yes, I could have proofed Sixes, but I was getting lucky. We can discuss the non-stop sex, but you’ll have to wait until you are closer to 30 to take advantage. Something just…happens…and you want it all the time. And my panties are sloshy all the time.
I never thought I’d say this, but I can’t wait to be thirty.
Okay, now having anxiety attack. Need some of Dog Park King’s Klonopin.
First of all: I am jealous. Non stop sex and food. Jealous. YOU WITCH. I’ve been sustaining on dry crackers and a vibrator for weeks!
Second: my post title is a song lyric…in true VELVET form. You should turn on a radio once in a while you stupid whores.
Post 30 sex is amazing. She’s right kids, you want it ALL the time. ALL THE TIME. Hence why it’s nice to get a man that is young enough to give it all the time. I ain’t no dummy.
Congrats to Patsy and her Baby Daddy. Hope the little squirt is sleeping well.
(P.S. I found a replacement, OTRB is threatening to come here from LA and shut me up.)
I didn’t even want to say anything about the half-price Easter candy because I forgot to get mine this year. Last year one of my old roommates and I went on a 3 store odyssey (CVS, Giant, another CVS) and finally scored at the final stop. I had so much white chocolate I didn’t know what to do. Oh well. Guess I’ll have to wait for… what, November 1st this year? Dammit.
You don’t know what to do with white Chocolate. You should consult Sixes. Bet she has some ideas…
Velvet – the hospital firewall won’t let me log into Warcraft, dammit! So instead I’m holding the bebe on the tit with one hand and surfing the interwebs with the other.
Patsy—you could always masturbate.
“His cock ain’t gonna suck itself” – That would have been wise advice for Eliot Spitzer’s wife, Silda, to have been given.
or even Hillary!
Heh yeah I liked that one, too. Just don’t let BMW see it, otherwise I’m not gonna be making it to the dog park as often.
E, you should make him a shirt that says that. You know, except “my” instead of “his.” And then you should make him wear it to the dog park and see what happens.
i am sure he might get some volunteers and E you’ll be off the hook!
He is being a dumbass. I offered him road head on the way home if he picked me up from work, but he said no—he didn’t want to drive 20 minutes to get me and then 20 minutes back getting an awesome blow job. Idiot. He has to “study [ESPN]” instead.
And 66, I am a pro-shirt maker. I’ve made one that says “1f u c4n r34d th1s, u |234lly n33d 2 g3t l41d.” I wear it to the gym.
How on earth do these post comments get derailed to crazy shit every time?
I believe you started with “his cock ain’t gonna suck itself.”
E, you are such a nerd. And I mean that in the most complimentary way possible.
‘vet, I just posted my weekly update. I feel liberated. FREEDOM!
Oh no you little tramp! You can’t blame me this time!!! I made a perfectly true statement, and if you can find me a cock that sucks itself, well, I’m going to file paperwork on it to get it listed with the NYSE. There’s a stock (in cock) that would go up.
E I want that shirt! I NEED that shirt!
As much fun as a cock that sucks itself sounds, you can’t underestimate the inner joy that one gets from having someone else do it for you.