I got caught out avoiding sex last night. I avoid it quite often, but don’t usually get caught out.
I admit I have a quota of “x” times per week in my brain. Once I’ve reached that quota I am confident enough to decline any additional couplings thereafter
<I suppose you could compare it to reaching my target if I was in a commission based profession !>
I admit that once the deed is done and dusted, I inwardly sigh with relief that I am off the hook for a day or two.
It will only happen again once a day or two has past.
Understand – dear blog – that this is not the way I want to be. This the way I am. I submit this has evidence to the sexual recovery jury. See I need to be in recovery.
I went to bed around 10:30pm which is around my usual time to hit the sheets.
I started paging through a magazine while lying in bed.
< I also admit it was the YOU magazine. Not exactly the coolest magazine on the planet. Reminds me of mothers with short curly hair and A line skirts. Not exactly high powered brain fodder, but one needs candy –floss- brain fart- E ! -entertainment type stuff neh ?>
Shortly after I’d scooted up the stairs I heard Porra packing up for the night.
Rattling of the keys, calling of the cats, lamps flicking off, footsteps at the bottom of the stairs.
By the time, Porra got to the top of the stairs……<and it’s only 10 or 12 steps > my light was off, magazine on the floor.
Oi. He says. I thought you were reading ?
Or you can read also read this as…..I thought you would be awake enough for me to try and pounce you.
Nahhh. Says I.Too tired to read.
I haven’t stooped so low as to throw pepper in my eyes to make them red, swollen and tiredlike. Not yet anyhow.
Diddy 1 Porra Nil