My relationship with #72 is moving along nicely. I’m having fun and regular sex is always a good thing. He also has a really nice house and whenever I stay over it feels like I’m on vacation. Massive bed, rustic ceiling, coffee delivered while I’m still under the sheets. It’s a weekly retreat I look forward to every Friday night. (Dave gets in the way of going during the week). #72 is considerate and a romantic; bringing me flowers when I made him dinner and making sure his freezer is stocked with m&m’s (which I love frozen.) Suffice it to say, he treats me well.
Last week, I went directly to his house after work. He granted me access to his shower and when there’s the prospect of getting some action, I like to make sure the important and hopefully soon to be used area is clean and fresh. He was, of course amenable to that.
I started stripping in the bedroom and walked into the bathroom in my bra and lace thong (matching of course). He made some comment about how hot I looked and went about getting the water to the perfect temperature. As I climbed into the shower he left me to do what needed to be done.
The green and black tiled shower was comforting and so masculine that I started to get turned on just thinking about what was in store when I got out. I finished quickly, wanting to get to the action asap. I turned off the water and looked around for a towel. None. I called out to him, asking where my towel was.
“Hang on a moment.”
So I waited a moment. And another. I’ve stayed in some dumpy hotels but considering this was more like the four star variety, I was getting annoyed. I don’t like to drip dry. I yelled out, “The service here sucks.” In two seconds, he came into the bathroom with a towel. A freshly warmed towel. Just out of the dryer.
I’m not sure when it was that he called me an ungrateful bitch, but it was done with a smile and a hearty laugh. As he wrapped the towel around me, I realized that this was a one off event. Because of my reaction, it would probably never happen again. At least not with me. But then I thought, if it did it would be an even bigger surprise. And he’d have learned to move faster.
Moral of the story, it’s better to have a dick in your mouth than your foot.