The Crossroad of Yawny Town and Horny Town

  • Saturday, 25 April 2015
  • Posted in Reservoir Dad
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  • The Crossroad of Yawny Town and Horny Town

    Reservoir Mum and I are on our way to the marital bedroom, where all the funky stuff happens, when I realise that I’m not buzzing with the usual lusty anticipation and that can only be, I reason, because the previous two hours of our regular Friday Date Night have been about as sexy as a documentary on clubbed baby seals.

    Unfortunately Hot Tub Time Machine 2 is not a very funny movie and because RM was feeling a little eye-roley about its predictability she pulled out her laptop and somehow managed to stay focussed on her stats and widgets and digits, for over an hour, despite the fact that I was lying beside her wearing nothing but a shimmery pair of loose-fitting boxer shorts, flexing my abs intermittently and frowning for attention like Channing Tatum.

    As I stop to check in on Tyson and Maki I’m feeling the full influence of the bottle of wine I was necking during  the movie and it’s that – combined with several nights of interrupted sleep – which has driven me to a fork in this Date Night road. I have a choice here. I can turn left towards Horny Town or turn right towards Yawny Town but right now I’m just idling and indecisive.

    My sudden dread-tiredness has flicked on the right indicator but the thought of missing one of our regular full on sex marathons - that works to keep us smiling and hugging and flicking each other’s bums with wet tea-towels deep into the next week - is almost breaking me down with pre-regret.

    I wanna turn left, I really do, but the fatigue is muddying my thought process and when I think about the potential raunchiness ahead the effort involved before the miracle of orgasm is the thing that my mind is emphasising. I think of getting an erection and I see pitchforks and shovels and nail guns and a building site. When I look to the left I see the flashing lights of Horny Town off in the distance but there’s a council worker on the road holding up a sign that says, ‘Female orgasms can require up to twenty minutes of concentrated effort.’

    ‘Oh my God,’ I say to RM after walking into the bathroom. ‘I’m so freaking tired.’

    ‘Wake up,’ she says, over the buzz of the electric toothbrush. ‘You have to have sex with me.’

    I groan and lean over the sink, head buried in my arms and say, ‘We had such a poor build-up. Don’t you think? You were working the whole time we were watching the movie. If we had been watching the movie and touching each other the whole time and laughing…’

    ‘I can make you laugh!’ RM says. ‘I forgot to tell you a Lewis story. I thought you could blog it…’

    RM-pouty‘Go,’ I say.

    ‘I was saying goodnight to Lewis and we were discussing school and I was trying to get him enthusiastic about going by saying, “You’ve got lots of great friends, you’re really popular” and things like that and he was saying, “No I’m not” and frowning and looking all forlorn. And then I said “Just wait till you’re in High School. You’ll have all the chicks chasing after you” and his face lightened and he smiled this massive excited grin and said, “Are we getting chickens?!”

    The laughter is good and the very thing we missed tonight and the distance between me and Yawny Town seems to have increased and it's enough for me to flick off the indicator. I poke my bum out a little further, arch my back a tad, start swaying my hips back and forward. With RM’s help I just might be able to redirect myself and signal right and go to the flashy lights and fun of Horny Town.

    ‘I could see your abs while I was working,’ she says, spitting toothpaste into the sink next to me, reaching for the floss, reading my mind. ‘And the bulge in your boxer shorts. That was nice.’

    ‘You sneaky minx…’ I say, lifting my head up and looking at her, even more alert. ‘I do get a little bit focused and eye-piercy when I first see you pull out your laptop and start tapping away and pouting your lips with your hair down and your glasses on and your legs crossed or folded in those tight blue jeans.’

    ‘I could be a librarian if you want,’ she says. ‘Or a teacher. Or a military interrogator…’

    ‘A military interrogator,’ I say, ‘who’s suddenly overwhelmed by an aggressive, uncontrollable lust, and purposefully takes advantage of her position of power.’

    For just under a minute we hold each other’s gaze as she flosses the remnants of tonight’s dinner from her teeth and I build up more swing in my hips and then the floss is binned and the mouthwash is spat and RM grits her sparkling teeth and goes to work. She squeezes my left butt cheek and then my right butt cheek and then gives each one a slap and runs her nails up and down my bare back a few times as I whisper, ‘You naughty military interrogator…’  and – WOW, BANG, HELLO – the nerve endings in the zones of my body that will be required to bear the full brunt of her amorous attack in only a few minutes time are on FIRE and there’s also something hormonal going on because I’m alert and happy and desperate and suddenly feeling like a puppy being taken from a pet store in its new owner’s arms, all excited and licky.

    ‘Hey, look out,’ I say, standing up straight, just a little Austin Powers in my expression, holding my hands in the air like I’m under arrest. ‘The Military Interrogator has made a tent out of my boxer shorts.’

    RM laughs before re-clenching her teeth, stepping forward, whispering ‘Looks more like a teepee to me’ and forcing my boxer shorts to the floor in one swift experienced movement.

    ‘Jesus,’ I say, as she heads into the interrogation room to leave me staring at myself in the bathroom mirror, fully nude, hands still raised, at attention. ‘I’m feeling much better.’

    The fork in the road to Date Night has disappeared and we’re hightailing it towards Horny Town and as we pass the council worker she turns her female orgasm sign around and what I read there is a much simpler and more positive message… GO!

    at-night

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