The Ex

Gosh. It's already been four months since I broke up with The Chick Who Enjoys Swimming Laps In The River Styx While Tossing Squeaky Toys To The Cerberus. She has three cats and I've ALWAYS told myself not to date cat fanciers. These lessons are like booster shots: if you don't inoculate yourself after a time, you might actually fall for a cat person (which isn't so much a disease as it is being cast into the depths of Satan's realm of gore and iron-broomstick trepanation. Which brings us back to the Styx-diving wench).

She has these big, firm boobies (see The Marquise for further lessons) and a marathon runner's bum. It is always a fascinating time when you're with a woman with whom you share little in common other than a mutual desire to enjoy each other's intimacy in a Papally-approved position with the lights off. At the beginning, she even closed the door to her bedroom to keep the cats out (this decent behaviour quickly disappeared and I had to get accustomed to creatures with natural night-vision trying to shred my eyeballs whilst thrusting into their mistress).

Anyhoo, she called me last week to get herself some of my man-services. At least this is what I assumed when she told me to come over to "pick up your junk" (that's code for sex, right? Guys? Come on!). When I got over to her place, spritzing Tom Brady's Stetson (purchased PRE Super Bowl. GRRRRRR) onto my uncovered chest, she awaited me with a box and a paint-smeared stepladder. Wrinkling her nose in a manner formerly caused by my hoppy flatus trapped under the sheets, she told me that she had "told you a million times that my apartment is too small for me to babysit your trash". She then slammed the door in an undeniably "teasy" way. Luckily, I still had my "secret" copies of her keys (quotation marks are a sign of fine literature and anyone who says elsewhys can bite my sack). I waited for her to turn out the lights, then I put my ninja skills to work.

Slipping in through her back exit, I quietly made my way to her bedroom. I just managed to creak open the door when, of course, the cats triggered the alarm.

Yup. The cats.

My former psycho beauty turned on her bedside light and looked at me with a delicious mixture of sadistic rage with just a pinch of embarassment. Snuggled up to her was a GORGEOUS doe-eyed, ebony-skinned incarnation of feminine pulchritude.

OH YEAH! Things were lookin' GOOD for your narrator :D

Of course, as she is wont to do, she flew into a jealous rage because her girlfriend was SOOOOOOOOO into me. Without going into too much detail, I next was lying down on a pile of feminine garments (and UNDERgarments. Oh yeah), unable to catch my breath from an unexpected blow to my sperm bank, with three cats scratching at my face and screams of unrestrained panic at not being able to find the mace and pepper spray which one apparently moved after dusting, causing the other to chew the first one out for upsetting her space.

In the time it took to understand that the mood was ruined by my ex' usual unreasonableness, and to catch my breath in a manner by which my knees could hold my muscular, virile weight (I'm really sorry for the poor nubile nubian. Kept from my darkness-induced ejaculations), I bounded the heck out of there.

...though I left the stepladder on her balcony. I'll let her have a week for her libido to infuse with thoughts of my body between her couple's and she'll call me back.

Oh yeah.