(Originally posted as a guest post for a 20SB Blog Swap Day…)
Well, hello there! It’s 20SB BLOG SWAP DAY! Which is why you’re stuck here, reading me, LiLu of Livit, Luvit. But don’t worry, I plan on keeping y’all entertained.
You see, I have a little problem I’d like to share with y’all.
My darling and ever-patient boyfriend, B, and I have been very happy since we met last June, fell insanely in love in about two weeks, and were living together by the end of August in downtown Washington, DC. (I actually wrote about the night we met the day after it happened, which is kind of cool now looking back, if you want to read it here.)
Were (are) we crazy? Most definitely.
Has it been anything short of perfect? Absolutely not.
Okay, then, now we’re all up to speed. Glad to meetcha!
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Blissfully happy, right? Cutish, and all that? Sure. Whatevs. Not the point.
The point IS, while everything is basically hunky dory peach keen and all that, we do have one problem.
*Whispers*… You know… with THE SEX!!!
You see, my darling boy… well, he is a morning-sexer. He’s ready for a romp first thing in the morning NOMATTERWHAT. If we drank a bottle of tequila apiece the night before, it would not stop this man from trying to put his P in my V the very first moment he is conscious.
Which is flattering and all, it’s just, well…
NO.
My babymaker wants absolutely zero, as in NO PART OF a peen until she has had a few solid hours to adjust to the idea. In fact, she cannot imagine anything worse within the first hour of waking up (factoring in that I am mostly talking about the weekends here, which means I am usually HUNG over).
And I sympathize, I do… I understand that he usually wakes up, ahem, “ready to go”. (Gettit? GETTIT? I’m talking about MORNING WOOD! Tee hee!) But that doesn’t change the fact that Sexy Time generally, to me, sounds like the Worst Idea Ever In The Whole World until, oh, about noon. Then, all of a sudden, my mini-LiLu is all, “Hey, you know what’d be a good idea? That thing we do sometimes, you know, we’ll call it ‘dancing.’ Lemme get some of that.”
Which should be fine and dandy, right? Except by then, B has generally gotten into ESPNing or Xboxing and he’s all, “Whoa, where was this four hours ago? I’m not your sex monkey!” And I’m all “YES YOU ARE! Take off your pants!” But it’s too late and just like that, we’ve missed the precious window.
The Window of Sexin’.
Bet you didn’t see that coming.
So now we both watch the clock steadily on Saturdays and Sundays and joke about 12:30 as “the witching hour”…
If you text me round then on a weekend, you best be prepared to wait.
Cause, you know, we’re probably Having the Sex.
And now you know waaaay too much about us! Le awesome. So come over to my place, say, tomorrow for the infamous TMI Thursday, and share something about yourself!
