This blog is sponsored by those ‘Hard Lemonade’ type drinkys they sell nowadays. Dangerous stuff, they go down even easier than bourbon or promises, and you don’t realize you’re in deep until much later, but by then she’s already let you play around a bit, and it’s too late to turn back. So you fool around for what seems like an hour, while Annie Hall runs on DVD in the background, and you wonder why, but you press on, while Diane Keaton sings “Seems Like Old Times” and you can’t be sure if you’re there, but she seems to be responding so you feel you’re close at least. Her breathing gets heavy, then works up into moans, and eventually subsides. And as the credits roll on the glowing TV screen in the dark dark room, throwing shadows across the bed’s blankets, you sleep a quiet sleep beside her, knowing that you’ll see her tomorrow whether it’s love or not. She snores softly, and you get up to write a quick blog post in boxer shorts.
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