Spit bath.
Josh It late, way late. We are in bed but we are not asleep. We lay quietly for the first few minutes, then we begin discussing how we have missed our windows. Windows-- those times at night when you come down from the day, you are drowsy and you don't have to fight consciousness to fall asleep. On this night we are fighting, we are fighting our mind and our chemical buzz. We've missed our window so we just lay restless, side by side. Then, the next thing I know the side of my face is wet. Moistened like a slug trail. You licked me! You closed the area between our sides and licked the right side of my face. Next my arm is wet, then my neck, then my stomach. You are a thorough one too. By the end of this little dance you have gotten my legs and my back as well. I am a damp heap tangled in sheets, heaving from giggle so much. I try to dry myself off, stealing your shoulders and arms for my towel. I bet I'm not the only one who smells like spit now.
Mind you I am not completely innocent. This game started awhile ago with a tiny little flick of my tongue on your chin and cheek. But now, now you've taken it to the next level. Now you are in it for war. And you just wait, because baby I win. I will win. When you least expect it you will be splattered. Just remember, I know where you sleep.
Reader Comments (1)
gross.