I am good in bed and you know it.
I am good in bed. I am good in bed. I am good in bed. He was probably just tired. Or, or drunk. He sounded drunk, didn't he? Saying muggles were harmless. Drunken blather, I'm sure. He was drunk, that's why he wasn't getting hard. That's what he fell asleep. He was drunk.
I haven't said a word to him since he woke up. Not a word because drunk or not, it takes a collosal jackass to fall asleep while I'm blowing him. We had breakfast in frosty silence. If it weren't for Byron, this house would be deathly quiet.
We still haven't talked about what time I'll be picking him up from work today. I don't care what he says, I'm picking him up. I'll secretly follow him to work if I have to.
Anyone know any job openings these days?