This afternoon, I was propped up on my bed with a fancy coffee at hand and a good kinky novel on my Kindle. I was deliberately staying out of the kitchen at the front of the house, because The Nymph was in a whirling frenzy of cake decoration. Proof of frenzy:
Suddenly The Nymph burst into the bedroom, moving fast, with all the adrenaline of a woman on a mission. She waved a large silicone spatula covered in fresh buttercream at me and demanded “I need you to test this frosting!”
I gave her a big smile, took the spatula, paused long enough for her impatience to kick in, and then told her “Sure! Turn around, bend over, and drop your panties for me.”
The look of shock on her face was priceless. Whatever she was expecting, it wasn’t that. Why not? I don’t know. She’s known me for decades, and I am a predictable man.
Sadly she did not turn, et cetera. But she did laugh delightedly. Take your wins, gentlemen, where you can get them.
But I wasn’t quite done playing. I teased her a little bit more about frosted buns, the subject changed, we joked back and forth, I kept holding the spatula. She is just as predictable as I am; when she’s on a creative mission, her singlemindedness of purpose is never far from the surface. (In truth there was never any genuine hope of distracting her for more than a moment from the day’s cake decorating.)
After a bit of further lighthearted conversation, she asked again, impatiently: “No, really, what do you think of the frosting?”
Instead of tasting it, I made direct eye contact and just… paused. Right when her mouth opened to speak again, I asked her “Do you know what I need before I can taste this?” Completely puzzled — my original proposition already forgotten — she half-snapped “No, what?”
Channeling all the book boyfriends in those kinky novels, I just raised my right hand, and when she looked at it in puzzlement, I twirled my finger, ever so slowly, in the universal symbol for “turn around and show me what you got.” Her eyes got real big for a second. Then she put all together. This time she laughed a lot harder.
After that I tasted her buttercream and she went back to her kitchen. (You may interpret that sentence however you like.)
Similar Sex Blogging:
