You owe me a new fucking stereo! Not some half-baked apology. I don't accept it. Actually ...
You owe me lots more than just a new fucking stereo. I want your ass on the kitchen counter that I just so laboriously cleaned. I want your cinnamon chocolaty thighs to keep my balance as I devour you and gorge. I want to fuck your dirty little brain out.
But of course, I can't really do any of those things. At least not now. (She's here). I've been plotting a mad dash to the bathroom. How long is justifiable for a shit, by the way? Or a shower? Cause I need all the time I can get.
I'm finally in, and I turn on everything: the fan, the shower, the toilet, my electric toothbrush, my blow-dryer. After a few seconds, my rational head briefly emerges to spank me. Moron, you're WAY overplaying it. Off go the toothbrush and blow-dryer. I don my headphones and crank the volume to as loud as I think I can get away with. Your heady breaths, whispers, purrs, and moans make my head ... I'm strangling and pumping like I'll never do it again and then fuck! I hear her voice at the door. She couldn't wait another three fucking seconds?!
I know I should tell her. I know I should tell YOU. I know I spent our journey in "hell" together pining to return to her. What I didn't tell anyone is that ... I secretly liked being with you and just you. I secretly liked making you smiley pancakes. And fucking up your crosswords just to see the heat behind your gorgeous green eyes. And detecting your scent on my flannel. Secretly liked or secretly loved? That's the current debate.