“Gina-Bee, Garrett’s calling. I gotta run!”
“Good luck!” she’s smirking- no sympathy for your little girlie problem.
“Hey Mr. Lover-lover!” you sing and go into a chorus of “uh- uh uh’s” sure to harden his penis. Probably not the kindest thing you’ve ever done, especially since the only satisfaction he’ll be getting this weekend will involve his own hand and some lucky sock hopefully clean. Boys- you never know with them.
“Hey angel- how’s my girl?” Possessive- that could be a problem in the future, you’ve been trying to train him not to be, but he’s very resistant to it.
“I’m fine.” You say, considering the best way to tell him you are on the rag. Blahsmo had an article on how to tell your man about the nasty- without offending his delicate sensibilities. You nibble your lip and consider the pout approach- it usually works.
“I can’t wait for this weekend” he says in that tone that makes you wetter than the complex pool on the fourth of July. You can see him in your mind’s eye- dashing as ever. If only he wasn’t so squeamish. You move your head a bit, forgetting that the phone is nestled between your shoulder and chin and before you can register that it is falling you hear a loud “plop.” Juicy- and not in a good way. Damn- that phone is not even slightly water resistant. You reach in the toilet and pull it out. You run it under hot water so that it will be sanitary enough to carry. You can hear Mr. Right Now crackling through the damaged machine.
“Sorry love, I dropped the phone.” There’s no time to fix it, or even worry about fixing it. Note to self- the day CAN get more stressful! You wrap the phone lovingly into your favorite pink hand towel.
You’ll have to run by Sprint on your lunch break. You’d love to tell Gina what’s going on, but with the cell phone dead you are now incommunicado with the world. You run into your room and pull out a pair of pumps from your closet. Sexy, classy sleek, as pictured in last month’s Blahsmo on page 43. The perfect “give me a promotion shoes.”
You grab the toilet sodden phone and your purse and rush out the door before remembering you didn’t brush your teeth! You run back in and complete the task. Sometimes you really act like a dumb blond.
The next time you leave your teeth are sparkly white and you look like a million bucks. Then the cramps hit you as you hit the elevator and suddenly you don’t feel like a million bucks. Fucking cramps, your uterus hates you,- you can feel it.
“Good luck!” she’s smirking- no sympathy for your little girlie problem.
“Hey Mr. Lover-lover!” you sing and go into a chorus of “uh- uh uh’s” sure to harden his penis. Probably not the kindest thing you’ve ever done, especially since the only satisfaction he’ll be getting this weekend will involve his own hand and some lucky sock hopefully clean. Boys- you never know with them.
“Hey angel- how’s my girl?” Possessive- that could be a problem in the future, you’ve been trying to train him not to be, but he’s very resistant to it.
“I’m fine.” You say, considering the best way to tell him you are on the rag. Blahsmo had an article on how to tell your man about the nasty- without offending his delicate sensibilities. You nibble your lip and consider the pout approach- it usually works.
“I can’t wait for this weekend” he says in that tone that makes you wetter than the complex pool on the fourth of July. You can see him in your mind’s eye- dashing as ever. If only he wasn’t so squeamish. You move your head a bit, forgetting that the phone is nestled between your shoulder and chin and before you can register that it is falling you hear a loud “plop.” Juicy- and not in a good way. Damn- that phone is not even slightly water resistant. You reach in the toilet and pull it out. You run it under hot water so that it will be sanitary enough to carry. You can hear Mr. Right Now crackling through the damaged machine.
“Sorry love, I dropped the phone.” There’s no time to fix it, or even worry about fixing it. Note to self- the day CAN get more stressful! You wrap the phone lovingly into your favorite pink hand towel.
You’ll have to run by Sprint on your lunch break. You’d love to tell Gina what’s going on, but with the cell phone dead you are now incommunicado with the world. You run into your room and pull out a pair of pumps from your closet. Sexy, classy sleek, as pictured in last month’s Blahsmo on page 43. The perfect “give me a promotion shoes.”
You grab the toilet sodden phone and your purse and rush out the door before remembering you didn’t brush your teeth! You run back in and complete the task. Sometimes you really act like a dumb blond.
The next time you leave your teeth are sparkly white and you look like a million bucks. Then the cramps hit you as you hit the elevator and suddenly you don’t feel like a million bucks. Fucking cramps, your uterus hates you,- you can feel it.
- ID: 49557
- Nickname: k2
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