Jack and I had good sex the other night. Realllly good sex. Like… college sex.
He woke me up the next morning with a sweet kiss and a pleased smile. I stretched and said,
“I dreamed that you were gay and living in Chicago-Francisco.”
“You – what? You think I’m gay? After last night?”
“No. I dreamed you were gay. But it was okay because the block you lived on was totally gay-family friendly. I felt good about it.”
“Who was my boyfriend?” he asked, then held up his hand. “No. I don’t want to know.”
I really wanted to mess with him, but even I’m not that cruel.
“His name was Richard, and he was reallll sweet.”
Okay. I am that cruel. He hadn’t had a boyfriend in my dream. It was just me and I was totally hoping he’d stay married to me because I loved him even if he did like Dick better
“Enough,” Jack said, and pushed off the bed. I think he tried extra hard to flex his manly muscles as he did so. He started toward the bathroom. “You’re totally messed up.”
“And he couldn’t quit you,” I called after him. “He tried reallll hard but he just. couldn’t. quiiiiiiit you!”
This could work one of two ways. Either I get REALLY REALLY good sex in the upcoming days or I get nothing at all.