To Queef Or Not To Queef

Okay:

First of all, I did vote yesterday. See, I'm not all talk. Made it to the polls before they closed on a cold, icy Tuesday evening. Barack, I've done what I could.

But that's actually pretty boring. I have a story for you. It has some nastiness to it though, so be forewarned.

So I haven't blogged about my Friday night regular in a while. I was hesitant to share the sordid details, but I suppose it could be cathartic to a certain extent. Here goes.

Last time we hooked up, something very bizarre happened, and then more bizzarity followed.

We were lying in the bed naked, or nekkit as they say in Texas. Kissing and whatnot. The plane was coming in for a landing, just looking for the landing strip. As it approached there was a loud noise that startled me, followed by a gust of wind.

I'm trying to be discrete, bare with me.

Now we all know that in that particular region of the female anatomy, funny things happen sometimes. I imagined that it was some sort of air pocket releasing as we changed positions. I think it's technical name is "queef". I'd heard one of those before and from my experience it generally means you're doing something right. So I gave a sensual, "ooooh".

Only the loud noise and gust of wind was soon followed by a foul smell.

Yes, ladies and gentleman. She farted.

Suddenly, the sensual "ooooh" that I had offered previously seemed a bit inappropriate. So I, being a markedly immature 28-year-old, laughed. Just a little bit. She said nothing.

Then we proceeded in our course of action because I'm just not the kind of guy to let something like that stop me.

Afterwards I hopped up, went to the bathroom, got a popscicle from the freezer, returned to the bedroom and continued working on my computer.

Pretty standard.

She fell asleep for a while.

Then when she felt like it was time for her to go she tried to kiss me. Now, I normally don't have this problem, but with this girl I just can't get excited about a second go-round. I just can't. I've tried. Usually we laugh about it. She calls me an old man and I call her a nympho or something and then she goes home. But this time she got really sad. Her feelings were hurt.

We walked about it for a little while and tried to explain to her that it wasn't her fault, but her mood didn't improve. While talking to her I realized that there was no way in hell we could continue this because it was obvious that she was developing an emotional attachment. I also realized that I had absolutley no desire to take this relationship of ours beyond the occassional and very casual booty call. No desire whatsoever.

As she was leaving I tried to explain to her that I, too, have feelings. She closed the door claiming that she didn't want the neighbors to hear what she was about to say to me. She looked me in my eyes, real serious-like, and said, "The only feelings you have, Claude, are in your dick."

Then she left.

The funny part about that is she's not the first woman to tell me that.

Oh well.

I think that she was really just feeling vulnerable because of the whole farting thing.

Thanks for reading.

GO OBAMA!

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Confession: I fart almost every time I have sex.