Proclivities XII: A Perfect Day (fm:anal sex, 7026 words)

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6:17 AM, the coffeemaker taunted me as the last of the water gurgled in its death throws. I blankly stared at the glowing red numbers. Why am I up so fucking early? Because you woke up and couldn't fall back to sleep despite the adventurous drive home from your parents and the deeply satisfying coupling once we'd made it upstairs. Nope, you should still be asleep, reaping the benefits of the Monday holiday. Tomorrow, you'll be back at work, you fool.

My mind had other plans. So here I am making coffee. Most other days, George would do it, but after an hour of staring at the ceiling while a headache germinated, I slipped out of bed and into my robe, doing my best not to disturb him. I kind of wish I'd woken him up so we could talk, but that wouldn't be fair.

A final puff of steam announced that I could steal a mugful. After returning the carafe, I stirred in some sugar. A sip later, I froze. Where to sit? I'd rather contemplate that than listen to the discomforting thoughts clamoring for attention.

"You're up early."

George's words startled me, and I recoiled as his words penetrated the silence.

"Ow! Shit!" I exclaimed, hot coffee spilling over my hand.

"Are you okay?"

"I'll be fine, just get me some paper towels."

Tossing his phone on the counter, George sprang into action, not only granting my request, but taking the mug from my hand and turning on the cold water in the sink.

"Run your hand under this. It should help."

I took his advice, smiling at my knight in white terrycloth. "Thanks."

He tenderly dried my hands then the outside of the mug, setting it on the counter. "Let's try that again," he said, embracing me. "You're up early."

"I couldn't sleep."

"Duh, but why? Didn't I wear you out last night?"

"You did. No complaints there. I woke up to pee around five and my mind wouldn't turn off."

"Want to talk about it?"

"Yes, but can we have some coffee first?"

"Definitely," he concurred, handing over my cup and fixing one for himself. "As long as you're over your drinking problem."

"Very funny."

"Not a goodtime for humor, I take it."

"Sorry. Too much on my mind."

"Alright then," he soothed. "Let's have a seat."

After a few slugs of coffee, George arranged two of the stools at the breakfast bar to face one another. Once situated, he took my hands in his, resting on my lap and gifting one of his reassuring smiles.

"You know," he assured, "you should have woken me up."

"Why? So you could listen to me gripe about my problems?"

"They're not your problems. They're mine too. Ours. We're in this

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James Friedman writes Sat 11 May 2024 00:25:

What happened to parts 8 & & 10

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