So, where was I…oh yes...the funny bit…
Lady Fingers (LF) and I always used to sleep in our birthday suits.
Just as in our waking lives, for the majority of the night I was restless, disturbed and burned like the core of a nuclear reactor; she was for the most part motionless, content and colder than polar bear shit. One of her favourite nocturnal moves was to plunge an icy hand between my thighs to warm it up, which for a sleeping man, generates a surprise-coefficient similar to that of having your prostate examined with a Popsicle.
Then, a few months into our sentence/marriage, LF also developed a routine of going to the loo for a wee-wee every night. A quick 4am pit-stop, no flushing (in consideration of my light sleeping habits, no doubt) after which she would return to the bed, throw a leg over my thigh and re-attach herself to my body like a heat-seeking limpet.
At first I thought it was cute; even the tiny wet spot created during the docking manoeuvre didn’t bother me. After all, what’s a little puddle of wee-wee between friends…
Then it happened again.
And again and again and again…
Finally I’d had enough; after yet another dabbing (daubing/drubbing ??) I casually inquired, ‘Is there any fucking danger of wiping your cunt, you filthy animal ??’
LF looked at me a little stunned, eyes defocused, claiming ‘There was no toilet paper.’
‘What the fuck are you talking about; there are mountains of the stuff in there.’
‘Well I didn’t see any.’
At this point I should mention that we had two loos. One loo in the main bathroom and another tiny loo halfway down the hall, a 1.5 metre by 1 metre micro-loo with just a toilet inside.
And at this point we’ll take another break, as I know most of you have very short attention-spans...