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If you’d crept up the stairs on a recent chill October afternoon then peeked into the door at the top of the stairs, you would have observed the following:
One bedroom, extremely messy; an Esse forgotten on the floor; a bottle of lube tipped on its side; and clothes strung along both sides of a bed. In the bed you would have detected a fluffy chocolate down comforter pulled up over a pair of lovers lying still in the dim autumn sunlight.
You might have thought the lack of movement odd. A year ago I’d also have thought it strange, but now indulging in a brief nap between rounds of fervent fucking seems the most lovely thing possible, especially on a cold afternoon turning dark too soon due to impending rain.
We’d both had long weeks by the time we came together at midday: family obligations, travel and the first colds of the season left us wrung out. “I need a nap,” M murmured after coming for the third or fourth time, so we found the pillows I’d earlier flung out of my way and snuggled into a spot not too dampened by gushing. He used my breast as a pillow, I rested my cheek against the top of his head, and within moments we were off to sleep.
Except that I didn’t fall fully to sleep. I dozed only lightly and only for a moment before a cat wedged himself between our bodies. M’s breathing was soft and regular, and I alternated between stroking his arm and the cat’s head for twenty minutes of undisturbed, perfect rest.
Finally the cat stirred and stretched, waking my lover. After a moment of silence: “This wasn’t exactly what you had in mind, was it?”
“No,” I answered, “but it’s perfect.”
This wasn’t what he had in mind either when he met me eons ago, wielding a red dildo and offering to fuck his ass even before exchanging names. It’s not what either of us expected, but it works.
I love how it works.

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