Sometimes I am naked doing a tri-pod before my husband walks in the room. I did this once about two weeks after I had Riot...Girth took a picture...we laughed for about two hours. Then two more hours after he zoomed in on it...which I don't ever recommend doing. Driving down the road I will pull a hooter out of the top of my shirt (when the clothing allows it), and just let it hang, nip and all. I will sit there patiently singing along with the radio until he notices. This gets me a punched, pretty hard. I can't possibly be the only girl somersaulting around the house naked, can I? Laying in bed at night, hopping onto all fours and lifting a leg over his face saying, "psssssssss", like a dog pissing on his head. Immediate charlie horse. It's a pretty territorial move, but I need to let that bitch know he's mine. Secretly though, I believe he likes these things, keeps him on his toes.
You could give the argument that I leave nothing to the imagination...but, really? What the french toast does he need to imagine? He doesn't need to imagine what my butthole looks like, or that I never poop, he doesn't need to imagine that I roll out of bed fresh to death and stunning. I wake up a hot mess, ripping ass like a grown ass man, naked with greasy hair. So, yeah. Imagine that. Leaving things to his imagination isn't interesting to me.
He plays that role though. Girth & I have been a hot item since 2008 and he still won't let me in the bathroom when he poops. Drives me insane. I hate that he leaves his pooping face to my imagination. He saw an entire person enter the world, via my vagina. It dosen't get more intimate than that, but I get locked out of a poop sesh? Something there is fishy. Shitty fishy. Like carp.
Now I'm fired up and done with this. Next time he is shitting, that door is getting beat down with a friggen hammer...privacy my balls.
You could give the argument that I leave nothing to the imagination...but, really? What the french toast does he need to imagine? He doesn't need to imagine what my butthole looks like, or that I never poop, he doesn't need to imagine that I roll out of bed fresh to death and stunning. I wake up a hot mess, ripping ass like a grown ass man, naked with greasy hair. So, yeah. Imagine that. Leaving things to his imagination isn't interesting to me.
He plays that role though. Girth & I have been a hot item since 2008 and he still won't let me in the bathroom when he poops. Drives me insane. I hate that he leaves his pooping face to my imagination. He saw an entire person enter the world, via my vagina. It dosen't get more intimate than that, but I get locked out of a poop sesh? Something there is fishy. Shitty fishy. Like carp.
Now I'm fired up and done with this. Next time he is shitting, that door is getting beat down with a friggen hammer...privacy my balls.
Girths going down...
Hide in the bathtub,behind the shower curtain and when you hear him finally sit on his throne of relief, you pop out of there like "ha ha fucker, caught you pooping" Although I do believe your image of his poop face and the aroma that follows is better left to your imagination. You can't unsee or unsmell those things. And you'll probably get a charlie horse for that kind of trickery. : ) But alas you will have won! lol ♥ Adrienne
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