Let’s be clear when it comes to a romp in the bedroom, back seat or barnyard (hey everyone has their thing!) there is one main rule, always finish and for men, it should be asked politely where. So when his face turned into a sour patch pucker with a large moan I knew my ride was up. I wasn’t finished, I was just about to peek when he grabbed my hips. The slow decent backward felt like a bad roller coaster ride. I wanted the peek, I yearned the peek. How the fuck can he peek so quickly?
With puppy dog eyes I looked down to assess the situation, maybe it was just a cramp or he needed to change positions. Boy was I wrong! I was dying inside. “I don’t want a kid with you” I wanted to scream. I was high then low; lower than a limp noodle at the bottom of the swimming pool. Nope, shouldn’t say swimming, not in this situation. Instead of falling into a heap of endorphins and oxytocin I was instead fishing for the barrier in complete panic.
This wasn’t a movie, this wasn’t even a porn scene, mostly because I couldn’t hold it together long enough for that pretty little smile at the end. Instead, I let out huge walloping tears as I found the prize. I could care less about his happy ending when mine was covered in baby cream and ruined dreams.
Being emotionally detached from those around me has its pluses and minuses. Mostly minuses, thankfully on the pregnancy test.