Don’t act like your mind hasn’t wandered during nookie, too. Especially if the smell of freshly made bread has wafted through the barricaded doors of your family-home boudoir…
A fairly recent shag-talk with pals saw us divulging our inner-most fornication-induced thoughts, so, in the name of sharing, I thought I’d dish up some of my most frequent rumpy-pumpy ruminations for your pleasure and perusal. Baguettes feature heavily.
1. Oh, okay – that’s how he wants to start: on the side. Why does he always start like this? Is my ass that much better looking than my face? I probably shouldn’t look too hard into that line of questioning; I might not like the answer.
2. But, A-HA – Come Dine With Me is on! Glory be. Nothing like a bit of jovial sarcasm and dilapidated souffles to make bonking a bit more bearable.
3. Christ, ‘bearable’. Better not tell him I ever thought that.
4. Did I see a fresh baguette downstairs earlier?
5. I wonder if I hid that Twirl in the fridge well enough. Can’t wait for a cuppa and a Twirl.
6. Oh, is that someone opening the fridge door? No. No. No. Oh god, is that the rustling of purple wrapper I hear?
*from downstairs* “SWEET, a Twirl!”
7. For fucks sake.
8. Position change. Good, good. Come Dine With Me has ended anyway and I fucking hate Time Team.
9. What is that lump on my vagina?! Is it an ingrown hair? Please GOD let it be an ingrown hair.
10. Now he’s looking at my vagina. Maybe he’s spotted the in-grown hair, too. I wonder what he thinks it is. He doesn’t seem all that concerned about it. It could be ANYTHING. Heartless prick.
11. Oh, right. Silly me. He’s just watching his own dick. TYPICAL. Maybe I should act a little more into this and avert his attention away from his own self-imposed excellence.
12. Okay, too much acting on my part. He saw right through it. I really over-egged that pudding.
13. Mmm, pudding.
14. What I’d give right now for my Nan’s chocolate cake.
15. Oh sweet Mother Mary, NAN GET OUT OF MY BRAIN. I’M SHAGGING.
16. My turn on top. I better make this count: it’s the only real exercise my stomach and thighs ever get.
17. How many chins do I have from this angle? It’s gotta be at least three. At least. Maybe I should initiate doggy so I can let my facial muscles rest; acting is really exhausting. I should remember that the next time I slate the cast of Made In Chelsea.
18. Christ, I hate Spencer.
19. Stop thinking about Spencer Matthews during sex; that’s exactly what he wants! God, that guy. He really is a piece of work.
20. Did I shave my asshole last night? I wonder what my unshaven asshole looks like. Must remember to examine my anus in the mirror when I’m plucking that ingrown hair.
21. He’s now tongue-deep in my batty. My IBS flared up earlier and he knows that, so ON HIS HEAD BE IT. Literally.
22. This man is ass mad. I’ve never known someone to derive so much pleasure from a shitter. I have to admire his dedication. He is nothing if not willing and spunky.
23. Talking of spunk, I wonder where he plans on shooting it.
24. I’ll be damned if he thinks it’s going over me. I’m freshly tanned and if experience has taught me anything, it’s that semen cuts through fake tan like a knife. A salty, gelatinous knife.
25. There’s no way on gods green earth that I’m swallowing it. TAKE A HIKE, SOLDIER. The day *you* swallow it, I’ll swallow it. Get high on your own supply, pal, before you start dishing it out for general consumption.
26. I wonder if anyone’s eaten that baguette yet?
27. He’s about to finish! Marvellous!! Now’s the time to enthusiastically vocalise how much you need his seed.
28. Don’t use the word ‘seed’, obviously.
29. Aaaaaand CUT! Good work, guys. Sterling job from both parties. TIME TO GET MINE!
30. Sweet son of Socrates, he’s going H.A.M. on my putang.
31. This is labia-blast-y.
32. HA! Labiablasty. Must remember that.
33. Does he not understand what a change in moan and kick of the leg meeeans? We’ve been doing this for years!
34. Maybe you *can’t* teach an old dog new tricks.
35. You could start a fire off my vagina with this amount of speed and friction. Where the lube at?
36. Reminder to self: don’t egg a man on with indecipherable moaning. They aren’t advanced enough to realise what you mean. A good old-fashioned “no, not like that” will suffice from here on out.
37. Ahhh, egg! WHAT I WOULD GIVE FOR AN EGG BAGUETTE!*
38. Right, he’s got it. My man is back on track. That’s the spot! Crack on, good sir!
39. Yep. Yep. Yep. Yep. NO. No. Not there. God not there. My clit doesn’t know whether it’s coming or going. Literally. Oh. Yes. Sort of. Yeah… Yes. Yep. Yep. Yep. Yep. Yep. WOAH.
(*Just for the record: someone *did* eat the baguette. Fuming.)
Considering the amount of time I dedicate to pondering the state of the downstairs baguette (not a euphemism), I might title this thought-train ‘Sex and Baguettes’. Maybe that will be the title of my first memoir. Who knows.