I’d love to get trapped in this house with a cute brunette for a good two weeks or so. I’d wake up, walk down stairs and she’d be strutting around in nothing but a white apron with “Fuck The Chef” written on it in red. She motions with her head towards the breakfast nook, where buttermilk pancakes await me. Fluffy and cooked to perfection, I knew I’d chosen the right girl for this little winter vacation.
The 2000 piece puzzle took a lot of our time, but we also danced and sang a lot. Glowing, the fireplace provided the light and warmth for my favorite times. She’d pour a nice twelve year old scotch into my glass, a couple ice cubes already inside. Scotch in a glass being penetrated by light from a fireplace is one of the most beautiful things in the world. Both of us buzzing, the clumsy flirtation starts. We both know how the night’s going to end, but getting there is more than half the fun.
She begins to physically distance herself from me but still can’t hide the “fuck me” look in her eyes. I pretend to be oblivious to it and mid sentence in coversation jump up towards her. “AHHHH,” she’d scream with excitement and sprints across the room towards the opposite end of the house. “Look at that fucking ass,” I think to myself. After chasing her for a while I finally trap her in some dark corner and pull her into my arms. We’d both start laughing hysterically, her pretending to get away. The gasping and giggling dies down and there’s a delicate pause. I plant the first soft kiss but she quickly recipricates and falling over we start making out. The hardwood floor has little nicks and cuts and scratches from generations upon generations of fucking. Breathing heavily, it was time to add our own.
