Good morning. Not good morning

The schedule has obviously gone to the wall. it may still be loosely in place in Her head, but we are not fucking when we are supposed to be fucking.
Last night when I signalled I was going to bed, there was no indication She was expecting to join me any time soon. I assumed She knew it was Wednesday-Fuck-Night, but maybe She’d given up.

This morning She went to the bathroom 45min before the alarm was due. I dug under the duvet and with my hand naturally wrapping itself around my erection, I hit my own metaphorical snoozed button. Half an hour after She’d returned Her hand eventually made its way to my shoulder.

I turned to meet Her and my dick made an obvious twitching tent of the bed clothes.

Her: So, we’re both awake and we don’t have to get up for 15min.
Me: What did you have in mind?
Her: Oh, I don’t know …

She rolled onto Her back.
I followed Her.
My hand went to Her thigh and brushed across Her mound.

Her: Never start their, honey! It doesn’t work!
Her tone of voice wasn’t quite so sharp, but She was definitely irked.
Yes, Dear Reader, I knew exactly what I was doing – I was deliberately going for Her pussy. But not in an overt way. Not, I imagine, like Donald Trump might have made a grab for it. It was just finger tips that grazed Her bush, nothing more. It was just a … hello.
Add to that, any normal couple contemplating sex might have looked at the clock and thought Fuck! Fuck! I love you, but we’ve only got 14 minutes to shake the earth.
Her: Sorry. Negative comments.

We lay back. She curled up into me, as if post coital … except without the coital.
The alarm went off.

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