Blown off course

Q: Your man is hard at work in your downstairs region, trying his best to bring you to the boil, make your whistle blow. What, at this crucial, almost climactic moment, would be the worst thing to happen?

A: All your muscles relax and you let out the loudest, rip-roaring fart, just inches from his face!

He is then so shocked that he jumps off as if receiving an electric shock while you are so embarrassed/ashamed/mortified that you put your hands over your face and laugh hysterically.

I should know, readers – this recently happened to me.

Bearing in mind that this is a new relationship and we haven’t crossed the passing gas in front of one another threshold yet – in fact, I would say that we need at least another month to reach that point, if there is a socially acceptable timescale for this. But now, I have completely blown it in more ways than one.

I was so mortified that I had to lie face down on the bed, letting out high-pitched, slightly insane giggle that I’ve never heard come out of my mouth before. He meanwhile looked on in stunned silence.

I am not sure whether he felt more awkward about my overwhelming embarrassment or the incident itself.

All he could say was: “When I said I wanted you to pop, that wasn’t what I had in mind.”
While the only thing I could let out between high-pitched squeals and titters was: “I think I need to get dressed and go home!”

I couldn’t actually look at him for ten minutes, just wanting the bed to swallow me whole and spit me out at home.

When I finally caught his eye, he seemed quietly amused, but his smile could have been out of pity or even smugness that he had not been the first to crack (in the flatulence department).

It does make me wonder why we are still so embarrassed about trumping. We are all guilty of holding it in at work or with friends and yes, the noise and smell are not welcome, but is there anyone in the world who doesn’t need to do it? Even the queen must have to guff from time to time, even if one of her footmen has to apologise and pretend the parp was his.

But, this thought did not help my extremely cringe-worthy moment. While it isn’t something that preoccupies me when I meet someone new, surely it’s better that the man breaks wind before I do, then it makes it ok to happen to me, right?

I did the only thing I thought would make him forget about it – something to completely distract his mind and senses; the best possible fellatio. After that, it was never mentioned again…that day.

 

Why not try my blog – drunkenslutmum.co.uk

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