The Sex Gods giveth and they taketh away. If you are lucky, you have found yourself once in the enviable position of getting laid. I'm not talking about having sex, making love or fucking...I'm talking about getting yourself LAID good and proper.
Laid so good, in fact, that all you ever saw was sunshine and bluebirds--even in the middle of Chernobyl. Your toes didn't uncurl themselves for days. You saw god when you came. You felt like your atoms were splitting and fusing themselves together in the same moment. You wet the sheets and embarrassed the neighbors. In the words of Angelina Jolie, you just "curled up in the corner and screamed with pleasure." Kind of a compelling thought until you realize she was speaking about Billy Bob. Ew.
So, for whatever reason, you couldn't ride that love train forever. Something about it being so good was also so very bad. Or it started being bad for its own complex, myriad reasons. Whatever the case may be, the person who made you squeal like a farm animal is off limits. Gone. No more booty. They have officially packed up their handcuffs, midgets and electrodes and left the building. Or you had the good sense to leave because you realized that the sex was waaaay better than having to deal with this person in, like, real life.
And so there's you. Poor little you, tangled in the sheets and jonesing like the crack addict of good loving that you are. Now and then, you still think of it nostalgically and your face takes on this dreamy, far-away look even as you're panting away. I just hate that.
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