So there we were, waiting out the night with impatient canoodling, enjoying each other's bountiful lovelies, leaping from pile to pile of fluffy kitten noises, when from out of no where, as though materializing from the very grips of my bitterly clenched naughtyparty, we were bushwhacked by the clangity clang of the front doorbell.
This was not to be. Not to be! I said aloud, scaring my lovely. I had a rapturous voice that could often twist her into a lemon rind or worse. I felt bad, so I whispered, Not. To. Be...
Making haste, I yoinked a nearby ascot, checked the mirror, and ran for the door. The chime, again, resonated through the house. I worried not for my lovely, who, as per our post-powder-drink training exercises, was by now secure in the upstairs walk-in. She knew better than to disobey. Not really, actually. She didn't know at all. She simply did. Hence: my lovely.
Even in my complete and furious nudity I was wise enough to peek through the fish eye to see the rather large womanly neighbor, not unlike Gertrude Stein, there on the doorsteps.
I rushed back upstairs to find my lovely there under a pile of scarves and sashes. It's her.
My lovely shook her head.
-Yes, I whispered.
My lovely covered her head in her breasts, and shook her thin dark hair out over her cuddling body. I was saddened and made at her, causing her to shriek. Shrieking is worse than cuddling, and the two combined set my watch to clench, which scares her and me as we both know it sends us both to a frightening cloud.
-It's a mix-up, my lovely whimpered with the perfect amount of sweet and cold.Get rid of her.
.......
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