At 3:43 AM I rolled across my bed and reached into the top drawer of my nightstand. I couldn’t not. It was dark, my bed was warm and I was, shall we say, randy.
It was not an extended or particularly acrobatic session; at 3:43 who wants acrobatics? Just me, my bullet and my Orchid G. My orgasm was long, shuddering and total–the Emily Rose kind that causes my back to bend and my body to contort. I fell back asleep afterwards, spooning a pillow.
At 6:45 I was out of bed and rousing children to dress for school. It was chilly and I’d tossed on my robe. Miles’ socks were in the dryer and I walked across the floor to the laundry closet.
Halfway there I stopped. Something had dripped onto my foot, just missing the floor. I turned and walked to the bathroom. By the time I got there the insides of my thighs were wet with the thin, glistening, milky liquid that had coated my fingers and vibrator earlier.
The liquid that smells so intoxicatingly good I think everyone around me can smell it as well as I can. The scent that, even when it is dried onto my underwear smells creamy and sweet and heady and girly.
Not strong, it’s a gentle scent, but totally recognizable. Sometimes my mouth waters when I recognize it.
