Why I won't be sleeping in the wet patch | Cara Sutra
I know what I want to happen after sex. I want to lay together, body to hot sweaty body, post-sex heat our only blanket, clinging together in glorious love - well, mainly stuck together with the velcro of rapidly drying bodily fluids. I want it to be just like ‘in the movies’ (films, for us Brits). To immediately drift into the deep peaceful sleep of the newly-shagged, in candlelight (without any thought of the fire hazard) and wake up in the morning still clinging together. As if we were Jack and Rose. Only Jack didn't have to die and Rose let him climb on the damn door. My makeup would be absolute perfection through the night, until the sun’s rays gently woke us from nauseatingly romantic slumber. My pillowslip would most definitely not look like a clown’s washcloth. Nor would my face.
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