Not mine
but it was my sad duty to correct it ...

Let me take you back to a time when TheWeeWitch was young, and a newlywed bride. We were revelling in finally having our own home, and determined to bonk whenever, and wherever, the mood took us within that home. We couldn't afford a honeymoon, so spent a couple of weeks off work after the wedding rutting like it was going out of fashion.

When the final Saturday of our "homeymoon" rolled around, my husband took a call from a workmate. Asking him if he wanted to head out that night to "wet the baby's head" as his wife had just delivered their first child. This of course being code for "having an almighty piss-up with a better excuse than usual". So, after the obligatory three S's (shower shit and shave), off he went.

He staggered in at three the following morning, and this was when the misconception came to light.

He was labouring under the misapprehension that slugging down pints of heavy in a smoky pub all night, then scarfing a kebab on the way home (with a nice splodge of chilli sauce decorating his shirt to prove it), then stumbling around the bedroom like a lost baby elephant was some kind of magic aphrodisiac. In his mind, all he had to do was launch himself into bed, grab his peacefully slumbering bride on the arse, and mutter those romantic words,

"Awright, darlin'. Ah've got a massive hard on here with your name on it. You awake?"

My reaction, dear reader, was less than ecstatic. I was slightly less enthusiastic than he presumably expected, and I may even have hurt him (probably not though, he'd had enough booze to knock out a horse) when, instead of turning to him with a gleam in my eye, I rammed my elbow into his solar plexus. Nothing daunted, the bold boy proceeded to fumble around in the general area of my boobs, but managed to find my ribs instead. This earned him another elbowing. His final, desperate attempt to overcome my objections resulted in the strange sensation of his (still slightly cold) hand, rooting around in my nether regions. Well, enough was enough.

I turned to face my beloved, and planted my delicate little paws on his chest. Grabbing a double handful of chest hair, for no reason other than I felt like it, I shoved as hard as I could. He ended up on the floor. I left him there. I went back to sleep.

The next morning, he not only had a really nasty hangover, he also had a bruised bum. I'd love to say that it corrected his misconception, but alas, no. This scenario has been repeated many, many times. I live in hope that one day, he'll work out that I don't like being disturbed in the middle of the night by a pissed bloke who's going to take faaaaaaaar too long, and leave me in peace.

Then, and only then, will I finally know that I've helped him to see the light.
(TheWeeWitch hasn't been here much recently .., Sat 27 Sep 2008, 22:38, 4 replies)

^agrees
Drunken sex is only good when your both drunk.
( girlinthehole, Mon 29 Sep 2008, 20:51, closed)

Don't you love it
when they reach over in the middle of the night and honk your tits? As if that were the starter's pistol...
(TDub Nunc id vides, nunc ne vides on, Wed 1 Oct 2008, 5:52, closed)

"Awright, darlin'. Ah've got a massive hard on here with your name on it. You awake?"
hahahaaa... I'm trying this one TONIGHT! Yeah!
(pizzaforcat ate some cement and HARDENED the FUCK UP on, Wed 1 Oct 2008, 6:54, closed)

Wanker
Stoned sex is so much better than drunk sex. 100% fact.
(callombard, Thu 2 Oct 2008, 5:29, closed)