Blind Carnival

Stop, Drop, and Freeze

She bangs her elbow, and then again. Then she slips and falls on him. She bumps her nose to his shoulder and fails to pretend it was intentional. The soap makes the tub and John slippery, and while he's comfortably lounging, and groping her arse, Olivia's having a wee bit of a barney.

After nibbling at his jaw and getting a mouthful of lemon and verbena, she begs for mercy. Among other things, even with all the bubbles, and though she's quite turned on, there's way too much friction. She's unstable, and that's why she can't deftly catch the tip and then do that trick with the bucking of her hips, and letting him slide inside. Instead there's this rubbing, and it distracts her, and instead of sensual grinding her center to his length, she squirms. And then her hands once again slide, and she flops on him like a blobfish. She's googled it the first time she read about it. The pictures are very telling. And no, she doesn't feel full of feline grace; she's a blobfish.

"Can we, please, get out of here? It only looks good in photos on Pinterest!"

She sounds exasperated. He laughs.

"Thank goodness. As much as I'm enjoying what you're doing, I was kind of worried for your skull's integrity. And it's so hot here!"

She grins and starts wiggling, planning to climb out of the tub, hopefully seductively, but - realistically looking at it - probably more like those cats in YouTube videos. And then she freezes, herr eyes boggled.

"Liv?"

"We didn't have a condom. I mean, I didn't manage to stuff you inside, but we didn't– Um..."

His eyebrows jump up.

"You were going to go through with it?" He's clearly very surprised. "I thought you were just having fun."

"I was!" She's staring at him. "And I forgot..."

He smiles at her and taps the tip of her nose with his finger.

Alright, firstly, she does not ever under any circumstances forget protection. Considering her history she's all for safety. Secondly, now her mind will get stuck on the thought. Yep, all arousal is gone.

"Liv, what's wrong?"

She suddenly notices that her back is cold. The very tops of her buttocks are sticking out, and her shoulder blades are above water, and now goosebumps are running on her skin. She has a thought that - maybe - she never wants to have the conversation with him - the conversation she's now clearly imagining in her head, with all her lines, and his potential reaction. Maybe, it'll never come to it. She's not in a romance novel - damn them! - and her personal history isn't a plot twist. It doesn't have to be disclosed at the most opportune moment to increase the dramatic effect. And also, it's not that impressive to even be a good narrative.

"Liv..." His tone is soft, and he's searching her eyes.

"I'm sorry. Just got lost in my thoughts... I was surprised, that's all. You know, the Durex and such."

"Sure." He gives her another smile, this time a reassuring one. "So, should we get out?"

All her sexy mood's gone. His isn't. She's sitting on the clear indication of his readiness to go to bed and have a juicy romp there. Look, Olivia is being a tad nasty with wording. What does it tell us? She counts in her head and realises she's PMSing. How else can she explain that somehow it's his fault she's been reminded of Valerie?

She has two options here: they can go to bed, or to the kitchen table - for our adventurous customers - and she can have sex with her boyfriend. Door two: she can pout and feel like the world is a nasty place, just as her hormones tell her. She throws this option aside with disgust instantly. Option three: she can openly tell her boyfriend she lost the mood, and she's grumpy, and she apologises, and maybe if she eats she'll feel better. She has a low blood sugar, and being hungry affects her nervous system, and turns her into her mother - on her good days, though. She never fully converts. That would be a werewolf level transformation.