Last night was a disoriented blur of impassioned, orgasm-inducing sexual enlightenment.
It was undressing, unbuckling, unbuttoning one another’s every article of clothing during the erotically-inspired promenade through your bungalow of an abode, to the bedroom. But then, morning presents itself, painting your clusterf*cked dirty laundry of a bedroom with rays of golden sunshine, and you yawn in unsettled protest. Then, after wiping the bleary sleep from your tired eyes, you lend a moment’s pause to the face perched on a pillow alongside yours. Black as jet hair and bone structure that would instinctually make a teenage boy’s balls drop.
Oh, oh sh*t, she’s waking up. Rustling about this way and that, arms stretched overhead, devilish post wake-up smirk, and then boom: There they are. The eyes capable of clearing a man’s head and instead filling his every fleeting thought with how to keep the grey-hued beauties around as long as possible. Because life just makes a bit more sense with those eyes around. Overthinking is tossed out the window like an apple core and primal instinct dictates the ebb and flow of your every action thereafter.
There’s no mistaking the awkwardness that ensues when waking up in such a situation. She is waking up in a bed other than her own and feels totally exposed.
You wake up on the right side of the bed.
Ancient Chinese proverbs tell us our day’s tone (good or bad) is determined by the vibe of morning – okay, not really. All fabricated proverbs with Chinese origins aside, there’s something to be said for a smooth morning lacking in expected snafus. You know, those mornings when coffee’s effects take hold quicker than usual, in turn breeding higher levels of productivity – or those mornings you didn’t wake up an infuriating 15 minutes before the prearranged date with a roarin’ whore of an alarm clock.
Waking up on the left side of the bed, because the right side’s taken, not by a pillow, but a living, breathing, mystical creature of a sleeping woman – well there’s nothing like it. Fucking nothing, nothing at all.
Your day begins over conversation with a beautiful young woman.
While kicking your day off with locker banter over breakfast in company of the roomies has its merits, like refining your trash-talk prose, and rousing you from your post-wake up state of apathy – it also gets old as any unoriginally, superficial song by Justin J “Beebs” played on the radio.
Chatting life, goals, hobbies, unexplainable interests with a beaut of a young lady before you shed yourself of those heat-retaining, wooly covers not only provides engaging discussion, but hell, you’re improving your listening/small-chatting skills without having left your bed.
Sex for breakfast, and if you awake beforehand inspired with exceptional go-getter fervor whip up some bacon. Making the love is especially profound, when enveloped in a Hempler bacon themed bubble of aromatically sweet, savory madness.
Almost forgot – you must play your cards right for this supposed “brexfast” to exist in the realm of possibly coming to fruition. Assume the sex-love making is an assured thing, and you inevitably give yourself bedeviled state of epically blue-balled exasperation. Take it from a fooligan, who has been down both beaten paths.
You behold a beautiful face untouched by routinely applied cosmetics.
Don’t get me wrong, makeup has its benefits, can adorn a couple cheekbones with arresting definition, or pronounce a pair of soul-enlivening eyes with incomparable drawing power. However there’s just this, well, unfettered grace in a makeup free face – and it’s a damn shame we seldom see such humanly blemished faces.
You fell asleep to her melodiously; rhythmic sleep breathing patterns like the young lady was a damn sleep machine.
A young lady adrift in a tranquil cosmos of dreams, inhaling then exhaling in a relatively measured fashion cultivates a pacific atmosphere conducive to melatonin-sleepy time tea induced dormancy. She’ll lull you into pass the fuck out mode like it’s her gosh, darn, damn job – and you, you’re her most treasured customer.