Rough Love

Sheryl tried hard to get comfortable, but the guy she had brought home with her and his two-day growth&#150sexy, rough and abrasive&#150was burrowing at her neck and it was driving her nuts. She shifted, arched her back, twisted her torso, then resettled, hoping a switch in position would encourage him to pick a new area to irritate. No such luck. Mistaking her body jerk as rapturous ecstasy, he moaned and nestled deeper. Shit, it’s like he’s a squirrel going for a nut hidden under my neck, she thought.

She tried to concentrate on something else. He’s actually pretty good in bed, she conceded. He’s hung, seems to know the importance of foreplay; he’s even told me several times during sex that I’m beautiful. As he continued tunneling, Sheryl wondered what made guys think the same skin they find so smooth and delicate to caress will fare well when subjected to a half-hour of beard abuse. Maybe if I give him something else to think about, she thought. She gently took his head in her hands and lifted it to kiss him. They passionately kissed for several minutes, exploring each other’s mouths, but when she again laid back her head, he resumed tunneling.

Dammit…I know I should say something, she thought; but her friend, Joyce, had told her that she had said something to a guy she was dating about his sexual proclivity involving navels and the various sounds one can make with them and she never saw him again; Sheryl had not had sex in several months and did not want to risk this turning out to be a one-night stand. I’ll bet lesbians never have to put up with this, she thought, as Jeff&#150or is it Jake?&#150apparently thinking he had hit bone, switched to the other side of neck and resumed tunneling. At least, that’ll keep Moleman from drawing blood on the other side.

I wonder if all the famous guys with beards, like Brad Pitt, George Clooney and Joaquin Phoenix&#150no, Joaquin doesn’t count&#150have stopped having sex. There’s no way their wives and girlfriends are putting up with this shit.

“Sorry. I have to pee,” she said the instant the brainstorm hit her.

“Wha…? You’re kidding. Can you wait a coupla minutes, baby?”

“I really am sorry, but I can’t. I had so-o-o much to drink.”

He sighed and rolled onto his back, pulling the sheet over his privates, while Sheryl scooted through the bathroom door. She turned the water on so he wouldn’t hear her and sat to pee. Finished, she stood, wiped, then looked in the mirror to assess the damage. The side he had been first feeding on looked red and irritated and the other side was pinking. She shook her head and began figuring ways to get Jack&#150Jim?&#150to go home.

“I’m sick,” she finally called out. She waited. Either he didn’t hear me, or he’s asleep. Fuck, what if he left!

She cracked the door and peeked out.