Smoke gets in their eyes….
She entered the room, but only after awkwardly tripping over the door sill in her black negligee and in her high heeled black shoes she stumbled to the bed and lifted a leg to place one foot on the footboard and tried to strike a pose that she’d seen her favorite porn star making on the stained cover of her favorite raunchy movie, but if you'd been there, it would have looked more like she was about to urinate on the bedpost. She looked down at his slumbering, no, slobbering form, and wished not for the first time that he was really more like Ron Jeremy, or at least had his neck, back and chest hair. She sloshed her martini as she fished out the olive and plopped it into his belly button. Or was it his man cave? Man cave, cave man, didn’t really make a difference as she cracked her knuckles before applying one hand in a sharp sting to his protruding belly, waking him so quickly that he slapped her glass out her hand and his explosive flatulence ignited the romantic cock shaped candle on the bedside table which set flame to the fringe of the gold tasseled curtains that framed the velvet picture on the wall behind the headboard of the King in all his sequined glory. No sex was actually had that night, but later when the fire department was unable to extinguish the flames they declared the scene an untamable hunk of burning love and put away their long hoses in despair.
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