I used to think that I had a good handle on all of the things I had left to do in the, uh, bedroom. I knew what had been done, and what had not been done, and what I still wanted to do. Apparently there may be some hidden things on the "haven't done yet" list that I didn't know about.
Lights on or off? I don't have a preference myself, but they happened to be off- very off- during a weekend tryst with a lady friend. I should have been forewarned of impending danger since I had already managed to burn a massive blister on my index finger the night before, but alcohol-confidence is definitely a two-edged sword.
In a mildly awkward attempt to move from standing to laying on a bed, I managed to crack my LF's head with my own. Pretty bad. Bad enough that she had a headache the next day. (Hey- I play rough. What can I say?)
Not satisfied with results of my skull-thickness test (read that how you will), I then outdid myself. I was throwing myself wholeheartedly into some serious sport fucking (use that term if you want) and had this poor girl pretty much most of the way off the bed.
I'm getting there.
I'm getting there!
I'm about there!! And!!! RIGHT at the moment of "there," my head comes down violently, right into the corner of my dresser. Briefly knocking me out. Briefly.
Now here's what is weird. You know how sometimes two competing feelings can cancel each other out? Well that's what happened in this situation. As incredibly painful as it was, I didn't even really register the feeling as pain. I didn't realize that an orgasm is actually that distracting. How far could that go? Could you set me on fire at the moment? What about a kick in the nuts? Who knows. What I know is that I thought I had gotten away scot-free and she would never know, but I wanted to go check myself out just in case.
So I got to the bathroom, look in the mirror, and see my entire face covered in blood. Now THAT is some serious sex action! In fairness, the cut itself wasn't that bad. Someone told me that facial injuries just have a tendency to bleed more, but still- when you get done in the sack and see yourself covered in blood, that's something memorable!
I hadn't escaped though. The girl, wondering what I was doing, came into the bathroom. I had to explain the situation and check to make sure I hadn't covered her in blood. Because, in general, bleeding in the bedroom is not good.
To her (credit?), she laughed her ass off at me. And yes, this is the same girl that laughed her ass off when I toppled like a tree in the forest in my own hallway.
Time for me to get a helmet?
Caleb "it's not even that noticeable" Shreves