Ficlets

What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.

“Does this smell OK to you?” she had asked, waving her plate absently over her head while staring fixedly at the bloody television.

Leaning over, I sniffed, admittedly somewhat indelicately, at the proffered plate and murmured non-committally while closing my book and replacing the cap on my pen. “Turn that crap off and come to bed will you?” I cajoled, tired and horny.

She got up and sayshayed into the bedroom, plate in hand; leaving me gobsmacked that she had been naked on the sofa all that time and I hadn’t even noticed, so wrapped up in my writing as I had been.

Anyway, next morning, we’re lying there in bed and she hands me a some of last night’s dinner ‘to keep strength up’ as it were. I bit into it and was enjoying the admittedly somewhat congealed food when I noticed her picking at her thigh, picking at what looked to be somewhat squashed melted cheese. Suffice to say, that was the last time I ever ate pizza.

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