At the Scene of the Crime

Note: I had meant to post this a few weeks ago following the actual events and was recently reminded of it by Muffy, as such, here it is:

Crime scene sex.

I can feel the collective shudder the world just gave me as I typed out those 3 words. We've all been there. If you haven't, well, some day you will. Those of us who have been there can tell you that it's really the same as any other sex, but with a little more... well, colour. Neither of you needs to be a hero about it, it's all just bodily fluids. Just, maybe skip the white sheets and go for something a little darker that night unless you're a prodigy of getting tough stains out. This post, however, is not about laundry.

Let's be honest though, as long as you are prepared for it, it's great. I'm in the opinion that if he's down, I'm down (and if he isn't, he's probably going to get dumped. Fast.) Last week, however, I managed to have SURPRISE crime scene sex. Rather, it was a surprise for me, because he didn't mention anything until afterwards - why this is, I have no idea. We've been together for the better part of a year, so it's not like we haven't done it before. Granted, he probably thought that I knew, although I am usually thoughtful enough to warn him first - I firmly believe that communication is key in such situations.

Regardless, a man who is okay with doing things to you while you're bleeding is a good man. Especially if you can find one that will willingly go down on you during it without any coaxing or collateral head. He is said man.

So, we do it. It's as mind-blowing as usual. We finish. He's passing out on his back with his arms beneath his head. I go to sit up and he casually looks over and says:

"Babe, I don't know if you want to do that - you've been bleeding the entire time and those stains are a bitch to get out."

Down with the crime scene AND cares about the colour of my sheets? Be still my heart.