I love my cat, but sometimes I swear I could turn her into a cute little tuxedo rug.
Warning: Here-in lies overshare about sexy times.
Last night WomBear and I were getting intimate (Why does this sound gross?) for the first time in a couple days.
It was amazing. Biting, surprise from behind while I was just laying on the my stomach reading, ordering around, all the good stuff.
We were in the middle of a position switch from floor to bed when I heard a *skritch, jfdhgjdgh, boom*
Our apartment is on the top floor of a heritage house and it gets sauna levels of hot. To counterbalance this we open our huge 5' by 4' window when we get home from work. But we have to watch to make sure our little furry overlord doesn't jump out because she then runs across the roof, drops onto the back deck railing, and then trots over to the neighbour's deck.
This wouldn't be a problem except they are also on the top floor and their place gets sauna levels of hot so they leave their deck door open for a cross-breeze. And our little cat-demon will go into their apartment to fight their cat-demon.
So here I am (dick in mouth) when I hear the crash and immediately I stand up and announce, "That's the cat. The neighbour's door is open."
Then the silent conversation starts. Who is going to go get her?
Since I don't have an erection bridging between us I figure it's my turn. I throw on a long tank and decide I have no time for pants before I grab the treats from the living room. I run back into the bedroom and WomBear is sitting on the corner of the bed, almost twiddling his thumbs. Without even thinking I yell on my way by:
"I worked for that, you keep it hard!"
(I worked for that. You keep it hard. I don't even know why I said this.)
I run outside and start shaking the treat bag ferociously. The way the door is lined up with our bedroom is such that when you are on the deck, you can see straight onto our bed. I can see WomBear watching me, his face a mix of amusement and confusion.
The cat isn't coming down the sloped roof yet so I start calling her name, and thumping the shingles. Pantsless.
Finally she comes down. Her fat little butt wiggling down the roof, and all I can see is her white paws.
I scoop her up and carry her inside while explaining to her, "I know you're just trying to give us a little privacy but what you're actually doing is being a cockblock. Good kitties don't cockblock."
I put her down, and get back to business.
After a little bit of awkwardness the mood was back. After we were recouping and laying there for a while WomBear starts laughing and asks, "How many people call their cat a cockblock?"
My response: "Uh, probably everyone."
Because that is what they are. If they aren't jumping out windows they are crawling on your back, or laying next to you. Or watching you dispassionately.
Cats are little cock-blocking creeps.
Share your stories of trying to get intimate with pets in the house so I can assure him that this is a tale as old as time.