A sordid tale of love and intrigue

Ok ok, there’s no intrigue. In fact if we’re being completely honest there’s a bit of over sharing heading your way. If you’re a member of my immediate family (mum, step-child) or any person who does not want to hear about sexy-time – of a fashion – look away now, keep scrolling and come back in a bit.

Right, if you’re still with me, our story begins on a cold, dark evening in the Christmas holidays. C and I were snuggled up on the sofa, minding our own business.

If you’re still reading and you’re one of those people mentioned above, on your head be it. 

Let’s get straight to it – the puppies have become something of a cock blocking force in our little lives. is there a better/nicer way of saying that? A natural contraceptive? A four legged prophylactic? 

They are just always there and when they’re not there they’re somewhere nearby whining, chewing, hollering or scratching. We don’t have the hounds in our bedroom but by the time we’re actually permitted to retire to the boudoir we’re so unbelievably pooped that sexy-time could not be further from our minds. 

In fact, after 10 years of togetherness C has just started wearing pyjamas so he “won’t be cold when tending the hounds in the night.” I’m quite excited about that, I’ve been harping on about the joys of sleepwear for a looooong time. But that’s how far sexy-time is from where we are.

Yet on this particular evening, for an unfathomable reason, we thought things may be different….

We both had a smidgen of wine energy (not much, we’ve been married for 7 years, don’t need stacks). I glanced at C. C glanced at me. We simultaneously looked over at the comatose hounds lying on the rug.


What we should have done next was sidle out of the room and off to the chambre, close the door and get on with it…but I’m sure you know what’s coming by now…

Instead, I shuffled along the sofa and cuddled in closer. Maybe there was a bit of smooching. Maybe someone’s top came off. Maybe there is nothing more terrifying at that stage than two freezing cold paws on your back and a little wet tongue not far behind them, going in for the kill. 
Obviously there was a very curious pooch on the loose, I haven’t married a man with paws. 

And that’s pretty much the end of that. Come out from behind your hands, it’s all over. 

Rest assured there will be no more attempts at sexy-time with the dogs in the room. I’m slightly ashamed of the one that nearly was to be completely honest. It was opportunistic and wrong and we’re sorry. My penance is that I am utterly utterly scarred for life. I’ll forever be haunted by the feel of those awful little paws. 

Naturally, I then went off and Googled what other decent folk do when they have hounds and the horn. A shockingly large number of them don’t seem to give a second thought to doing it in front of their four legged friends. I don’t know how they do it, perhaps a lot of alcohol is involved? Or a troublesome disregard for social conventions. 

All I know is that chez nous this is a massive non merci! 

There’s nothing else to say. I learnt a lesson. Hopefully you did too. 

It’s safe to come back into the room now. Feel free to berate/point at laugh at your leisure. 

Timely endings
Love and Marriage