Haunting Midnight Gases

She was sweet, petite, sensual, demure, . . . gassy. It was very early in our relationship and she had invited me over for the evening to watch a movie. I brought my kids over and once all of hers and mine were in bed, we settled in together on her couch in front of the television. We had not yet even made love and were really still getting to know each other but had obviously become comfortable, and we were beginning to become physically affectionate. I lay down and she snuggled up in front of me. She was so sweet and tiny. She fit perfectly into a spoon. I heard her sigh and knew that she was feeling cozy and romantic. I felt the same way. Then I heard her breathing even out and I knew she had fallen asleep. I knew she would. She had already informed me that she never made it through a movie. I felt her wiggle in closer to me and sort of wrap her bum cheeks around one of my legs. No sooner had we become just so comfortable when the gentlest, oh-so-delicate, almost inaudible rumbling of a fart warmed my leg. An early test of my staying power, to be sure! She was embarrassed and in her hallmark little-girl whine stumbled over the excuse that she was sleeeeeeeping! "Mmmmmnnnnngghh". I thought it was hilarious which did little to forestall her embarrassment. At least she knew I was not so easliy offended and that it had no repercussions on my attraction to her. I had passed the first test. Little did I know that that was only the beginning of what would prove to be a full-fledged career of her slumbering scent-production. It's like her belly is a swimming pool and sleep is the lifeguard. As soon as sleep arrives, it promptly announces, "Alright, everybody out! Out! Oh no, not the way you came in. Everybody out this back way here!" Fortunately, in terms of well matched couples, her night-time flatulence is only outmatched by mine during the day.

See you in hell,
Shakes.