Breaking up can be oh so very hard to do, especially when your soon-to-be ex’s body is seriously banging. You know this person is no good for your intellectual well-being, yet somehow, you can’t seem to get rid of them. Not liking Kafka is one thing; him not realizing he has a soul is another. “I have a soul – really? What’s that?” The thought of boinking a mindless, hunky automaton for another year is enough to make one shudder with mild revulsion.
I tried explaining the soul concept to this beautiful android, only to be met with a blank, uncomprehending stare. Game over.
Be as gentle and diplomatic as humanly possible. “Listen, I think you’re a wonderful person but things are just not working out between us.” I see the hurt in his eyes and I feel like I just kicked a puppy. Bastard. “But I really like you,” he says, a glimmer of moisture brimming in those super shiny orbs. “I’m sorry but I can’t go on,” I countered as I grab my things. Now it’s time to beat a hasty retreat before things get out of control, but already it’s too late. He lets the blanket fall as he comes towards me with uncurbed enthusiasm from below the waist, ripped body glistening with a mild sheen of sweat. If you think women are the only ones who have mastered the art of erotic sabotage, think again.
Breaking up in the bedroom is a dumb idea, and as far as winning goes I’m screwed. Literally.
Before I can reach the door, he has his arms locked around my waist and I can feel him pressing into me from behind. “Don’t be silly, come back to bed,” he insists in a gentle tone of persuasion, and I hate his ass for knowing exactly how to push my buttons. In an instant, Kafka becomes totally irrelevant as he plants soft kisses down my neck, but I still struggle to break free from his iron grip as my willpower is eroded with bewildering sweetness. It suddenly occurred to me that this is a battle I am meant to lose, and it’s my own damn fault for not devising a seduction-proof plan from the get-go.
With the delightful way he’s wearing down my resistance, it looks like I should try to win the war some other time. In a matter of seconds, I’m right back to where I started and dammit, paisleys have never looked better from this angle.