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When Warren Met Gwen, part seven

A morning meeting of the minds

By Shelley CarrollPublished about a month ago Updated about a month ago 4 min read
When Warren Met Gwen, part seven
Photo by Dan Russo on Unsplash

Gwen awoke the following morning in what was first perceived as a strange room. She was on top of the covers, fully clothed, and alone. With a touch of a headache and an incredibly full bladder, she was momentarily panic-stricken, wondering “Where the hell am I? What the hell happened?

Then snapshots of the previous evening began to ebb and flow in her memory: the wine, the laughter, making out on the couch… the lack of anything to eat… the dizzy feeling… and then the spooning.

As she lay there pondering where Warren was and, more importantly, where the nearest bathroom was located, she tried to sit herself upright and get her bearings.

She thought she caught the scent of bacon frying. In one sense, it made her mouth salivate. But on a deeper level, it made her stomach turn.

Oof,” she said out loud, clutching her abdomen as she lurched for the waste basket between the bed and the nightstand before violently projectile vomiting into it.

Meanwhile, Warren was in the kitchen, nursing a mild headache, sipping from a glass of tomato juice in an effort to wash down a couple of pain relief tablets.

What a wholesome evening,” he mused to himself as he placed the lid on the bacon-filled frying pan. He figured a little bit of grease for breakfast might straighten them both up and start the day off right. He hadn’t really wanted to leave her there in bed alone, but his right arm was asleep and it had been a long time since he’d dozed off in a pair of jeans - his parts had been feeling cramped and restricted as a result. He had to get up to get the blood flowing again.

Uh, hey there,” came a hoarse voice from the kitchen doorway. Warren turned to find a sheepish and disheveled-looking Gwen peering at him from around the corner.

Good morning,” he greeted her, smiling. “Did you sleep alright? Can I get you anything?” he asked as he approached her slowly and cautiously so as not to overwhelm her.

No thanks,” she said looking downward and shaking her head slightly. “Well, maybe some water.

Sure thing,” he said as he grabbed a glass and turned on the faucet. “I was just thinking… last night was kinda nice,” as he passed her the glass.

Yeah,” she smiled, relieved at his perspective. “It really was,” as she finally relaxed a bit and took a seat at the counter. “Almost kinda special.

He wrapped his arms around her in a hug and kissed her on the forehead. “Yeah,” he said wistfully. “I agree.

I’ve been thinking,” she began hesitantly. “I’ve thought a lot about things you’ve said and maybe it’s caused me to reflect on how I may have misrepresented myself to you,” she continued.

I’m listening,” he assured her, taking a seat next to her, one hand on her shoulder, the other on her hand in her lap.

Well, I take what you say to heart. You should know that. I love it because your words make me think. So I just want to clarify something. You once referenced my “aggressiveness”… now don’t get me wrong: I enjoy sex. Particularly in my forties as opposed to my twenties. I know much more about how my body works and what it likes. I enjoy being pleased, but I also aim to please. I think I’m a very giving lover. At least, that’s what I’d be for you. I want to hear those little sounds you make that let me know you’re enjoying yourself, that something I’m doing is arousing you, satisfying you, bringing you pleasure. Sure, I can be very enthusiastic. I’m passionate. But I promise you that I won’t do anything you don’t want to do. To be honest, foreplay is probably my favourite part! It’s the build up to the actual event, the ultimate team building exercise, two people working together to bring about one another’s mutual climax. Hot as hell.

But you know what else is hot as hell? Watching you smile. Listening to you laugh. Feeling you touch me, even when we’re both fully clothed. Having a actual conversation with you when you ask about my day. It’s crazy.

I think I know what you mean, Gwen,” he sighed and squeezed her hand. “But go on,” he encouraged. “You look like you’ve got more to say.

But at the same time,” Gwen continued, “I don’t want to depend on you to provide me with what I can’t get on my own. In the past, I’ve sort of relied on my romantic partner to give me what I need emotionally… and it has come at the expense of losing a part of myself. So I have to watch for that. I don’t want to allow that to happen again.

So sure, I may come off as all horny and bendy and ready for anything in the boudoir. And it’s true: I am. But I also don’t want to be defined exclusively by that. I can’t do that to myself again.

Oh Gwen,” he said as he held her close. “I know you’re much more than that. And I can’t wait to find out even more, to be honest.

Really?” she asked, almost through tears.

Really, really, really. Now, can I ask you something?

Sure,” she blurted enthusiastically.

I’ve got a shit ton of nachos leftover from last night. Would you be willing to join me for supper this evening?

Definitely,” she laughed.

And can I ask you something else?” Warren asked after a deep breath and a pause.

Go for it,” she said with earnest curiosity.

Would you join me for a nap? I am honestly more hungover than I thought.

Gwen stood up and held his hand, leading him back to the bedroom. “This time, can we get under the covers?

Short StoryLoveHumor

About the Creator

Shelley Carroll

Ms. Carroll is a 40-something year-old veteran public servant and mother of three adult children. She and her partner Hal live in Amherst NS with a sweet, anxiety-ridden rescue dog. Shelley loves running, red wine, and laughter.


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