Sex du Juor: Missing Sex and Stian

"I love you and that's the beginning and end of everything"----F. Scott Fitzgerald.

Cause baby you know that I I'm your biggest fan I'll follow you until you love me Papa-paparazzi Baby there's no other superstar You know that I'll be Your papa-paparazzi Promise I'll be kind But I won't stop until that boy is mine Baby you'll be famous Chase you down until you love me Papa-paparazzi

***

Who would care and give a damn if I drown myself right this very moment and give up my breath and ghost all at once right this very second? If I freeze and icen up to death and stillness in this comfortably warm and enjoyable water, who would come to embrace and weep over me? I can drown myself right now and that will be it...

When I surface and come up out of the water, Stian is standing and posing right there before me, holding a wholly white towel in his hand. His facial countenance hits and strikes me as being bitter and hostile in some way. I don't get it...how have I come to offend and annoy him? How exactly?

"What have I done this time around?" I ask him mildly and calmly. He first scowls at me and then rolls his eyes quietly and disapprovingly. I was right about it. He sure and hell lot is angry and annoyed with me. Duh! Who cares? Well, I honestly don't for your very own piece of information.

"You don't seem to mind that you are late for work on your very first day, honey, do you?" Of course! How can he expect me to let slip from my memory something this crucial and important? Today will be my first day of work at The House of Hogan. And this is a fashion-correlated company functioning here in Rovich, Iceberg, that is relatively successful indeed and is well-known and familiarised with the people here. I am going to start my work there and I better not be any late or behind-time.

Just when I take my stand up in the Jacuzzi where I am washing myself, Stian looks curiously and shockedly at a naked and unclothed me up till at final last he wraps and dolls me up with the towel that he is holding. I stare back at him thankfully and in appreciation. "Thanks for that, honey," I tell him straigh away and forthwith.

He quickly lets known to me, "Now dress up hurriedly, dear, because I don't want you to be late on your first day of work."

I quickly and hurriedly step my way out of the bathroom, having kissed and pecked him gently and affectionately. Once in my room, I dash to my closet, toss it open, and then snatch out the clothes that I have prepared for this occasion. Yes. I will be wearing baggy-like knee-high shorts that are khaki dark in colour and a green top and also have my long light brown hair tied and fastened into a ponytail that dangles and swings gently and carefully on my back. Exactly!

I sit for breakfast in the large and roomy kitchen for not more than ten minutes, so as to devour hungrily and greedily corn flakes mixed with milk and a bit salt and sugar and heated water. Hmmnnnnnn! They are so yummy and tasty! Once I am over and finished with them, I hurry and speed my way out to the car and then finally and at long last get away from our beloved house itself. Stian waves at me as I take my leave in my Jaguar Berry car and I only grin back at him coolly and nicely in turn. Yeah. It is what I frankly and truthfully do.

The House of Hogan is this big and giant and nice-looking. I like and love, love it so, so very much. It has got a fantastic and super modernistic and brilliant feel and touch and taste to it. At the reception, I find a man waiting up for me and he introduces himself to me as being Andreas Wilkins. He is tall and dark-haired and handsomely and youthful-looking in a very pitch and patchy-like black suit. Yes! He is so friendly and polite and patient with me to great extremes and extents that I could not easily imagine and think workable. After showing me my new office, he lectures and tutors me on how to work here and with what objects as well as how to use them well and efficiently. Good! I get it!

I miss Stian; his stark naked self; his clothed self and his voluptuously underwear-clad self. Ooooh! Damn it! I am here at work, supposed to be seriously and diligently working and yet here I am fantasising and thinking about all this...damn me for it! Damn me a hundred more times!

I hope and trust that I have not become a sex addict. That is the least thing I would ever want and even expect to become. Yeah! For real!

When it is lunch time, I send this proceeding email to Stian. I know and I'm even sure and positive that he will see it on his phone and read it what's more. Yes. He probably and definitely will.

Hi, Stian. How are you doing there at home? I am missing both you and sex--and your underwear too. Do you miss me as well? Do you really, honey?

In spot-on two minutes, he replies and emails back to me:

I miss you too, Ragnhild, my sweetheart and babe--and those khaki shorts that you wore and pinkie-colored underwear too that are hid and concealed inside them. Hey, may I ask you just this, sweet babe? Did not those khaki shorts at one point in time entirely belong to me? Did they not, huh?

Screw him for it! I mean...oh yes, they definitely and precisely did!