Wierd when high on coffein

SWEAT

I thought it was kinda wierd when my boyfriend said he had something ”fun” for us to do. Usually, he is not the type to initiate anything fun.
I was, because he is a complete fugly, boring jerk, very suspiscious.
His idea for fun meant lying naked on the floor, wrapped in specially importet seaweed, listening to whalesounds on a CD and pretening being born.
Suspiscious indeed.
So, anways, opening the door, I entered his crummy appartment which looks something right out of an add on how screwed up you might actually end up if you go to art school and learn how to draw your inner space. Naturally, my fucked boyfriend failed that task, just drawing a rectangle with a bed.
He sucks.
His innermost, sacredmost space is a rectangle room with a bed.
Anyways, opening the door, I could tell he was excited. He gets interesting little shudders around his eyes, like something poking under his skin. Its really gross. I can’t believe I loved him.
He took my hand, and he was clammy, and he dragged me into the bedroom, which smells like bananas, and on the floor there was a present, wrapped with a lavishly embrodiered paper and ugly piece of string that I bet my nipples on he just had left over from that time he made a statue out of string. The statue was supposed to look like a figure. But then the entire thing collapsed upon itself, and the string-statue ended up what it started as. A ball of string.
The lame bastard had obviously packed the present himself, because it looked like a guy with Downs, high on LSD and diet-pills could have done a better job. There was discared pieces of tape strewn all over the place. On the walls. On the floor. Even on his pants.
“Open it”, he whispered in my ear, pressing his small, little, purple, jagged penis against me.
“It isn’t a jack-in-the-box, right?” I moaned.
He snorted.
I hate it sorely when he snorts.
So, him shaking like an anemic palm-tree to pitiful and stupid to bend over and die hovering over me, I opened the present.
At first I didn’t know what to think.
And that happenes rarely with me.
It looked like an enormous plastic balloon. Like a condom, only hugerer and more appalling.
“What. The. Fuck. Is. This?”
He went to his knees, and I could tell that he was rock hard, if the rock was a tiny litte discared piece of cement on an old parking lot in Mexico. He kissed me with the fugly lips like snorting cocain on the floor and shuddering and crying because he pushed his wheel-chaired grandfather over a small bridge when he was a kid because the grandfather touched his “special place”. What a lame-o!
And then, that throb around his eye going off, he whispered:” I want you to take it on.”
So I did.
I undressed, threw my clothes at him, and the buckle on my belt hit his eye, so I liked that, and then I stepped into the huge plastic thing. It stuck to my skin. It was a carpet, a veil of this thin but durable marverlously sacred and beautiful polymer.
“What is it?”
“its a fetal membrane. I want you to be a big, horny child, unborn. And I want to watch you.”
So I did.
I put the fetal membrane around myself, its comforting walls sealing him away, and I put my face close to it. Soon, I began to sweat, and the sweat dripped from my skin and stuck to the plastic, gluing me close to it.
I could tell that he was jerking off.
His purple penis was looking at me.
I didn’t care.