Where Were You When Joy Came back to Rookedville?

I’m sure we all recall how little joy there was in Mudville when Mighty Casey struck out. And striking out can be a hard thing to deal with when you find yourself in a serious slump. But I’m not sure if Mr. Thayer would approve of my allusion if he understood the kind of slump I’ve been facing of late.
Suffice it to say that when I took off my boxers the other day…I half think I saw a tiny puff of dust escape. I mean dry Brother, dry.
Which is why I was a bit shocked when she came out to find me sitting on the stoop and suggested that we take a late-night shower.
Well...a shower can still be a largely utilitarian activity and taking one together could just as easily be construed as a means of conserving water. Besides, the severity of the current drought had me convinced that she had precious little interest in anything other than just getting clean. So…I finished my business and exited as quickly as possible, leaving her to revel in the hot water.
Then things got a little weirder. She called to me from the bedroom where she had turned on the Space Lamp; which has been historically considered, here at Chez Rooked, the “Starting Bell” for Sexcapades. I stood there in the doorway blinking and confused as the subtle, pulsing waves of blue star-light from the lamp bathed her naked, supine body in the effusive glow of electromagnetic sex appeal. I didn’t know what to do as she beckoned for me to join her and pick an orifice to get the proverbial ball rolling.
Now…I had to consider my options and pick a plan of action. After all, I realize how truly difficult it can be to get reasonably and effectively laid here in the 21st century, even when you live with a beautiful girl. So I had to stop and take stock and decide how best to deal with the situation.
I could leap into action either by starting with some hokey, slow-motion, Science-fiction-type of maneuver designed to draw things out and allow me to relish every inch of her body or I could pounce on her and proceed with a manic, jack-hammer paced pounding and thrashing that I refer to, only half-jokingly, as Free Monkey Love. Choosing the former would set the stage for Maximum Mileage from this episode but the latter, in light of my recent lack of activity in this genre, could certainly end with me stammering through a potentially ego-crushing post-Premature Ejaculational moment of intense discomfort during which I would go to great lengths and pains to assure her that this type of thing had never happened to me before.
Then again, I could envision myself freezing up on the very precipice of penetration as my mind ran away with me and caused me to imagine any number of bizarre scenarios that could end very badly. Like, what if I suddenly saw her Primary Orifice as a Black Hole suspended before me in space? I could just imagine myself getting sucked in and drawn out to some ridiculous and cartoonish length as I became caught in the gravitational pull of this thing. I could end up suffering for a relative eternity as I dwindled on the cusp of the Event Horizon in ever diminishing circles until I would be spewed out the other side in a freaky Galactic Jet to end up, quite possibly, in another Universe altogether. Or, at the very least, I would find myself becoming just another quanta in an endless line of matter so unimaginably dense that I would just be another faceless speck in the Final Singularity.
I wondered fleetingly what Professor Hawking would think of my vaginal applications for his theories.
I was wasting time and I needed to act fast because I had finally managed to get to this point without having to go through what I like to call Gyno-Political Estro-Diplomacy, which is basically an undetermined period of intense debate during which I try various methods to convince her of the advantages to actually having intercourse and how it could only end up serving all mankind for the Greater good, not to mention improving my emotional health and ability to live through at least one day without crying, drinking or actually becoming a serious danger to her, myself and society at large.
But it has always been my nature to overanalyze every sexual encounter I’ve ever had or might have in the future and the whole thing gets bogged down in internal dialogues with points, counter-points, tri-colored pie graphs and flow charts and a weird kind of binomial nomenclature that even I can’t decipher properly once I get started.
She was lying there, naked and waiting, and I was weighing options like an idiot.

Well…let’s just say that I eventually made the Right Decision. And there was Joy in Rookedville again.

Right On.