aah the sleepover. nights spent pressed against love. limbs tangling, melting as together you rearrange and reshape, two halves whole. sleepy murmurs. kisses from deep within dreams. hands clinging together through the night, the appendage’s own memory seeking its mate.
it’s an act of intimacy. of love. so, like, you need to go home now.
make all the samantha jones references you will, we prefer our booty rendezvous to remain just that. there’s no need to spend the night. in fact it’s the sleepover that’s at the root of most great booty buddies gone bad, that other act of intimacy often a tipping point for someone’s emotions (for we’re all romantics at heart).
that overnight spot is reserved for those extra special boys we want to wake up beside. we can otherwise be found sleeping dead-center. spread eagle. loving every minute of it.
(image pinched from we heart it)
Chris ter Bekke says:
Love it! Well said!