I'm still in the phase in which I'm struggling to find a serious post. More than this I'm a long long way from writing seriously and so tonight I need to continue to write in a lightweight and lighthearted way. My last post, Lightweight Posts - But Not This One!, went down well. How will tonight's true story of a new, or so I think, method; an effective but unreliable method of male contraception be received? There is only one way to find out. Take the risk and write. Fortunately there are no photos.
I'm going back a fair number of years to the time when the first Mrs Carr was on the scene. This Mrs Carr has no role in the humour of this story other than she was the object of my sexual desires, as I was of hers, and in the end both of us were unfulfilled.
Not long after we married we moved to a house in the country a few miles up a single track road but still close to civilisation. I loved being in the middle of nowhere where the night sky was black, I loved opening our back door and being in the country and I loved Mrs Carr so incredibly much.
I've just started and I've drifted away from my story. Now our sex life was conventional but great. After so many years I can't remember any details other than one fateful night.
This night, as always, we were having sex on our bed. Isn't it strange that I use the f--- word often as a swear word but I can't use it here. I can't even use "s---"! What a sensitive soul I am. The missionary position. How conventional! I should say that back then I was a much finer figure of a man than I am today. Not obese. Not overweight. Not a "fat bastard". Not quite as "lean as a whippet" as Wolfie of Two Wolves mentioned in a comment to an earlier post of mine but slim and fit from playing football and hill-running.
There I go again blethering. Get back to the story for God's sake. Sorry!
Right. There we were, on our bed, missionary position, Mrs Carr may well have peaked once already, I'm not far away, closer, closer
and then it happened a...a...g...g...h...h!!!!!
What the fuck was that? This wasn't a toilet seat cracking. The wrong part of my anatomy was throbbing! This was a cat with its claws in my big toe! Silly bloody cat was trying to jump onto the bed and it was using my big toe as a rope ladder.
Well, you can imagine that our sex was over. There was only one part swollen now; my poor big toe.
Soon we were able to laugh at our misfortune but happy that no more sensitive part was attacked. Then we realised that we had discovered a new method of contraception. This method - I know you're there ahead of me but I'm going to state the obvious anyway - we called "catus interruptus". I know it's obvious; I know it's crass; I know it's not funny now but it was incredibly funny that night.
Just once did this happen. Once was enough. We shut the bloody cat out after this when sex was at all likely.