Every couple who has sex without using condoms is familiar with a nasty phenomenon that occurs post-boning. It’s so commonplace that most people can make jokes about it without many quizzical looks or questions unless, of course, you shout it out in a kids museum, in which case it probably takes on a whole new perverted meaning. But THAT is neither here nor there.
That’s right, The Internet, I’m talking about The Dreaded Wet Spot.
This occurs so frequently to me that I have tried to position myself while having sex on The Daver’s side of the bed. This way, when I make my frantic run of shame to the bathroom immediately post-ejaculation, the residual is left for my loving fiance to sleep atop of.
Because I am a very, very nice person.
I’m not really sure what it is that makes the Wet Spot so damn gross to sleep on. I mean, semen itself isn’t exactly awesome, but it’s also not that sick either. It reminds me a lot of pennies and dishwasher detergent, neither of which are all that grody, and plus, if I’m covered in The Spooge, it means I just got laid, which is always full of The Awesome.
But there is something so fundamentally disgusting about the wet spot that kind of astounds me, who is grossed out by so very little. I’m training to be a nurse, for God’s sake, and it’s not poo or anything. I guess it’s cold, and slimy, and sticky and if you fall asleep on it, you’re kinda stuck to that particular stretch of sheet/mattress, trapped on the sheets until your bedmate chooses to pull you off of it.
IF your bed mate is kind enough to pull you off of that, I suppose I should say.
Well, the moral of the story is that last night, I lost the battle with the Wet Spot to totally destroy all Wet Spots. It was truly a sight to behold. And un-luckily, and the reason I’m writing this post, is because it was centered directly on my side of the bed. My back has the strangest crick in it because I spent most of the night arranging myself into positions that didn’t allow too much of my skin contact with the disgusting puddle I nicknamed Lake Spoogekins.
Normally, when I nickname things, even gross things, like Stinky The Skunk, it’s because I love it so very much and I want to keep it forever and ever in a jar under my bed because I am so full of The Love for it.
Not this time, tho. I would punch that Wet Spot in the fucking face if I could.