I Didn’t Mean To Fart During Oral Sex, Sorry

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lped me obtain, the whoosh of anal air plastered your face. Maybe you should’ve reconsidered going down on me after introducing me to your fav Mexican restaurant? Either way, I apologize.Also, I assure you I didn’t expect my period due that early. Destroying your mother’s prized satin sheets to the point of them needing to be chucked into our weekend bonfire… not my proudest moment. But then, again, you said you despised her gift of Barbie-toned bed attire. Maybe me helping shorten their lifespan was beneficial?Look, sex is messy. I didn’t complain about the dozens of times your juices seeped out of me later in the day. Leaving wet marks on the driver’s side of my parent’s vehicle. Soaking me during an interview (I didn’t get that job, thanks for asking). You probably owe me – and the church – an apology for staining that 300 year old pew.There are so many mortifying moments during the carnal act your mother thought too dirty to discuss outside of health class.Sights, smells, sounds…Like queefing. Just another n

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aturally noisy part of sex. When you ride someone like they’re your prize mare it only seems reasonable that you expect some vaginal build-up. What else is my funbox supposed to do with all that compressed air? Maybe if you kept your bicycle tires and inflatable fishing dinghy closer to the bed?At least we both laughed about it. Unlike the time you lost your molar down my throat and insisted I dig through my own feces until it showed up.Remember the time I thought it might be amusing to braid your pubic hair into your jeans zipper? Yeah, sorry about that. Not being an owner of any sort of real-life, skin-covered penile attachment I didn’t think that one through.But we had many good times, right? I hope you remember them as fondly as I do. And, if not, well at least we both got loads of orgasms out of our encounters.I think of you sometimes – mostly when I get those painful gas grunts mid-coitus. Here’s hoping life for you is a blast!Sincerely and with apologies,Your Fart-in-face Ex</article></body>

Sometimes the worst things just happen

Dearest Lovers who have worshipped my body as though it was some new age sex addict altar,

I owe you a million apologies.

Yes, sex is embarrassing. And yes I probably made it even more so. Things happen — sorry not sorry.

I mean, I honestly didn’t purposefully fart when your face was right down there tickling my inner thighs.

You get that it’s already a vulnerable thing to have someone down below belly button level, right? I wanted to ask, as you investigated my labia with your tongue, are my vulva large? Or merely average-sized? Do I smell okay? Do you like doing that?

Instead, as I rode the climax you so kindly helped me obtain, the whoosh of anal air plastered your face. Maybe you should’ve reconsidered going down on me after introducing me to your fav Mexican restaurant? Either way, I apologize.

Also, I assure you I didn’t expect my period due that early. Destroying your mother’s prized satin sheets to the point of them needing to be chucked into our weekend bonfire… not my proudest moment. But then, again, you said you despised her gift of Barbie-toned bed attire. Maybe me helping shorten their lifespan was beneficial?

Look, sex is messy. I didn’t complain about the dozens of times your juices seeped out of me later in the day. Leaving wet marks on the driver’s side of my parent’s vehicle. Soaking me during an interview (I didn’t get that job, thanks for asking). You probably owe me – and the church – an apology for staining that 300 year old pew.

There are so many mortifying moments during the carnal act your mother thought too dirty to discuss outside of health class.

Sights, smells, sounds…

Like queefing. Just another naturally noisy part of sex. When you ride someone like they’re your prize mare it only seems reasonable that you expect some vaginal build-up. What else is my funbox supposed to do with all that compressed air? Maybe if you kept your bicycle tires and inflatable fishing dinghy closer to the bed?

At least we both laughed about it. Unlike the time you lost your molar down my throat and insisted I dig through my own feces until it showed up.

Remember the time I thought it might be amusing to braid your pubic hair into your jeans zipper? Yeah, sorry about that. Not being an owner of any sort of real-life, skin-covered penile attachment I didn’t think that one through.

But we had many good times, right? I hope you remember them as fondly as I do. And, if not, well at least we both got loads of orgasms out of our encounters.

I think of you sometimes – mostly when I get those painful gas grunts mid-coitus. Here’s hoping life for you is a blast!

Sincerely and with apologies,

Your Fart-in-face Ex