Personal privacy is a concept Chatswinians don’t particularly grasp. They each want it for themselves, hence the private planes jetting off to private islands. But it is strictly forbidden for others, hence the public announcements regarding privately menstruating tweens. Given this, it seemed unlikely Scott and I would ever get any time alone -- especially when you factor in the whole “search and seizure” incident that landed me here -- but, with a little encouragement from Noah, George got seduced by the glitz and glamour and gambling of the Vegas of the East and left town for a guys’ night out.
Now, look -- I want to make it clear that I was never going to have sex with Scott. Despite Lisa’s demands that I go tribal on him -- it still feels like that might be offensive -- I thought maybe we’d just round first base and slide into second. At no point were we going to go anywhere near the “Love Box.” Chocolate syrup, Kama Sutra playing cards and XL condoms were simply not on the docket for the night, no matter what Lisa’s intriguing/kinky vision of my night with Scott might involve. And while I was glad that the chocolate syrup remained capped, I certainly wish things had moved a bit further.
But witnessing natural childbirth sans epidural apparently inhibits your sex drive. And that’s understandable, I suppose. I’ve seen “The Miracle of Life.” I just don’t know when Scott and I will have another chance to be alone. I guess I need to learn to be patient.
But those abs...