Winter was approaching. Not cold enough to bundle up, but cold enough to wear a jacket.
To my dismay, I hadn't had the pleasure of seeing her wearing any of her short dresses for a while, unless she was wearing leggings under them.
The contract on her apartment was up, so she decided to go ahead and move in with me. We spent a couple of days transferring all of her stuff to my apartment. Fortunately, both of us were semi-minimalists, so it was not too big of an ordeal.
I pondered the fact that she was actually going to be sleeping next to me every night. How will I deal with that, I thought to myself.
Because we usually are refraining from doing anything sexual, it got a little... frustrating, shall we say, at times.
I mean, I was half hard on that trip, but, just like in economics, the more of something there is, the less value it has, and the buildup has yielded some very nice results for her, so far, which I thoroughly enjoyed.
She sat in the passenger seat, surfing the internet on her phone, occasionally saying something related to whatever she happened to be seeing.
"What's a 'blumpkin'?"
I let out a quiet laugh.
"Something we won't be doing," I replied.
"Is that so, Mr. Man?" she asked jokingly, with a raised voice, as she started tapping intently on her screen.
I could not help but grow a huge smile.
"Well, maybe I'd like to decide for myself whether or not I want t-yeah, we won't be doing that," her tone lowered with perfect comedic timing, inciting me to laugh boisterously, which I rarely ever did.
She smiled to herself in appreciation.
After a moment, I asked, "What were you looking at that made you ask what a blumpkin is?"
Never looking up from the phone, she said, "Never you mind," with a sly grin on her face.
I could not stop smiling for a good thirty seconds.
Back a my place, or rather our place, we brought in the last of her belongings and hung up our jackets.
We put things away, organized, took inventory, rested in front of the TV.
It was getting close to dark, and we were getting hungry. She had said earlier that she wanted to cook for us to celebrate.
"I feel like eggs, tonight," she said, getting up and walking to the kitchen.
"Sounds good, but we don't have any," I warned.
"Shoot." I heard the fridge open. "You have a sausage."
I raised an eyebrow. "Why, yes. I do have a sausage," I said, wondering if she would catch the double entendre. "Would you like to eat my sausage?" No reply. "Perhaps with two eggs?" Another pause.
"I would very much like to eat your sausage," she replied, playfully.
I started chubbing a little.
"A nice hot sausage covered in the sticky runny of your eggs," she went farther than I expected, and then I was at full boner.
I heard the fridge close.
"I'm going to the store for some eggs," she said from the kitchen.
"Okay," I said from the couch.
As she passed by, she ran her fingers across my head and face, and then my raised fingers.