I'm writing from my newly purchased air mattress. I'm taking her for a spin tonight to see if I wake up in agony tomorrow. It's imperative that I have proper sleeping support or I may cause irreparable harm to my still healing spine. So far the bed is holding up well and I think I'll be okay, so long as it doesn't leak in the night. You know, inflatable mattresses are just air bladders. They'd benefit from a few kegels every now and again, to keep their sphincters tight. Problem is, they always drink so much air before going to bed that they can't hold it all night. What they should do, to kill two birds with one bone, is place the plug in the center of the sleeping area and paint it up like the mouth of a blow up doll. That way, when you're sleeping you can keep your dick jammed in the hole so it stays plugged up; you get a little sucky sucky, a soft cock and a hard bed. It's a match made in heaven.
I don't know why but I'm exhausted today. I think I stressed my immune system when I had a beer with that burger at lunchtime. It was a great burger; Umami Burger. Or might it have been the back waxing? Who knows. The peak of my fatigue hit me on the bus, where I sat smushed in between an obese, loud talking black woman on her cell phone and a short hispanic man with the physique and je ne sais quoi of a luchadora. My neck went slack as my eyes closed and my head rolled back. My mouth was agape and I could taste the woman's watermelon chewing gum as I dozed off. I had the dope fiend lean, the smack slouch. Why does it feel so good to fall asleep on public transit? For some reason it feels better than sleeping in my own bed. It's as though I'm breaking a rule, participating in a perversion; a sleep exhibitionist. With my unconscious head sliding onto the unsuspecting shoulder of the person sitting next to me, I transcend the unpleasantness of the bus and become it; one with the nuisance, someone's obstacle to exit or challenge to comfort.
It is the most satisfying slumber known to man.
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