Since Pete got back from Australia he’s been making lap dens in my lap. Every time I sit on the sofa he grabs the closest pillow and manhandles it into my lap pushing at my thighs like I was a mother cat full of milk.
We’ve just finished eating dinner. Lap dens are made. I am immobilised and his head is heavy on my stomach. It hurts. I’m full. I want him to get off. I can’t tell him to get off. I decided to tickle him. I burrowed my fingers deep into his armpits and wiggled them back and forth like I was scratching at nail enamel. It really tickles. He laughs, it’s pained. I am bordering on victory as his stomach muscles tense and his head lifts for a brief reprieve.
He says, “stop, I’m gonna be sick, hahahahahaha…I’ve just eaten!” I keep tickling. Pete realises that he has to get serious. Threats are all that are going to work and so he releases his biggest arsenal.
“I am going to throw up ALL OVER YOU!” he yells
I keep tickling. He draws the second gun…
“ and I’m NOT going to apologise!”
