Congratulations on Discovering that Sex is Better WIthout the Sheet!

Sheet sex is safe sex, and it’s the only safe sex. Even no sex isn’t safe when there’s no sheet involved. We all know the cachetisms and the public-service videos. But do we live by them? Rarely! Handjobs and open mouth kisses abound with nary a sheet in sight.

But you, dear reader, have always stood as a halcyon beacon to true American values (where American means, as Republicans will tell you, the most retardedly conservative Christian value system imaginable) and have never, ever, ever had romantic physical contact with anyone at any time without the use of a sheet.

Until tonight. Your wife, bless her whorish heart, is going to start kissing you on the forehead without putting the sheet with a hole in it in place, and you’re going to get super aroused.

“I’m getting super aroused,” you’ll announce to your dutiful wife, who will smile knowing and then put your penis in her mouth.

You’ll open up your gab-flap to protest her amorous actions, but within about twenty seconds of raw, un-sheeted fellatio, you won’t be able to remember why you ever used a sheet in the first place. The two of you will then get a pair of lesbians and an obese man in a gimp costume to come to your house and join in on your sheet-free lovemaking, proving once and for all that true American values are under attack from the gay and gimp communities.

When you’re done you’ll have abandoned your coital sheet in favor of living dangerously, having marital sex without the intervention of a small piece of fabric intended to obscure the horror of your twined naked bodies. You’ll enjoy sex tons more, since your wife is super hot and your sheet was made of some weird, really chafe-ey fabric. But unfortunately you’ll also be condemned to an eternity of damnation, thanks to your abandonment of the true path. So you won’t be lifted from the planet when the Rapture comes in a few days.

Win some, lose some, we guess.

Congratulations on Discovering that Sex is Better Without the Sheet!

Congratulations on Tricking Your Wife Into Having the Devil's Baby!

“Hey honey,” you’ll mumble into her ear, winding your arm around her stomach. She’ll let out a long breath, one you’ll feel rolling through her gut as she rests her head against yours. You’ll feel the smile roaring through her body rather than see it.

“Mmm,” she’ll purr. “Hi.”

You’ll turn her around gently. Both your eyes will already be closed as you inch her nearer and nearer to your face. You won’t speak another word, you’ll just move your lips to hers and up and over and under and within and words won’t matter by the end of it. You’ll drag step to the bedroom awkwardly in each other’s arms, but you won’t notice, you’ll be so focused on not touching, on not removing any clothing until you settle into the bed and begin your work, purposeful, methodical, reflexive and thoughtlessly infinitely engaging.

When you enter her you won’t be thinking of anything, anything in the world. That moment, that moment you’ll find yourself pinned within will be perfect, leaving you to echo inside your own mind until it builds to soundless cacophony in your ears, the driving force of your own blood pushing you over the edge gasping soundlessly as she smiles and sweats below you, her eyes again closed.

You won’t think about the deal you made with the devil until the next morning, when your Ski Doo materializes in your garage. Your wife will be puzzled, but you’ll tell her not to worry as you run your hands over her belly. You’ll wink and tell her that everything will be fine, wondering, as you do it, if the children of the anti-Christ might be spared the fires of his coming, on account of raising him and stuff.

Congratulations on Tricking Your Wife Into Having the Devil’s Baby!