She doesn’t want to play tonight. She’s tired and grumpy and I think she might be holding in a shit – or at least I wouldn’t be surprised if she was holding in a shit, considering the meal she ate for lunch… that greasy double cheeseburger and cup of clam chowder that didn’t look quite right. So I ask her if she’s feeling okay. And I ask her if her stomach hurts, or if she’s mad at me, or if she just didn’t get enough sleep last night. But she says that she’s fine. Are you sure? I ask. And again, she shrugs and says that she’s alright. So I kiss her neck and I gently cup her breasts. I say, you look sexy, babe, and I work my fingers down her body… Hey! She says, stop it! I don’t want to play! And so there I lay, half-hard, thinking to myself, I bet she has to take a shit.