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Even though I was, architecturally-speaking, obligated to support her, I still felt like I was actively providing her comfort. The thought of that warmed me down to my threshold.
See, a lot of things happened in that grove and there was this perfectly-positioned knothole on this really sexy tree and the mead was flowing freely-” he gestured in a rolling circle with his hand. “You get the point.”
“I have no name but yours, Tana. I am your faithful guardian and
protector, nothing more, nothing less. I am your door, and I love you.”
The man that offered me this-” I pointed back and forth between us, “-said that we must be together. In the way you are with your shivering blue stick.”
If I hadn’t already been made of wood, I’d be stiff as a board at the sight.
“But, I mean, it can’t hurt anything, right? I mean, women
fuck cucumbers and bedposts and balloons and shit. This isn’t that weird, right?”
Wrapping my round brass protrusion in a soft cloth and a firm grip, she started polishing my knob with slow, smooth strokes that stirred something deep in my wood.
I’m taking your cameo in my recurring nightmare as consent, but if I’m wrong…I dunno, like, jiggle in your frame or something.”
“It’s not that I think you’re gonna knock me up with little, uh, trapdoors, or something, it’s
that I only trust lysol so much and doorknobs are kinda germ magnets. No offense. Hopefully that doesn’t fuck with the mojo but I don’t need to explain a UTI from this.”
Something about being called a good door made my human legs feel weak and shaky.
