The toothpaste

She does it exactly the way I would do it. She squeezes the tube of toothpaste in the exact middle, throttling it with her relatively giant fingers until it is almost out, then she rolls the tube from the bottom so as not to waste the last of it. Then we throw the completely empty tube of toothpaste into the wastebasket. We don’t have any problems at all.

Except that they got inside somehow and roped us to the tub and it has been several hours now, not sure if they have a plan for us and I am less sure about the gash over my eye, what was it from a boot, but I can not see out of it, and she stopped moving about fifteen minutes ago.

We are good, the toilet paper doesn’t go on a rack. We have a basket for it, you take it out of the basket. No worries, no headaches.

And the lid of the toilet. Wait til I tell you. I put it down and she puts it up.

We don’t have a toilet seat, we have a teeter-totter.

And the toothpaste, with my clumsy fingers.

Outside of a dog

When the atomic apocalypse had run its mostly automated course and we were relatively certain we were the last two surviving people in the world, for from our bunker we could fly the drones across the expanse of the continents, and we had really hoped to find other survivors because we were lonely for old-fashioned loving, with the slow caresses and deep French kissing it entailed, so that we had been very meticulous in our search, we decided that it was time to make a survival baby in one of the narrow bunkbeds with the cotton blue covers.

Make it quick, you grunted the first time, but for me those days were long past, and I had to do quite a bit of pumping just to get the juices flowing.

I quite enjoyed it, I told you shyly, as you zipped up your contagion suit, facing the wall, but you replied that there had to be a better way. I can do it into a cup, I replied, and you use the catheter syringe to insert the juices.

Don’t call them juices, you snapped, you pig, and that was when we heard the pounding on the exterior southeast door, and found Pablo out there.

My God, Pablo, you breathed, as he ripped into his third freeze-pack dinner of ham and peas in white gravy, your muscles are absolutely finesse. Look at the size of your pecs, baby, look at your six pack.

And that was the last time I would ever have sex with a woman.