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by WaylandCybersmith

So, I says to the wife "Why don't you moan?"

"Oh," says she, "I moan if I have reason, and God knows you give me plenty."

"That's not what I mean." Says I.

"Be clear, then, or you will hear me moan and no mistake."

So I sat, and I thought, how best to explain myself.

I says "You know that Jim?"

"The one in the pub? Unsavoury sort? You can tell 'cos his shirts aren't ironed."

"That's the one. He tells me that his women moan."

"I'm not surprised. I'd moan. I bet he's never heard of anti-disperspirant."

"No, no, no. He says, when his women are at the heights of passion, they moan."

"Heights of passion? Heights of passion? Have you gone funny? What's that all about then?"

"You know, when they're - romancing. Why don't you moan when we're - romancing?"

"Get off with you! When have you taken me to the - what did you call it? The heights of passion? You can't get passionate with someone who keeps their socks on."

"I think I could. If you encouraged me."

So, there we were, middle of the day, romancing.

Then she says "Do you want me to moan now?"

"Not yet," I says.

Then a few minutes later "What about now?"

Well, I was just at my limit, so I says "Yes, yes. Now."

She says "Well, that living room needs repainting, and you haven't touched the garden in weeks. As for that garage, well, words fail me."

© WaylandCybersmith 2011


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