In my mind, I am rewriting what happened tonight. Instead of me ending up with a fever and missing out on sex, I'm going to pretend that I got laid. I'm going to imagine that watching our action flick lead to kisses and gropes and fondles. That we kept having to rewind to see the parts we missed while we were making out. That after the good guys saved the day, he turned off the TV and gave me a wonderful massage with this delicious-smelling chocolate massage oil I just got for review. That his massage got a little on the erotic side, and he went down for a happy ending. That we tried out some new lubes, and slipped on a new cock ring to try.
I'll imagine that between that vibrating ring, his cock, his hands, and my trusty Mystic Wand, I was screaming loud enough to wake the neighbors. That we had one of our old marathon-style sex sessions, where we actually have to pause for a rest after the first 45 minutes of fucking. That we laugh as usual at the sheer volume of lube we're having to use ("Does my pussy eat lube for breakfast or something?!"), and my hair always getting between his face and mine just when we want to kiss. That our bodies fit together so perfectly in the heat of the moment, even if someone's head accidentally hits the wall. That we both collapse into a happy cuddle-pile afterward, whispering sweet nothings to each other. That we can't keep our hands off of each other, even while we're cleaning up the toys once we recover. That we end up in bed for another quick round before dinner.
I'm going to imagine that, because it's so much sexier than having to be taken home with a fever by a worried boyfriend.