The Dwarf Making Sweet, Sweet Love To The Skeleton Part 19

This is the continuation of a story. You can read the rest here.

Since it’s already written, I see no point in keeping you in suspense. This is the chapter I talk about here.


I can’t move my arm. Why can’t I move my arm? I can move my hand though. Let’s see. What’s this? Something fuzzy and wet. I am in my bed, right? Neither fuzzy nor wet belong in my bed. What’s this over here? Something squishy, but not fuzzy nor wet. Warm. What is going on here? I can’t see anything. It’s dark.

I investigate with the arm that isn’t pinned under fuzzy and wet only to find fuzzy and wet again with my other hand. What’s up here? This feels like… like an arm? Yes, that’s definitely an arm. Who’s arm? It’s not mine. Mine are right here. Oh, there’s my other hand. What is it holding? Squishy. Warm.

“Walker! What the hell?!”

The warm and squishy has moved. I know that voice. It’s Bets’ voice. Why is her voice here? What’s it doing connected to squishy and warm?

I’m blind! Someone has turned on the sun or maybe just a lamp. I take the arm that isn’t pinned under fuzzy and wet, and immediately cover my eyes. “What?”

“Why the hell are you feeling me up?” comes the voice again.

I open one eye to discover that I’m spooning a rather large dog who is drooling on my pillow. On the other side of that, Bets is sitting up and defensively choking the life out of my sheet. Squishy. Warm. I open the other one. “Bets? What are you doing in my bed?”

“Why are you feeling me up?”

“Why are you in my bed? I distinctly remember you not in my bed when I went to sleep. That also applies to the dog. Why is the dog also in my bed?” Fuzzy. Wet.

“Nora’s on the couch in the living room. I didn’t want to leave her here in the apartment alone just in case anything happened. I slept in the chair, but I must have wandered in here at some point.”

“She’s not alone. I’m here.”

“Yeah, but you can’t be trusted.” The look on her face screams that she immediately regrets saying those words, but her mouth says nothing.

“Gee, thanks. It’s nice to know how you really feel.”

“You know what I mean.”

“No, actually, I don’t. You never tell me anything going on in your head and you give me nothing but attitude and eye rolls. I put up with it, because… well, honestly, I don’t know why.”

She says nothing, so I go on digging my hole, “I can’t be held responsible for feeling you up when A) I was asleep and B) I didn’t even know you were there, so 3) it’s your fault that I felt your warm and squishies, and 4) I’m apparently not to be trusted.”


She looks defeated, and suddenly very feminine and small like a little girl. I have a flash of an impulse to reach out to her, but it passes just as quickly. I’m angry. “That’s right. I’m the asshole and it’s all my fault. Out!” I point my finger in the direction of the living room.

She says, “Come on, Shamus, let’s leave the asshole to sleep in his big comfortable bed alone,” but she doesn’t move. Shamus continues drooling on my pillow.

“Fine. You stay. I leave.” And with that, I find myself sleeping on the couch in my office without so much as a blanket. Damn her. We’ll call this a draw.

To be continued…