Wantable

This happened again. If you are reading - and I hope you are - you are a very, very bad girl, and you deserve lots and lots of... chocolates? (Well, what did you expect from someone called "Innocent Loverboy"? Do I seem like I'd do spankings?!)

Once I'd regained my senses, which - considering the magnitude of my orgasm - took some time to do, I bade her a farewell and went to the bathroom to readjust my looks and adopt a disposition which didn't suggest I'd just had an orgasm talking to a very, very bad girl currently 2000 miles away.
I had a huge grin on my face, but for some reason I looked curiously unflushed - a little pink underneath the eyes, maybe - but no redness of the cheeks. There was evidence of sweat, however; my hair, which I hadn't washed for a day or so, was no longer scraggly and hanging down á la Severus Snape; it was stuck to my head. A brush through and I had a neat hairstyle once more - thanks to sweat. Natural hair gel, or what?

(Incidentally, I have this minute emerged from the shower. After a thorough wash and dry, my body gleams, and my hair is about three times its normal volume, and buoyant. I like it like that.)

So - was I OK? Check? Yes. Perfect.

I walked downstairs... and then I realised that my legs weren't actually fully working yet. Evidently my moment of pleasure had taken its toll on my body slightly, and I had to hobble up and down the stairs a couple of times until they stopped wobbling around a bit. I wasn't exactly bow-legged, but certainly a little unsteady.
I laughed to myself a little at the amusing way I was taking this, and entered the kitchen to find my mother serving dinner. Perfect timing! Excellent, we are both psychic after all. I poured myself a long, cold drink and gulped it down eagerly, still chuckling to myself at the reason I needed such a drink.

I think I unnerved my mother at the oddly frivolous mood I was in, but as I sat down to dinner in the highest of spirits, nothing could have darkened my day at that moment.