I broke wind, it broke the ice.

It was a super cute, mini-break away in Wales with the guy I’m kinda seeing. I say “kinda” because I’m a tad confused and don’t want to label it, so yeah. Anyway, it’s early days, our first break away, we are both on our best behaviour. 

Its all running smoothly. Very smoothly, infact. Sweet little- BLOODY FREEZING AND HUGELY WINDSWEPT– walks along the beach, hand-in-hand. Proper relationshippy stuff. Candlelight meals for two at fancy little restaurants. We even set off a paper lantern and kissed as we let it go. YES, it was the kind of stuff, that would ordinarily, make me a little sick in my mouth.

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Anyway, aside from the lovey dovey stuff we also retreated back to our hotel room now and again to do the deed. The sex was fantastic. It was. Mmmmm. Until…(as I tell this tale I am blushing and getting slightly sweaty palms) we were in the moment. It was feeling GREAT. When, I let rip. Yes, I farted.

It would have been totally acceptable if I wasn’t a woman (afterall, ladies never break wind, do they girls?!) I’m not the kind of girl who burps at the dinner table, casually farts during a movie and necks pints of beer in between- I’m really not. I’m the kind of girl who puts a tap on when she wees for fear of being overheard.

A mid-sex fart, is top of my UNACCEPTABLE hugely embarrassing list of things that one must not do. But I did. He said nothing, I said nothing. I don’t know if he heard (I’m pretty certain he did just trying my HARDEST to pretend he couldn’t have) but, and for this I am HUGELY grateful, he didn’t acknowledge it.

If I was him, it may have been a game changer- bedding the Queen of Farts, a girl who clearly isn’t in control of her bodily functions and who may or may not be bordering on incontinent.

But he texted me again, and he is as keen as ever….perhaps he is slightly deaf, or maybe me breaking wind, broke the ice?!

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