I'm not a cuddler.
I always feel like it's an obligation. I always want to say, "Oh, that won't be necessary. I'll just find my panties in the backseat and be on my way."
The thought of hot, moist breath on the back of my neck makes me cringe. All I can think is that my hair is going to frizz from the humidity. I don't like to be tucked under an arm like a football either. Unless it is roleplay. Then it's okay, but I don't like to wear the helmet.
There should be a ratio for the number of minutes that I am obligated to cuddle. A 1:1 ratio would be okay. I could deal with a minute of cuddling per minute of sex. That would be about four minutes. That works for me.
I would support a formula of cuddling based on gifts of shoes. This would be a sliding scale program. One pair of Valentino pumps would fetch 8.5 minutes. Kenneth Coles would earn a minute for one pair or three minutes for two. I like this formula even better than the ratio.
There would have to be Terms and Conditions, of course. Minutes are not redeemable for cash. No rolling over minutes for extended cuddle time. No frontal cuddling allowed. Minutes are not redeemable if I have a "headache." Minutes may be revoked for bad behavior or bad breath. Family members are not eligible. Rules are subject to change depending on my mood swings.
It's hard to approach someone with a cuddling formula. I have not perfected this yet. Last week, I was cuddled for seven minutes. In hindsight, I should have communicated my feelings about cuddling in advance. Instead, I sent an invoice for a pair of Bruno Magli pumps with Swarovski-crystal embellished heels.
It didn't go over well. I managed to turn it around and blame it on him. Still, no Brunos.
Saturday, I tried a different technique. I cued up a cd. "At the end of this song, you should go," I said.
That didn't go over well either. I guess he really liked that cd.