lap dance

The hairless tom can verbal or muscle the other subject into a good arrangement for cuddling but for myself, I take what I can get.

If she sits on the tall chair, her legs slant and eventually once relaxed, I slide off. Waking into mid-descent scramble is not ideal obviously. I can eyeball her and see if she will automatically shift herself into a good laptop position or else wedge an arm to prevent me from falling off the sharp slope of pitch.

When she sits cross-legged, I can nest in more but her muscles are harder and boney. It’s hard to get a good position that evenly distributes my weight and ensures good contact with her for symbiotic exchange.

If she sits straightlegged on the couch with her feet due south, I can sit on her softer arrangement of legs and watch for incoming pigeons. This is optimal but even with optimal there is a certain amount of turning around and getting the neck so that it doesn’t crimp a nerve, on me I mean. I call this my lap dance and I feel it sets the mood for further unity achieved through the stroke-purr exchange.

This exchange seems exceptionally useful these days as she seems particularly peaked. An hour or two of my special homeopathic deep penetration purr, and we both symbiotically gain something extra in our day. Beyond company, grooming and massage myself, I can shunt less energy to core heating while sitting on the reflective heating surface that she is.

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