Look,Ma,Speedy Gonzales!

She is beautiful. And her body is just about perfect. As she slips out of her nightgown, I can see in the light of the nightstand that her breasts are upturned, expectant. Her navel is a finicky dip of an affair. Her waist is perfect - I can see her panties are already wet. I put the glass of wine and let out a slow whistle. She looks at me coyly, yet I can see that she is feeling shy. Her lips are petulant, and I can see the corners of her mouth rise as she smiles. The moonlight reflects off her perfectly formed shoulders, and I see the elegant curves gesturing to me unconsciously. The bend in her elbow. The soft flicking of her wrists as I offer her my glass. She sips a little, and then climbs into bed with me. It is a long night. We make slow, passionate love - our bodies warm with pleasure, and then we fall apart, exhausted with all the feverish lovemaking.

Good God,you were amazing, I compliment her.

Was I? Thank God. I haven't made love to anyone in a decade. My faggot of a husband never looks at my body. You are very good in bed. I take it you are experienced already. She smiles as she rests her head on my chest and strokes my belly.

I look away. What are you doing,Ayan?

Cuddy-me-not.

People like talking about people. Makes us feel superior. Makes us feel in control. And sometimes, for some people, knowing some things makes them care.Wilson: "If you've got a good life, you're healthy, you've got no reason to bitch, no reason to hate life."
House: "Well, here's the flaw in your argument: if I enjoy hating life, I don't hate life, I enjoy it."
Wilson: "I didn't say it was rational. HIV testing is ninety-nine percent accurate, which means there are some people who test positive, who live with their own impending doom for months or years before finding out everything's okay. Weirdly, most of them don't react with happiness, or even anger. They get depressed, not because they wanted to die, but because they've defined themselves by their disease. Suddenly, what made them Œthem' isn't real."
House: "I don't define myself by my leg."
Wilson: "No, you have taken it one step further. The only way you could come to terms with your disability was to some way make it mean nothing. So you had to redefine everything. You have dismissed anything physical, anything not coldly, calculatingly intellectual."

That's Greg House for you. With a scimitar for a tongue, and a pair of singularly imposing breasts for a boss.

Wives.

How can anyone not fall in love with Michelle Clunie?

Puerile Satisfaction.