The sun rose like a shy blush spreading across the cheeks of the world. Warm, peach-hued light poured gently into the sanctum where Henry lay, legs half-open, arms flopped like he had survived a very steamy yoga apocalypse.
He groaned softly, his hips twitching like they still remembered last night's epic clapping. His pillow whispered encouragement.
"You were magnificent."
"Thanks," he mumbled, drooling slightly.
The air was different. Heavy, but in a sexy way. Like it was wearing lingerie.
Climaxa hovered into the room, wearing a robe made entirely out of fog and secrets. "Wake up, Thrusticator. It's time."
Henry blinked at her. "Time for what? More bouncing? More cheek diplomacy? I can't feel my glutes. They filed for independence."
Climaxa floated closer and booped his nose. "Time... to enter the Moist Mirage."
Henry sat up like a man whose body had given up, but whose curiosity was harder than ever. "What the hell is that?"
