Guido has cold feet. No seriously, as they press up against me right now, I have to tell you he really does have cold feet. They are like two blocks of ice which have just cracked spontaneously off one of the polar ice caps. I realise there is probably an analogy you could read into this which has something to do with gay weddings and a guy suddenly getting cold feet. I’m pretty sure they are not cold feet of a marital kind, simply because I remember they have always been stone cold ever since I’ve known him. Well let’s hope so, though you’ll have realised by now we still haven’t finalised a date otherwise I’d have blogged it. I’m making a mental note as I type this. Here it is, and it’s desperate. Get married as soon as possible and to hell with the rainbow coloured macaroon controversy.
With the feet thing what I’m talking about is definitely physical rather than metaphorical. Unfortunately Guido’s are a titanic size twelve so you can’t really miss them when he gets into bed. First of all you hear him coming. There’s a dull thud as he takes a run up to our mattress through the bedroom door. If you’ve ever seen an Olympic pole vaulter hit the deck after a back flip you’ll know what I am describing. Then when he’s finally laying flat and both of his feet are sticking up, prone and erect, under the white sheets it’s like a couple of Casper the friendly ghosts making a ghoulish visitation. You could just about believe two meerkats had hopped in there with him and keep bobbing up and down. Those feet take up so much room I can only imagine that’s what it must be like having a foursome in the sack – only in our case there is still a lot of pushing and shoving but no multiple orgasms.
And talking of feet and orgasms I have to report I’ve discovered that my, myhusband&i, blog now appears on the best gay male blog website and it’s right next to another one called FOOTAHOLIC. Readers, if Guido never makes it big as a chef I reckon he could be huge in porn.