“I think we need to break up,” Farley said.
“Why?” Matt looked stunned. “I thought everything was going great.”
“You know what I look like when I come.”
“You know what I look like when I come?” Matt relaxed a fraction, confusion mixing with amusement as he realized this was not a real breakup conversation.
“I don’t think it’s an even exchange. I don’t know what I look like when I orgasm and if I look completely ridiculous I can’t have you running around with that kind of information and those images in your head,” Farley explained. “I was walking up the stairs at work the other day and it just hit me, like an anvil, that you know what I look like when I come. It’s fucking embarrassing, man. I mean, I know what I sound like during sex and it is barely tolerable for me that you know that but for you to know what I sound like and what I look like? God, I wanted to die from humiliation.”
“Do you want to have sex in front of a mirror so you can see what you look like when you come?”
Farley paused. “That sounds reasonable. If I look completely ridiculous, we’ll have to breakup and you’ll leave immediately.”
“Okay,” Matt agreed, kissing Farley’s forehead.
“And I mean immediately,” Farley said, hugging Matt and resting her head on his shoulder. “You are not allowed to stop and get dressed.”
Matt smiled and stroked her hair, making a mental note to “forget” a shirt or sweatshirt at Farley’s place the next time he stayed over.
“Deal,” he said.