The second he walked through the door, it was on. He ripped -and I literally mean ripped- my clothes off. We moved to the living room where he bent me over my couch and inserted himself inside me. Just as things were heating up, he farted. No, not a silent-but-deadly or a quick fart. A long and loud fart. My initial reaction was to laugh but when he ignored it I knew making a joke of it was out of the question.
As I continued to fight the urge to laugh, which became increasingly harder with every thrust, I smelled it. I spent the next minute or so trying to figure out what he had for dinner. I detected a hint of TacoBell. To avoid cracking up I was forced to cover my mouth with my hand and eventually shoved my face into my couch cushion.. I expected him to make a joke about it after he finished— but instead he acted like it never happened, even though the smell still lingered.