A Fog Sex Fantasy

fog sex

With fall already here and winter well on its way, things are finally starting to cool down here in Texas. Yesterday, it was in the mid-80s, and by the end of the week, it’s supposed to get into the 30s.

Clara loves this time of year because she gets to put on long sleeves, sweaters, and leggings. I hate this time of year because Clara puts on long sleeves, sweaters, and leggings. Okay, so the leggings aren’t so bad.

There’s one aspect of this time of year that I fully appreciate, though: fog.

I don’t know what it is that draws me to fog exactly. Perhaps it’s the mystery of such an obscured world. It could be some appreciation for the eerie, seemingly magical atmosphere born of a fantasy nerd’s imagination after a childhood of entirely too much Mists of Avalon.

But speaking of fantasy, I desperately want to have fog sex with Clara sometime. I’m not sure why. Well, I know why I want to have sex with her, but fog sex?

Sure, there’s the outdoor factor, which we see immortalized by the Song of Songs.

Plus, kind of like rain sex, the cool mist could keep us from overheating.

Then there’s the primal unease of not knowing what’s lurking mere feet away, though in the suburbs it’d be more likely to be a voyeuristic feral cat watching our fog sex than some fantastic creature.

It could be as simple as knowing the cool air would make Clara’s nipples hard.

I’m not sure why it’s so appealing to me. Whatever the reason buried deep in my subconscious, we haven’t had an opportunity yet. Those wee morning hours before the sun burns it off are — these days — occupied by parenting. So for now, the fog sex fantasy will just remain distractingly stuck in my head.

If you are also ahomichlophile (a lover of fog), don’t let it distract you too much while driving in this foggy season. Of the ten accidents involving the most cars, eight of them involved fog. In two weeks, we’ll have the 15th anniversary of a 216 car pileup in Los Angeles, and you know the guy at the end of that never heard the end of it from his buddies: “Really, Stan? You didn’t see the 215 cars piled up in front of you?”

 

About Phil (251 Articles)
Philip Osgood is a Christian husband, father, and writer who considers himself a passable video game player, fiction reader, camping and hiking enthusiast, welder, computer guy, and fitness aficionado, though real experts in each field might just die of laughter to hear him claim it. He has been called snarky, cynical, intelligent, eccentric, creative, logical, and Steve for some reason. Phil and his beautiful wife Clara live in Texas with their children in a house with a dog but no white picket fence. He does own a titanium spork from ThinkGeek, though, so he must be alright.