Your boyfriend doesn’t understand why you won’t have sex with him in the hammock. You try to tell him it just won’t be that comfortable, but he’s not buying it. It’s your last day in the rental cabin and he wants to make sure the two of you get the most out of it.
“Come on,” he says. “We’ve had sex in the lake. In the outdoor shower. At the top of the hiking trail. Even in the papasan chair in the cabin. The only place left is the hammock.”
“Godammit!” you scream at him. “I just don’t want to!”
Your boyfriend goes and mopes by the fire pit. It’s not his fault he wants to have sex with you in the hammock. He just wants to celebrate how much he loves you. You’d better go to him and tell him the truth.
“My Dad died in a hammock,” you tell your boyfriend. “He fell asleep. Then he had a nap nightmare, twisted himself up in the hammock and choked to death. We found him there, wrapped up and blue.”
Your boyfriend hugs you close. He apologizes. Had he known, he never would have suggested it. He should have been more sensitive.
“No,” you say, pissed at yourself for ruining the vacation. “No I need to get over this. My dad dying can’t affect my relationship with hammocks forever. It’s time for me to move on.”
You drag your boyfriend by the hand to the hammock and you take off his clothes, then yours. Gingerly, you climb in, then he climbs in after you. You kiss, carefully, trying to maintain your balance, then before you know it, you’re making love. Passionately, wonderfully. You can’t believe you feared the hammock for so many years. You’re having better sex than you have had all week, until you’re just about to come, and the hammock flips in on itself trapping you both in its net. You’re both dead within seconds.
Happy Hammock Day!
