But enough about bitch tits! Kisses were good, especially the minty fresh ones, and what with her tracing fingertips and burrow cuddling...Pete's inner cuddle whore was in cuddleriffic submission. That he'd never admit to in public, because that just isn't craptacularly manly or anything. Hi. TESTOSTERONE.
Pete hugged onto her and rubbed a very warm hand down over her back, to comfort her...and maybe encourage the burrow, because he loved the burrowing.
"I don't know either," he finally admitted after a long moment of quiet contemplation, "and I'm certain you'll find out why when you do dream those parts. But what I do know, is that we've been given this...life? Or a chance to do things different so it doesn't turn out as utter complete shite, this go around. M'not about to waste that, or repeat any mistakes. Your boy's probably important to you and you'll need to get it sorted when you remember why, which I support. Maybe one of us can figure out this mess. Pity's sake, there's even people on the network with names that I recognize. Howe'er, I don't 'ave any desire to go contacting them. Simply b'cos I remember them in dreams, doesn't mean that I'd get on with them, now. Different childhood, different situations, different conditions. Rather awkward, I think."