iBed Again

We bought a new mattress and it’s a whopper.  The mattress too.  Yeah, and I’m going to try and write this post without another crude pun — a LiveJournal friend of mine from the States called them ‘crude puns’ the other day.  I wasn’t offended, although I prefer them to be known as ‘sheer droplets of crassness’.

 

But back to the mattress.

 

Just ohhhhhhhhhh.

Mac and I haven’t had a new bed in years.  Years.  We didn’t know about the invention of pocket springs, the advent of memory foam (where the upper layer of the mattress remembers the preferred position of your slumbering body and oozes with the notion that you’ll be lying back down really soon).  Nor did we know about LATEX.

 

Just ohhhhhhhh myyyyyyyyy …

 

Latex and bedding must go back a fairly long way, given the evolution of the *titters* ‘French letter’.  When I was younger, I always thought this term referred to the propensity for Aussies to have penpals from France. Little did I know that the actual French letter didn’t require the licking of a stamp, contained no envelope (just a ‘sheath’ of paper?) and would never be sent in a soft pack!

 

But I digress.  Crude puns?  NO.  Not in this post, thanks very much.

 

Latex in a mattress.  Time to talk about this.  I have never …  I didn’t realize … Oh, if I had known about the non-prophylactic use of latex in the bed, I would have sprung into buying a new mattress years ago.  I would have ditched the queen I slept in, trapping the crown jewels of course, and relocated them to the Sinful_Sultry_King_Mattress of Divine.

 

Words can’t really describe the experience of lying down on this Beauty o’ Bedding.  Imagine gaining that much pleasure, that much release, from pressing the body down atop a sensual layer of pocket springs, topped by a graphically wholesome layer of memory foam, graced (finally) by enough latex that once your spine encounters the GIVE, you’re … just …

 

ohhhhh … dear … and oh my … it’s just … ohhhhhhhh …

 

It’s true that this particular series of noises escaped moi lips when we tested each mattress in the store. The young lady helping us out on this occasion was glad to make a sale, but she appeared slightly bemused by the evident ‘fun’ I was having.  Naturally, Mac was a little more circumspect.  He refrained from the gushing noises of great pleasure, satisfied enough to nearly fall asleep in the process of selecting a mattress, while I oooohed and ahhhed and writhed.

 

Hmm.  This scenario sounds familiar and SHOULD NOT be repeated at home, ffs.

 

The young saleswoman became my personal idol of Comfort Provision.  She allowed us to prop and plop, presenting the ‘not so comfy, cheaper’ options first, then building up to the final row of OMG MATTRESSES. Every time I foofed down and moaned each vowel in my vocabulary, accompanied by selected gushing words of ‘jeez, wow, my oh my, dearie me’, the young woman smiled prettily.

 

Yeah, it became more awkward for her.  Upon reaching our eventual mattress and falling in love, the young woman said ‘I’ll leave you two to chat about it for a while and, um, just … okay …’ and wandered away.  She came back and advised us she’d throw in a free underlay, and when I almost HUGGED her (for making me the most comfortable woman in the world and underlaying us for free) she looked like she wanted to use additional latex as a protective shield from an amorous customer.

 

Surely this happens all the time?  Rickety customers coming into the store, discovering the world of latex and memory foam and suddenly WANTING the WORLD?  I would have given it to her, the lovely saleswoman, but I think she was happy enough for us just to leave before the situation got really out of hand.

 

So what are you doing on the weekend?  Don’t mind me, I’ll just be admiring the fine latex betwixt our sheets.