[IMAGE: https://cdn.steemitimages.com/DQmYUDR2jmHohXT9NaFHACh9xDodMdSrVyMYvDXWMLbxacx/fed.png]Sammiches dammit, DO NOT mess with a good sammich!

>Mmm come here
she says taking a bite off her sandwich.
>Work it, guuurrrrl
are the words that are almost lost between bites off a sandwich so delicious, you begin to question existence itself.
>Mmhmmm mfffm ffmufffmffh
she mumbles leerily watching my cheeks swing in and out of her peripheral vision.
So intently is she focused on her sandwich, little else matters in this microcosmos of a home created for the express purpose of sharing a living space. And sandwiches. Lots and lots of sandwiches.
>Mhh aw yeah, hyuk
she nearly chokes on her sandwich as she spots the enhancement in my pants compartment. Though in my heart I know, nothing will even come comparatively close to the genuine enjoyment of a good, home-made sandwich. Not even whipped cream. Not even if said whipped cream were stuffed casually down my underpants.
>Aha, yeah, uh huh, I feel like I'm in a strip club right now eating a sandwich right now
she would have said if her mouth hadn't been stuffed full with sandwich at that moment.
I wish sandwich came in a can. I would have sprayed sandwich all over my girl, but instead I have to make do with whipped cream knowing full well it will never provide the full satisfaction of a no-nonsense sandwich.
Love is war, and we have to fight our battles with the implements we are given.

Sandwich.