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Summary
The times Frank thought about having sex with Mel, it didn’t happen like this. It wasn’t after a long shift at work, it wasn’t at her house, it wasn’t with the watchful eyes of her mouse clock staring down at him from above her window. (The actual clock part, with the arms and the numbers, was a block of cheese in the mouse’s arms. The five seconds that Frank allowed himself to make eye contact with it while his face was buried between Mel's legs, he couldn’t help but note that the mouse looked waaay too happy about having something new to watch and listen to). There was supposed to be rose petals and jazz music, not jazz remixes of popular TikTok songs but real, actual jazz music, and the lights, all the lights, were supposed to be off. The overhead light especially was not supposed to be left on in the middle of his desperate scramble to take her pants off and toss her onto the mattress.
And all those times he thought about his first time with Mel - well, he definitely wasn’t supposed to cum in less than a minute.