I'm sorry, maybe you didn't understand. Allow me to repeat myself.
There will be no coitus of any kind in your bed, specifically due to the bed's shape and size. Is that clear enough for you to understand?
You might be curious as to why I have nipped our potential foreplay, intercourse, and eventual spooning in the bud, simply for reasons of bed-size. Let me explain.
First and foremost, I'm uncomfortable doing anything physically exerting when confined to a such a miniscule space, mostly due to the sheer size of our bodies in relation to the bed itself.
Let's look at the cold hard facts. As a tall woman (I stack up at 5-feet-10 inches), I find the space provided by a twin bed to be inadequate for any sort of intimacy.
The overall dimensions of a twin bed are 39'' wide and 75'' long. The width-per-person of a twin bed is 39'', as opposed to say, a double bed that is 54'' wide with a width-per-person of 27''.
Do you understand what that means? It means that even the manufacturers of twin beds, cruel as they are, understand that the bed is constructed specifically for one person, not two.
I find this to be a solid point for my argument
and that's before we take height into consideration. As I mentioned before, I am 5-feet-ten, or 70'' tall. As I rarely hop in the sack with men that are shorter than I (a result of my intense fear of the "Big Girl, Little Boyfriend" syndrome that seems to be plaguing many of my peers), that means that you, the twin bed owner, are at least 70'' tall, preferably more.
This ultimately means two things, things that contribute to the reasons that I will not be having sex with you at this juncture: One, there is no way possible that we are squeezing at least 140 height inches and god-knows-how-many width inches into a space you probably slept in comfortably as a five year old. That's just too many inches, wouldn't you agree?
Two, as you are an adult male who sleeps in a twin bed, you obviously have a casual disregard for comfortable sleeping arrangements. This kind of destructive behavior and poor decision making is obviously a reflection of your outlook on life and your values, and therefore a relationship between us, sexual or otherwise, would never work out.
Let's look past the numbers for a moment. Let's take away the inches and the silly equations and the proportions of the small little bed you have, and take a minute to focus on perception.
When I met you, I perceived you to be everything I look for in an adult male with a potential for boning. Accomplished, handsome, witty, similar to myself in that you make irrational, on-the-fly judgements of everyone who walked by. Perfect, I thought.
Imagine my shock when I took my first trip to your apartment, a trip that was supposed to end in some sort of fornication, and discovered your dirty little secret, the rectangular nightmare shoved into the corner of your bedroom, covered in pillows and a giant bedspread that were unsuccessful in making it appear larger (if that was, indeed, your goal).
Suddenly, my perception of you changed. Instead of "accomplished," I thought, "virgin." Instead of handsome, I thought "virgin." Instead of witty, I thought "witty virgin."
And instead of a judgemental partner-in-crime, I realized that what I had on my hands was nothing more than another victim, a judgemental fraud who, in reality, deserved to be judged himself. In my eyes, the predator had become the prey.
For you see, twin bed owner, there is absolutely no reason that you should be a patron of such a tiny sleeping apparatus. You are a grown man, and should therefore upgrade to what my lovely grandmother refers to as a "big boy bed."
That way, when you bring a girl over to your place, she won't ask herself questions such as "Was there once a red plastic race car around this bed?" or "Does this bed also boast rocket ship sheets?" or "How the fuck are we both going to fit in this teeny, tiny little elf bed?!"
Think I'm being irrational? Argue that it's ludicrous for me to assume that a small bed automatically implies a small pool of relationship/life experience? Well, fine. Disregard that for a minute and let's create a hypothetical.
Say I forgot all of those burning questions, threw caution to the wind and got into bed with you anyways. Now, as we are engaging in whichever sexual act I have chosen for the night, we both have to worry about body placement and angle. We're utilizing the geometry and physics we learned in college. One wrong move, one misplaced limb, could result in a complete gravitational takeover, a "loss of the moment" and even a potential injury. Talk about a mood killer.
And say we complete the act without any sort of interuption. What now? I suppose you suggest we go to sleep? Sounds great: An entire night of discomfort, me curled up in a ball, you latched around me like a monkey in the spoon position, partially because you want to feign intimacy, and partially to keep me from falling directly on to the floor.
You're breathing on my neck because, let's face it, with 39'' of width there's no where else to breathe. I can't turn over, because I'll either knock you off this tiny bane of my existence or find another equally uncomfortable position that I'll feel committed to for at least the next 1/2 hour. Because, you know, it took so much effort to get there.
I'll want to leave, and you'll want me to leave (but are too polite to say something). So instead, we just quietly stew in our own discomfort, our own little 39'' by 70'' portion of hell.
So you see, there is absolutely no possible way I'll be having sex with you in your twin bed. Call me when you upgrade. If you decide on the California King, I might even bring a friend. Cause, you know, we'd have room.