Lunch, gingering, and figging

I wanted to spend as much time as I could with my guy before he left for India for a couple of weeks ago. Our company had Good Friday off as a statutory holiday. Unfortunately, my guy had to work that day. He was holding a seminar at the office.

It has been such a hectic period at work that I had completely forgot about this holiday. I didn't have any plans for the Easter long weekend. I asked my guy if I could have lunch that day with him and join his seminar. He was good with that. We could then spend some quality time together afterwards.

We both came to the realization that all the office food places would also be closed.

The day before Good Friday, my guy and I were eating at our usual hangout. We asked whether the Chinese restaurant would be open the following day (we both knew the answer to that question, but wanted to know what time the restaurant would be open). My guy and I decided that we would drive everyone to the restaurant in our cars. There were six guests in total, so our two cars could seat everyone just fine.

I met everyone on Good Friday. We got along just fine. I tend to be comfortable talking in large group settings these days. It's probably because I am on teleconferences so often that I don't mind talking at all. We headed to the restaurant, had yummy food, exchanged a number of stories and jokes, and had a good time.

My guy insisted that he pay for my lunch. He is sweet that way. He even got the server to box my remaining Hakka chicken chow mein. Since it was a holiday, the lunch specials were not available. We all ended up ordering dinner-sized portions, so I got leftovers.

We got back to the training room and I attended the session, cracking jokes along with my guy while he was sharing his information with the group. My guy and I work well together. We feed off each other's wacky senses of humour.

My guy had ginger chicken for lunch. He had to burp.

"Sorry, guys. It's a byproduct of ginger chicken," he apologized.
"Should we move away from you?" I asked him. I was a couple of feet away from him.
"It hasn't reach the other end," he said, grinning.
"That is too much information!" I exclaimed, which made everyone laugh.
"I don't have to hit the washroom and do any gingering," he stated, with a continuation of laughter ensuing.

Yes, my guy now equates gingering to pooping. Weird.

We had a chat last week. I told him that gingering is related to figging. I explained the idea of peeling a ginger nub, and inserting it up one's butthole. He asked me whether I wanted to try it while spanking me. I didn't think that it would arouse me as much as simply being spanked. This notion, however, intrigued him.

"It's different how I am sharing with you a sexual practice that you are unfamiliar with. You normally share that sort of stuff with me," I stated.
"It's good," he replied.

It was sheer coincidence that his definition of gingering is closely related to what gingering truly means.