I had to leave because I had to fart; I'm sorry. We were getting all hot n' heavy in the bedroom and it was all I could do to hold it in. I really felt like one was going to slip out, so I feigned concern that I left my car unlocked and ran downstairs in the hopes of expelling the putrid gas within. No luck.
I unlocked my car, opened the door and started doing squats right there in the darkened parking lot. My hope was to compress my bowels and force the farts out. Nothing.
I then squatted all the way to the ground while pushing my abdomen with my fists, this time physically squeezing with the hope of evicting the odorous bubbles of poo. Silence.
I reluctantly walked back upstairs and crawled back into bed. As luck would have it, as soon as I laid down, I again had to fart. Sphincter tightening to the point of exhaustion, I could take no more. You were in the mood for love, while I was in the mood to rip. I made up some excuse about not feeling well and persuaded you I had to go.
I knew you weren't buying it, but I left anyway and farted the entire way home.