So I made sweet, sweet love to a garden gnome this morning. Is that so wrong?

we lay back, panting, amongst the wild strawberries both glistening with sweat, and post-coital dew Not sated, I lunged again. This time it was going to be rough... locked in a passionate embrace, we rolled across the herbaceous border, legs entwined. His short, stubby, powerful pair desperate to pin my long, lean gams. He pulled a fast move, pistoning upwards and forcing me onto my front, face down in the dirt. "Take it all, bitch!" he squealed. This was far from over. For a moment, he had the upper hand. Rooting against me with that hard, sweaty, little nubbin. Grunting disgustingly, I could smell the Jack Daniels on his breath and in his sweat...I used our safe word. It made no difference. Crying "We'll see who sleeps inside tonight", he thrust up into me. I didn't feel it, but he said it was happening. I knew then that I was truly mastered. Like Lady Chatterly with her Lawrencian groom, I was vanquished, taken, and I had no choice but to give in to the primal and earthly desire.