So many reasons to walk away, to stay, to end the dream, the sham, young love; but it came down to cunnilingus.
The experience, the thrill, the arch, the muscle spasms, nails digging so deep they store DNA, the waterfall sweat, the urge to splash, to split, to scream, sent a fresh stream of blood gushing from the sole of the feet to the crown of the head. Walking away felt right, it felt freeing, new, like being high and low at the same time. Walking felt right.
The lifestyle fit perfectly into the rest of life, at least for a while. For a while the biting of the bottom lip meant passion and wet pleasure, until it began to hide busted lips, bloodshot gums and swollen flesh.
‘Cunny’ came and made up for that, it was good, it felt like love. The lifestyle felt right, it became the ‘crack’ that drew you back, because it felt special, like its was never sold to anyone else, like this ‘crack’ was only for you, no one else knew it, got it, like you.
Until one day, another beneficiary is revealed and now just the thought of it, is sickening. The moisture, the oral commissures and even a connection with the hand is nauseating – it should have stayed a frenulum. And so the high, the spasms, the rush: they all die a sudden death. Realizing too late, that it was not worth running for.