suction or falling.

Her perineal sponge was outlined like Alexander's Star. The blood vessels did the drawing, wrapping around the tissue. Once proud and on guard, the door way of her lower half, her labia, was now wrinkled and needed to be flat ironed out until they were almost like the wings of a moth. The minor and the major, were both equally sized now. Her crotch could now be depicted as being much like a chipped hatchet wound a Pole found salvation with during the second world war. When I caught her in her late teens, her legs were of the most pleasant dreams. Her entrance, the magnum opus, final stage, beautiful encore, of evolution. I traveled miles for it, more miles than wrinkles she now homes below. The Italians must have a word for a pearl like this, but I'll never know it. Her legs like safety belts you could actually count on. And when her hair grew out, her too lazy to shave, you'd act as if it wasn't as good as the bald catch, but deep down you loved it just as much. No one looks worse under the covers. Reaching below her waistline, running your tips across the inside of her thighs, your favorite part of the day. Now you flirt with her door way, it was a classic door way, one full of prominent structure, one that was proud of what it closed in. But these days the door's never locked, and there's not even a bell. But in my day, in my simple way, I loved the entrance, I'd rustle through the bush, walk up the strip, and jump right in, never forgetting to take off the worn out shoes. Other parts of my body envied my fingers, and with just cause, but they understood their place all the while. Not many vaginas are worthy of a man's lingual veins and mouth muscle, but we all know when one is damn suitable for entry. Like a drunken man's arm trying to flag down a bartender, your tongue goes round and round, but this motion gives back, not demands. It's forever relaxing and suiting when you're greeted with moaning sensation, you've made your freshwater princess climax. The penis is too easy to please, but a woman's time and a woman's parts are not. This is one time when slobber on your chin is something you can look up and be proud of. No hop or stretch in the world can come close to this one. You can spout out the dick, but when a man receives pleasure from tongue or limb insertion that's not the downwards main vein, you know this is something, dare it be said, special. This is something people like to call love, but I'll never label a thing so great anything again. A lot of animals like to say love is not having to pay when it's all done. I've heard love even claimed as when a partner doesn't scream NO, these are scum a scum like myself can't even relate to. You'd hate to include bad mouthing to such a thing, but I've always had a niche for admitting the defeat of something. Like the conquering sun, like the bones and flesh of our bodies, everything must fall.