MY PUSSY WILL NOT BE SILENCED

MY PUSSY WILL NOT BE SILENCED

               We were hanging out another day and she excused herself to get into something more comfortable.  She came back in her nightgown and sat up on top of the dryer.  She beckoned me to come closer to her and despite some slight feeling that I was walking into a trap, I consented and joined her.  She looked at me seductively.  She had a way of showing me with her eyes that she wanted to be kissed.

               “Do you want to see my pussy?” she said.

               “Huh?”

               “Do-you-want-to-see-my-pussy?” she said it slowly, condescendingly.

               “I-I don’t know, um…”

               She took that as a yes.  “Do you want to smell my pussy?”

               “What?” I said and instinctively looked around the garage.  What could she possibly mean?

               With that she hiked up her nightgown and showed me it.  She had shaved.  Her clit stared back at me, a hooded crustacean missing its exoskeleton.

               “Can you smell it now?” she asked in a soft voice.  “Can you smell my pussy juices?”

               “I-um,” I stammered. She gave me a look that seemed to indicate that she was challenging me.  Finally I blurted out, “Do you think it’s going bad?”

               She fingered her labia, her clitoris and eventually a piece of white something or other emerged from her folds.  She pinched it between her thumb and index finger and removed it.  She rolled it around between her finger and thumb, rolled it into a substantial, white ball.

               “Do you like cream cheese on your bagel?” she asked before putting the ball in her mouth.  She seemed to savor the experience before clarifying her question, “Do you want to taste my pussy?”

               I just stared at her in horror.

               “Do you want to hear my pussy?” she asked and leaned back, trying to show me a better angle.  The smell started to come.

               “What are you talking about?” I shook my head, confused and exasperated.

               She queefed:  “Ppppppmmmmmmptff.”  It was talking.  Her cunt was talking to me.

               “Do you want to,” she said, and queefed again before continuing, “Do you want to hear my pussy?  It’s a serious question.”

               All I could do was look at her, look straight into her crazed, tractor beam eyes.  I was sucked in.

               “My pussy,” – queef, “will not,” – queef, “be…” – queef, “silenced.”

               Then she let out a long, slow one: “Buuuurrrrrrrrrrrrpppfmt.”

               “Now that you’ve heard my pussy,” she said, “will you feel my pussy?”

               “I’ve gotta go to sleep.”

               “Oh my god!” she yelled, and slapped me.  “You’re going to sleep on the ground, in the garage in, the cold!”

               So I walked home.  It was the only night it snowed in Sonoma County in fifteen years.