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The True Female Orgasm: A Story
>>> The Lady's Shave
By staff writer
Nick Gaudio
August 6, 2007
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Around his shaved head, the wind was blowing from the East; a
brilliant sunset had begun; the bright green August trees shook and
rattled. Around his face, the young man's eyes sparkled with lust;
his nostrils were flared with passion; a thin film of vaginal icing
had covered his lips and chin.
“Damn it Josephine, I can't breath.” James pulled back
from his girlfriend's pussy with blushed cheeks and
a look of mild frustration on his face.
Josephine—the
woman who had pushed his head as deeply between her thighs as was
humanly possible—now sighed, “I told you not to stop. ”
“You
told me not to stop breathing?”
Despite the fact that
he knew his rhetorical question would upset his girlfriend, James
gathered his breath. In the minute of his heavy panting, a delicate
tickle on the lining of his upper lip made him dig along his rough
smoker's gums with his tongue. With no luck, the young man
investigated the disturbance more thoroughly with the tip of his
finger.
In little time, James found the pubic hair—four
inches in length—stuck between his teeth.
“James was grateful that he had the manual strength to hold such a
hole open as wide as he did.” Despite this unpleasantry, James
dove back to the pussy with rancid determination, kissing the
woman's clitoris and biting the wet tendons between the thigh and
nether-regions.
With jumps of ecstasy, it was apparent that
Josephine had not minded the delay the oral scavenger hunt had
caused as much as James had anticipated.
“Yes,” Josephine
repeated, “Yes.” Her back arched and her hands returned to their
original position: on the top of James' shaved head. After a few
minutes, this woman began again heaving her young boyfriend into the
fatty pockets of her thighs, so that he could taste each drop of
excretion.
“Now?” James asked, his voice muffled by the
thick labia and bushy pubic region of the woman sprawled out on the
bed lining of his large, black Dodge Ram.
“No. Not yet. ”
James continued for another thirty minutes, sucking hard on the
clitoris and inserting his tongue in and out of his woman's dense,
pulsing cunt lips.
Despite a few pangs of pain in his upper back and neck, he
continued as a servant would: removing his face to breath, yet
licking his mate's Caesarian scar as an excuse to take in oxygen.
“Now?” he asked again, hoping that the next stages of his
pleasure-parade would ensue.
“No. Not yet,” she replied.
A bittersweet taste began to bleed from the pink, malleable cavity
of the woman. It was the taste of cantaloupe, yet, the taste of
uncooked sardines. In each insertion, a moment of pleasure, yet a
moment of affliction and strain. The woman's body flushed, twitched
and tensed.
As her spasms quaked the cellulite above his
sweaty palms, James knew, from his previous experiences licking the
burly forest amongst Josephine's sexual organs, that this was the
warning: if he were not to complete the next steps of the task, his
efforts would be in total vain. She would then get pissy and not
return the favor.
Without stopping, without asking, James
moved his left hand from the right curdled leg of Josephine to the
side of the truck's bed where an industrial-sized jar of Vaseline
sat, watching in mild disgust. His hands dug in deep, feeling the
cool, creamy, skin-like texture between his fingers. His tongue
moved to the sides of the labia, licking up and down; the woman's
head drew back as she shouted, “Now!”
With his right hand,
James unlocked a small case that had been tied to the bed of the
truck with two yellow bungee cords. Inside of this case: two small
earplugs. He removed the earplugs from the case with one hand,
inserted them in his two large ears and removed his face from the
crotch of his lady.
Ever so quickly, the young man jumped from his lover's withered,
juice-soaked loins and ran around the side of his truck. He jumped
in the cab, clicked the key to the radio position and selected track
number five:
ZZ Top's “Legs.” Finally, before exiting the interior of the
truck and blaring the music, James grabbed a large bullhorn from the
backseat. As he rushed back to the bed of the truck, Josephine's
legs quivered in expectation… for this ceremony has existed since
the beginning of time. Or, at least, since 1983, when ZZ Top
released “Eliminator.”
James used his strong, muscular arms
to force the woman on her stomach, revealing a taut, puckered
asshole. With his lubricated left hand, he pushed deep into the
browned hole and expanded the anal chamber as wide as he could. In
his childhood, James frequently toyed with sock puppets and was now
grateful that he had the manual strength to hold such a hole open as
wide as he did.
Then, with the bullhorn pressed against the
cool buttocks of the woman, James locked his lips to the receiver of
the device, pulled its trigger and shouted as loudly as possible…
“Did you lose weight?!”
A small amount of excretion leaked
onto the bed of the truck as Josephine shouted, “Yes!”
James
continued, “You should've been your high school's prom queen!”
Josephine again shouted and quivered, “You're right!”
“Can I
give you all of my money?! You are the definition of beauty!
I am not worthy to see you naked; I must pay! You are the
ideal woman, a definition of femininity, the true reason
I am living! I must, must, must give you as much money as possible
so that you may spend it on ugly shoes and bad make-up and
chicken-themed dinnerware!”
“Yes!” Josephine replied, “Yes!
Yes! Yes!”
And finally, James spoke the words that his father
had told him (as had his father before him and so on): “Will
you marry me?!”
At that moment, Josephine orgasmed. A
jelly-like flood of vaginal juices rushed along the troughs in the
bed of the truck, short-circuiting the bullhorn and stinking up the
atmosphere within thirty feet of the truck with the smell of tilapia
and skunked Pabst.
James pulled back the used bullhorn and
tossed the apparatus into a small, grassy waterditch.
As
Josephine gathered her thoughts, the boy lit a cigarette.
The woman,
exhausted from her true orgasm, lay in her own puddle of filth
and finally said, “That... was amazing.”
“What?” James asked.
“That. Amazing.”
“What?” James asked, removing the earplugs.
“THAT WAS AMAZING!”
James took a long drag of his cigarette
and ashed. After a moment, he replied, “You're damned right it was.
Now
how about you return the favor?”
“Not yet,” the woman said, “I don't know where to put my dentures.”
To be continued…
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| Nick Gaudio is a
recent graduate of West Virginia University and now a jobless vagrant of
Morgantown, West Virginia. He likes to read, write, and do Englishy stuff. He is also in the process of publishing his first book of SMUT poetry and hopes that with its influence, he will eventually ascend to the presidency. Nick has never served in the military. |
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