Persevering for P***y

SAM SHARPE

Dear readers, I’ve got two words for you – perseverance and ‘LOW-Giene’.

I’m going to assume that you all know what the first word means, and quickly move on to the second. LOW-Giene is a term one of my closest friends (shout out to the Night Nurse) came up with to describe all manner of uncleanly bodily sins some human beings inflict upon the rest of mankind. For those of you who are still not sure what I’m talking about, let me break it down for you. Wikipedia defines hygiene as the…

“set of practices associated with the preservation of health and healthy living. Hygiene is a concept related to medicine, as well as to personal and professional care practices related to most aspects of living, although it is most often associated with cleanliness and preventative measures.”

My friends, LOW-Giene is the exact opposite.

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WARNING: Reading the following story may induce vomiting.

The laughter was loud, uproarious. Eddie’s story about pulling his hands out of an ex’s pants only to find that his fingers were covered in blood blood – much like strawberry flavoured Pocky Sticks – may have been exaggerated, but it brought down the house nonetheless. Not to be outdone, I waded into the conversation and told the story of The Funk, which was also met with spastic fits of laughter.

By this time in the evening our group had been drinking for a few hours and spirits were high. The group consisted of Eddie, myself, Anthony and Walter, his best friend from college. At Anthony’s urging, Walter reluctantly agreed to share his very own LOW-Giene story.

Before I proceed, I have to let you know that Walter has a reputation for being the most cunning of linguists. There is not a clitoris in creation he wouldn’t hold a conversation with and he’s always quick to boast about how much he enjoys “taking the express train downtown”.

Anyway, Walter took a swig of his scotch, exhaled deeply and began his tale.

“So, I’m in Chicago on a business. At the end of my second night in town I end the evening at the hotel bar sharing drinks with Anna, a colleague of mine. After a little conversation about work and family we grease the wheels with several martinis—next thing I know we’re in her room for a little bada boom bada bing.”

Walter paused, to take another sip of his scotch and a pull on his cigarette.

“There I am, taking off her panties—they had bears or bunnies or some shit on ‘em—and about to engage in a little lips to lip action, when I see these white, stringy, thread like things, kinda like layering the lips of her pussy and sticking to her pubic hair. I’m thinking to myself, ‘What the FUCK is this shit?’ But I’m also like ‘This girl is hot and I don’t know what the fuck to do’.

Eddie and I were spellbound.

“Dude, What did you do?” I asked.

“The only thing I know how to do…I ate her”.

That was not the answer I was expecting. I stared blankly at him for a few minutes, hoping that the wave of nausea that hit me would pass. When it finally did I asked Walter the following questions:

SS: What did this stringy stuff feel like?

Walter: It felt rubbery.

SS: WTF? And you still took it in your mouth? This dude has a death wish. Why did you still eat her out?

Walter: I love eating pussy.

SS: Okay?!? But so do a lot of people! What did it taste like?

Walter: Salty, sour. She definitely had a little bit of odour going on down there too.

SS: Yet, you finished the job. You’re a better man than me. Did you slam it?

Walter: Yup.

SS: You actually put your dude in that mess? WOW! Would you do it again?

Walter: Hell yeah. I already have – a few times. Haven’t seen that stringy shit again, but I did find some pieces of tissue paper down the last time I ate her out.

SS: You’re a fuckin’ soldier. A soldier who should take his dirty crotch eating ass to the doctor for a thorough checkup, but a soldier nonetheless.

—

I’m not sure if there’s any moral or lesson to be learned from this story. In my perfect world, Walter would have been grossed out by the unidentified substance fused to that chick’s genitalia and refused to engage in further acts of pleasure with her. But not only did he persevere for that evening, Walter went back for seconds (and thirds and fourths apparently). Though his actions definitely reinforce a point I’ve made several times on this site – that men are often willing to do anything to get some action – I really believe (hope, pray?) that Walter is an isolated case.

People, just keep your shit clean.

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