I remember that I thought I loved him and every time I remember that I deeply regret it. In spite of the love or whatever it was that I felt, his finger wouldn’t go through. After huffing and puffing valiantly in a bid to not hurt me, he asked, ‘Are you…ok down there?’ I didn’t have the vocabulary to say so at the time, but I feel like I was either thinking ‘Maybe you should be doing more to get more so you can get in more’ or, ‘Is this entirely necessary? Can we just make out?’
But we had long since passed the making out stage. I sighed and pulled my pants back on. We stood up. ‘You should get that checked.’ I shrugged. I knew I was perfectly capable of doing by myself that which he couldn’t do well. Then we walked into the house and my mother put a glass of orange juice in his vagina-stained hands. I smiled with that secret.
10 Comments
?Wololo ok! WTF
Good one, worth a second read
Eiiiishhh…..now what’s this magunga???
Hehehe. There’s always that first time for everyone. Nice read.
vagina stained hands…….hahahaha nice read i like how you express your mind
I enjoyed reading this one
Burst out laughing much to the startled amazement
of those around me. The brazen cheek. Excellent.
A real good read
A good read. Now a new member. Lemme take a seat
Hahahaha OK! Speechless