A wet pussy is like a small, salty ocean trapped inside a woman’s body. There are tides, there are ebbs and flows, storms and surges. There are moments when the pounding of that tunnel-shaped sea leaves the rest of you feeling drained, slightly bruised and aching. There are nights when you fall asleep to the steady cadence, soothed into a deep and restful slumber.
There are times when in turmoil you turn to it, flee to it, throw yourself into it, hoping desperately to be washed free of the pain and tumult in your mind – or at least be granted temporary respite from it.
It is a living breathing thing with a heartbeat all its own.
And you live your life trying to keep the balance between feeding it and controlling it, nurturing it and being nurtured by it.
A delicate, pink micro-ecosystem that has the power to bring you to your knees.
I am on my knees.
On. my. fucking. knees.
The salt is flowing from multiple springs. The storm is battering me.
And all I can do is wait for the tempest to pass. Wait for this thundering sea to be my sanctuary once again.
Cliterary Review 