Amory Paul

the vulva in your bedroom wall

You press your ear to that fleshy opening in your wall, there since you were five. You figure it’s time to listen.

From within, a voice –

“Oh, I love my man. I love my man. He is 6’4. He is strong. He has a dick. Like. A. Horse, baby! Hahaha! And ooh, he can dick me down all day, I tell you what. All day, honey. I won’t say no. Oh, I’ll never tell my beautiful man no. Not that dick. Ha ha. Not to all that Holy, Holy, honey.”

Your hand strays down – the room is warm, the air is thick. Split of the hymen, spill of the vulva. Your fingers are sticky, thick warm – blood, warming your cold body – the hole keeps talking.

“And my man thinks, you know? He’s smart. He thinks. He thinks about grand things – he thinks about God. About God, about all that Holiness. And all I gotta do is suck that dick, honey. Hahaha! I’ve got no problem there, do I? Do I? No, ma’am. Haha. No, ma’am. He can choke me, honey, with his hands, with his dick, Hell, my God-loving baby, he could choke me with those big, dirty feet – my man has a dick. Like. A horse, baby! He can breathe for me! Mmm. His breath’s probably better, anyway. Smells like my pussy. You love my pussy, honey. Haha.”

Your tongue flicks out. You keep bleeding, this hole keeps talking. You lick to shut something up, you’re not sure what. Little bloody bits slip between your fingers, down your thigh – your room smells less like 2007 summers now, more like his cologne – the hole keeps talking; you can’t eat out words.

“Oh, I’m loyal, too, baby. Don’t need no dick but his. No dick Holy like his, baby. No dick so Holy, Holy. His dick’s big enough for two of me, ha ha. He’s tall enough for two of me. He’s smart enough for two me. He exists enough for two of me, doesn’t he? Doesn’t he, baby – lick that up. Oh, lick that up, honey. He’s God, ain’t he. God, Holy Holy. God enough for two of us. And all I gotta do is suck that dick. Just suck that dick, honey. In God’s name. Yeah. Yeah, in God’s name.”

Your legs are red, your tongue is tired. Your face is wet – juices cover your mouth and nose, sweat plasters your hair to your forehead. You work desperately at a pleasure factory making no product – your legs shake and the room is so warm.

“You just gotta suck that dick like it were God. Like he were God. You just gotta kneel down before that cross…”

Your hands sift through the blood and clasp onto something hard.

“You gotta call Him His Holy names, he likes that. You gotta call Him His Holy, Holy names; call him Master, Daddy, Christ, Yahweh, Muhammed, Baby, ooh, Daddy always works..”

Your hand moves back and forth. Along your cock. Your manhood. You stroke it and it’s clean as an angel, untouched by all the blood that was there a second ago.

“Oh, Daddy. I missed you, Baby. I love you, Jesus. Come here, Honey. Oh fuck me with that good dick. Hit me with that good dick, God.”

You jerk your cock, Man, and dip your head into the hole – it is warm and your ears are full of worship, mouth full of vulva, you don’t breathe and, airless, breathe for it. If vaginas ain’t gold on the inside, then, Man, you must be crazy, cause that’s all you see, Ha Ha Ha!

“Oooh, Baby, that’s it! That’s it, Daddy! Oh, yes! Oh, yes! Oh, Jesus Christ of Nazareth!” 

Sucking you in – your feet slip in last, suctioned into Gold and Warm and Wet just like the rest of you.

“Use that sweet dick, Honey. Use that sweet, sweet dick, my Holy, Holy Baby.”

You begin to thrust and the hole closes behind you.

The bedroom is empty.

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