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Even though I had no way of knowing when I woke up late on Christmas Day with a hangover that I was going to get eaten out that evening. I had no way of knowing when I was frantically pulling on tights without underwear because I couldn't find any that were clean, that someone was going to go down on me later. Cunnilingus was not on the horizon. So no, I didn't have a shower. And I spent four years beating myself up about it. Some girls worry instinctively about how their pussy tastes and smells, and thus never let anyone go down on them; I was not one of these girls.

I'd had a loving relationship with my vagina since I was a child. I had managed to get to adulthood with zero pussy hang-ups. Yes, I thought I was chubby. Yes, I hated my breasts. But I loved my pussy. My pussy was my friend. One of the first things that happened was that I stopped being able to cum. Never an issue beforehand, now every time I began to get close to an orgasm, a little voice would pop in to my head and start screaming, "Are you kidding me? Your pussy is literally vomit-inducing! He would have puked way before that!

I would watch porn endlessly, feverishly switching between channels trying to find something to Who wants to fuck in puke my mind off the image of vomit tumbling onto my labia, and the tsunami of shame that the memory evoked. But nothing soothed my anxiety. I set Swingers clubs in plovdiv trying to un-vagina my vagina. I bought every product available for "feminine hygiene. I was like an inept scientist, throwing in anything and everything that had "fresh," "rose," and "scented" written on it, just praying it would result in "Not Pussy.

Painful, unyielding, recurring yeast infections. So in some ways I got what I wanted. My pussy never smelt like pussy. It smelled like a combination of chemicals and yeast infection cream. Two years later, I got my first "proper" boyfriend. Like all good boyfriends, he desperately wanted to go down on me. He told me that he loved my pussy. He told me that he loved my scent. He told me that when we were apart he didn't change the sheets he loved the smell of me so much. But instead of being flattered, I was paranoid and scathing. I rejected all of his advances. I kneed him in the face when he tried to go down on me the shower. Eventually we stopped having sex completely.

When we broke up after eight months, I was both heartbroken and relieved that I had avoided that kind of intimacy. I'm just real curious like you said. I was the same way myself when I was your age. I guess that's what got me into this business. It must be great. I don't know if you're a detective or a pervert. Well, that's for me to know and you to find out. Baby wants to fuck! Get ready to fuck. Don't you fuckin' look at me! Baby wants blue velvet Don't fuckin' look at me. Don't you look at me. Don't you fuckin' look at me. Do it for Van Gogh. Well, aren't you going to tell me about it? It's a strange world, Sandy. Dorothy Vallens is married to a man named Don.

They have a son. I think the son and the husband have been kidnapped by a man named Frank. Frank has done this to force Dorothy to do things for him.

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I think she wants to die. I think Frank cut the ear I found off her husband as a warning for him to stay alive. Frank, is, uh, a very dangerous man. Shouldn't you Who wants to fuck in puke my father? I can't do that. I can't prove any of kn. I found out my information illegally. You could get into a lot of trouble. You saw a wantss in one night. It's a strange world. Why are there people like Frank? Why is there so much trouble in this world? I had a dream. In fact, it was the night I met you. In the dream, there was our world and the world was dark because there weren't any robins, and the robins represented love.

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