Everyday Stranger

The Shape of Things

It’s time to adjust the minge.

I have been growing it out, since I wasn’t sure what to do next. I had stripped it to a Brazilian landing-strip, then had a go at it and made it look like an inverted lightbulb (note to self: do not attempt to trim the beaver while drinking and watching Colin Firth. No good can come of it.)

Now it’s grown back in and, before it is suspected to be the nesting area of a protected species of Eagle, it is time to take it down a notch. I have some time in San Francisco where I may be visiting a waxing parlor (or may just drink and watch Colin Firth, see what other interesting things happen then). Suggestions are welcome.

Trimming is very important to me. I like my men to ensure that I am not flossing before my main meal when I head down to the buffet line. Please, boys, take away the Brillo pads. I will do the same in return. I can’t imagine that a man eases off a tiny thong, looks down and says “Marlon Perkins, here I come!”

I know I wouldn’t.

The first time I was with a woman, I was damn appreciative that she had uber-attention paid to her muff.

It was years ago, and it was actually in a situation involving some man-folk, too. Yes, that’s right. A crazy college swapping situation.

(Note: Remember-I was an anthropology major. We are waaaaay more liberal than the electrical engineering students.)

Anyway, an evening was ongoing, replete with alcohol. My then-boyfriend (let’s call him Adam) and I were on one couch, the other couple (let’s call them Peter and Carrie) were on another. A game of truth or dare (come on now…once you start drinking it up, who chooses “truth”?) got racy, and soon Peter and Carrie started to go at it, while my boyfriend and I started up too.

Then, suddenly, Peter looked up at Adam.

“Say Adam.” He said. “Want to come and try Carrie?”

And thus the swinging commenced.

It was an odd situation, not the least because we all knew each other and were sort of couples. So we sort of went at each other for a while, not really in earnest, but more because we were fueled by a lot of alcohol and a little curiosity.

And then Carrie broke away from Adam the Big Rider and came over to me.

And girl action started.

Now, I had it pictured in my head, all womanly softness, wet lips, and moaning. What I got was more of a dog and pony show. Some kissing (she was terrible), some breast action (she was mad for it), and then some muff diving.

And that was interesting.

She tasted like melon, or like something hot and sweet and unmovable. I really dug the taste of it. She was completely shaved, and her clitoris was actually hard to find. She made odd squeaky nosies, either due to my performance or the hotness of the situation, I am not sure which and either are equally complimentary. I went at her for a while more out of curiosity than any skill, and it is safe to say that she did the same for me-she went at me more like a dog lapping up a dollop of ice cream on the floor than any kind of deep, intensive orgasmic moment.

And we didn’t get each other off, instead went back to the man folks and had them take care of it. But at least I could check that box off. I had been with a woman. I liked it, it was quite nice. And it was just the first time I had done it, more times would follow.

Where am I going with this, you may ask? What utter deepness and incredible steaminess could stem from such a telling? Why would you relate such an utterly personal experience to us?

What shape should my minge be? I reply. That’s all.

-H.

Posted by Everydaystranger at October 22, 2003 03:41 AM | TrackBack