He pussy does not taste like candy.  It doesn’t taste like strawberries or honey and it in no way resembles a blossoming flower. She calls it her cunt and she rubs it with short strong fingers.

Her breasts are different sizes and her nipples point slightly askew.  She has bumps and an occasional hair, and when she lies on her back they fall flat against her body.  

He neck and her chin are soft and warm, but they do not flow like the lines of a gazelle or dance in perfect symmetry. 

Her ass has never stopped trains or caused traffic jams.  There are no poems written about its firmness and no songs praise its shape and form. When I run my hand over her skin I can feel the soft translucent hairs beneath my fingers.

Her lips are not roses or cherries, and I can never decide if I love her more than I want her or if it’s the other way around.

Guy New York