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v u l v a l i c i o u s Why I'm Here Last night was cunt. Heavy, hard-hitting, right in front of me cunt. I could start out by saying the things I know are trite, things like "she fucked me on Independence Day" or the like. Those things, though true, feel incredibly silly. Most of all, I had to share the joy of cunts. Not just hers, though it is most certainly the one that has pushed me to begin this diary. No, this is a diary to celebrate cunt as a home, a respite from insanity and anger and frustration. Cunt as the salty sweet ocean of discovery and wonder that it can be. Cunt as a verb, all action and fire and pain and passion, moving and rocking and flowing. Cunt as power. Cuntfeel. That is my word. It means something somewhere inside of me, though I haven't quite defined it yet. Maybe it's the feeling in my cunt after we fucked. Or perhaps immediately before. Maybe it is my cunt at rest, or my hand at rest on or in my cunt. Maybe it is the feeling of my hand in her cunt, feeling the differences between what is hers and what is mine. Maybe it's all those things. Language. It's just fucking beautiful sometimes. And I thanked her for the good time; for sharing Cunt with me on a bed with no sheets in an abandoned house; for letting me be the one to have her after such a long time; for fucking me hard until I almost fell off the bed; for laughing with me afterwards and not thinking I was ridiculous; for being ridiculous with me and laughing at that. She laughed when I said thank you, the laugh that she gives sometimes. It was nice. Today, I have gloried in my cunt. In her cunt. In cunts in general. And I shall continue to return here to celebrate Cunt. Hallelujah and praise to the cunt! |