Creative Juices

From Alison's contest -- the theme is writing. My entry did respectably in the poll.


The blank yellow pad mocked her. Through the window, a breeze carried the sound of a lawnmower droning and birds tweeting, offering no inspiration whatsoever.

“Vagina,” she wrote. Ugh. Jane scratched through the word.
“Vulva. Labia.” More ugh. Why were there no good words?
“Tunnel, channel, sheath. Glove?” Hmmm. Maybe.
“Center, core. Folds.” Potential. Approaching overused though.
“Dewy blossom of womanhood.” Heheheheh. No.

Desperation. She tried the thesaurus: “Vagina: no results found. Did you mean vain, virginal, angina, avian?” Yeah, there’s a big help.

The problem was, this *character* was very verbal during lovemaking. She wanted to tell her lover “ah, god, do that again. I love your cock buried in my….” My what? Tunnel? Slippery folds? Not.

The mower’s hum cut out, then the screen door banged. Sean moved to the doorway, gulping down ice water. “How’s it going, honey?”

“Not good.”

He hugged her. “Anything I can do?”

“Actually…yes.” She pulled him toward the bedroom. “I need your throbbing manhood in my sheath.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” Sliding together, they fell to the bed with wordless caresses, kisses, sighs, moans. He slid his fingers into her, and she was ready. Inexplicably, she giggled. “My dewy blossom,” she gasped.

He ignored that, working his fingers and rubbing hard little circles over her clit. “No,” she whispered, almost inaudibly. “Want you inside--”

He paused at that. “Tell me again.”

She moaned. “Please… I *need* your *cock* buried in my *cunt* when I come…”

With that, she found her juice.