I
awoke this morning with a foul, filmy taste in my mouth.
It was the taste of your ass from last night. And I looked
over at you, asleep and smiling from the ace rimjob I'd
given you before we dozed off, and I felt resentful.
You
never eat my ass anymore, and I'm getting upset about
it.
In
the early days, your tongue was like a plumber's snake
unclogging my colon. Back then, we savored each other's
intestinal effluvium like two lovers feeding each other
black olives on a picnic blanket. We shared each other's
asses. We shared each other's dreams.
These
days, you wouldn't go near my ass even if I stuffed a
fried pork chop between my buttocks. When I ask you to
eat my ass nowadays, you just shrug and say you'll "think
about it." You avoid my mudflaps as if there were Yosemite
Sam "BACK OFF!" insignia emblazoned on them. Truth be
told, there is no "EXIT ONLY" sign affixed to my derriere.
My ass'd welcome the gentle, probing presence of a caring,
loving tongue. But all of a sudden, you have no appetite.
You're
very selfish, that's what I think. If I had a nickel for
every time I ate your ass and you didn't eat mine, I could
pay off the national debt. Relation-ships should be about
sharing, but right now you're only sharing your ass, and
I'm only sharing my tongue. Love isn't a one-way street;
ass-eating shouldn't be, either. There is no reciprocity
in our ass-eating, no sense of fairness. Our relationship's
anal inequities push me to the brink of tears. My neglected
rectum cries out for some cuddlin'.
Where
I come from, when someone does you a favor, it's a matter
of courtesy to return it. You scratch my back, I'll
scratch yours. You eat my ass, I'll eat yours. It's
a matter of basic fairness and human dignity. But maybe
I'm from the old school.
"You never eat my ass anymore,
and I'm
getting upset about it."
My
parents didn't have this problem. They licked each other's
asses like it was going out of style. Like ass-eating
was on sale. Like they got a tax deduction for doing it.
People
in the movies don't have these problems, either. You see
a happy
couple up on the big screen, and you assume they're licking
each other's asses, no questions asked.
I've
looked at my ass in the mirror. It's a nice ass. I've
held a hand mirror right up to my bunghole, and frankly
I don't see what's so horrifying that you'd avoid it like
you do. What's so disgusting about my ass that you won't
eat it out every once in a blue moon? I always use the
scented lotions and male douches, so offensive tastes
or odors shouldn't be a problem. Would it kill you
to eat
my ass every once in a while? I mean, would it put that
much of a crimp in
your evening?
From
now on, you can lick your own ass, you asshole! Believe
me, your ass isn't all that tasty sometimes. It ain't
always a cinnamon roll, ya hear me, honey? Your ass isn't
as great as you think it is, I'll tell you that. I've
seen better. I've licked better. So don't go getting an
attitude with me.
I'm
just asking for a little consideration. Lick my ass every
once in a while, alright? My ass doesn't have teeth. It
won't bite your tongue off. The occasional anal 69 would
really put the spark back in our love life.
Not
everyone you meet out there's gonna be as happy to munch
on your fat ass as I am. And that's what bugs me--your
ass is flabby, and yet I graciously eat it, while my muscular
ass is the very picture of a perfect posterior, yet it
sits alone and uneaten.
You
just watch--I'll go out there and fall in love with the
first person willing to lick my tushie. One day I'll be
rolling in clover, my new lover's tongue gleefully lapping
at my tuchis, while your stinky butt sits home
alone, as lonely as my ass is now. My sphincter will be
wet and happy, while yours languishes in limbo, unlicked
and forlorn.
