My Pussy Is On Vacation

I packed my pussy a bag and sent her on a holiday. She was looking tired, by turns neglected and over-worked, and I figured she needed a break. “Take your time,” I reassured her, “Don’t hurry back.” She backed away slowly, then sidestepped out the door with her Louis Vuitton luggage, and now I don’t know where she went.

Perhaps she went on a cruise, but probably not a Disney one. They don’t look well on her kind at Disney. They seek to deodorize, sanitize and negate her, even though she motivates all those fairy tales about princes and princesses. Why else does everyone keep falling in love so fast? It ain’t for their deep personal qualities I assure you. If the prince wants the princess pussy badly enough, he will go to the ends of the earth for a glass shoe. Or a Christian Louboutin for that matter, if he can afford it.

Maybe she went to Paris, my pussy. Perhaps she is right now strolling along the Seine, humming Edith Piaf; later she will stop for un petit café and a baguette by the Tuileries. She is enjoying the sights this time around, but staying away from French men. They of the sweet cologne barely covering that sweet French B.O. but elle ne regrette rien. This is her vacation, and not about “Chercher l’homme.”

Perhaps she is in India. My pussy may have checked herself into an Ashram, to find her inner center, and unite with the divine. She has certainly spent enough time uniting with the “Lingam,” and she now goes by the name “Yoni” as she sits still and does the breath of fire through her mouth hole. Namaste, little one, I honor your divine.

But where are you? Are you in Italy pulling an Eat, Pray, Love? Are you at this moment twirling perfectly al dente spaghetti carbonara on an antique Roman fork, as you gaze out at the Piazza Del Popolo? Are you in a chateau in Tuscany sniffing, then tasting a classic Chianti made from Sangiovese? (I may be sober, but my pussy doesn’t have to be.) Are you on a gondola being serenaded by a hot Guido or Giuseppe in a stripy shirt? I hope you’re not attracting too much attention, as an unaccompanied pussy in Italy can, have fun but don’t get fingered!

I don’t know when I will need my pussy again, but for now, I don’t care. I’m not mad at her, even though she has gotten me in trouble in the past. I just cannot risk having her around at the moment, and she’s such a dominating thing I had to send her away completely. The options were to get her sewn up, a likely painful procedure that is hard to get done, even in Los Angeles, the plastic surgery capital of the Universe. Lot of paperwork, though I guess I could use my blog as evidence that I cannot manage her. And what if I had to reverse it in case I needed her again? I’m pretty sure insurance wouldn’t cover it. Fuck you Obamacare!

Much easier to send her on a vacay. At some point she will return, rested and rejuvenated, her passport full of stamps, and I shall pick her up at the airport, because I’m generous that way. Perhaps in that cunt’s absence, I can actually get some work done….

2 comments

  1. I think I spotted her at the cafe near my office, but I could be mistaken. She was wearing sunglasses and looked unkempt. I thought, “Heh, likely disguise.” But, I minded my own business; not trying to get into her lady business, but she seemed very unhappy with her latte. Or, maybe because I noticed they spelled her name “P-U-T-T-Y” on the cup. Not sure what exactly was bothering her.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s