I am not a vagitarian.

I’ll eat ass. I’ll suck dick. I’ll even suck toes. But after a harrowing experience with some bad pussy, I don’t eat coochie like I used to.

I met Shaniqua at a bar in Florida. I’d always been down with the brown, and Shaniqua stood out like a turd in a fruit bowl. Her short black hair stood up like a rooster’s plume, her skin a smooth caramel, and her eyes a deep chocolate brown. A pair of glasses sat on the edge of her nose, giving her an air of mature sophistication. Her trim figure was accentuated by a snug dress that hugged every curve. Her tits were nothing to write home about, but her ass was worth a postcard.

We started talking, and I liked Shaniqua a lot. She was asking a lot of questions and seemed genuinely interested. It’s not often that women find me attractive; they usually find me cute and sweet, like a puppy dog, which is nice, but it hurts my manhood. Guys are usually more interested in me because of my soft lesbian features. This also hurts my manhood. Shaniqua’s apparent interest should have been the first sign that something was off.

It was very out of character for me to meet a woman at a bar; I would usually use Tinder because my social skills are subpar and my dykish appearance does a better job selling me. Getting a hotel room was even more egregious. I had a vetting process for potential bangs so lengthy that coitus rarely ever happened. But Shaniqua had me completely enamored.

It was a warm summer evening as we made our way down the street to the Super 8 Motel. Stopping at the Family Dollar along the way, I bought some bottled water, string cheese, baby carrots, and condoms. It is unwise to fuck on an empty stomach, and we needed sustenance. Arriving at the motel, I paid for a non-smoking room on the second floor. I couldn’t take my eyes off Shaniqua’s ass as we made our way up the stairs. Each cheek squashed like a memory foam pillow as she stepped, bouncing back in rhythm as the opposite cheek collapsed. I wanted to curl up and rest my weary head on her cheeks like they were the world’s softest pillows, just waiting to cradle me.

We entered the room, and within minutes we had taken our clothes off. The heat of the summer night was oppressive, and removing our clothing did little to combat the sticky warmth clinging to our skin as we climbed onto the bed. Our bodies stuck together like Silly Putty as we grinded against each other, the light foreplay serving as an appetizer before the main course. Little did I know, the entrée would be so abhorrent that I should have stuck to finger foods.

Shaniqua whipped her bra off with a practiced flick of the wrist, her titties bouncing in an uneven rhythm like a juggler’s balls. Oh no, I thought as her breasts peered at me like two shrunken heads, shriveled and gasping for air. The nipples on her dessicated boobs were ginormous, as if someone had pressed giant pepperonis onto miniature marshmallows. Their true form had been concealed by the cushy padding of her bra, their texture looking like an old prune that had been left in the water for far too long.

Shaniqua took my hands and pressed them to her beasts, closing her eyes and tilting her head back as she breathed deeply. No, no, no... My mind flashed with panic as I reflexively squeezed, my fingertips touching like I was honking an old bicycle horn. "Fuck yeah..." The pitch of her voice had dropped so low that I gave her tits another squeeze to make sure they were real.

She slid her panties off. Her vagina had a goatee. Dark, coarse hair formed a little patch just below her crotch, with a thin line extending down like a neatly trimmed soul patch, carefully shaped and pointed like it was ready to philosophize over a cup of coffee. The lips trembled, fluttering softly as the panting beast drooled at the thought of fresh meat. I lowered my face to her quivering cooch flaps, feeling the warm breath on my skin as I swallowed hard, blinking back tears like I was staring into an onion. Without thinking, I dove in, burying my face like it was a pie in a pie-eating contest.

My face landed with a splat like the sound of wet shit. The stubble from her 5 o’clock shadow tickled my face as I opened my mouth to a cornucopia of warm fallopia, her juices falling onto my tongue—tangy, salty, and deceptively sweet. Shaniqua was full of surprises.

After what felt like an eternity, I pulled my head back, gasping for air. A tenuous string of jelly clung to my lips, stretching back into hers. She lay sprawled out, the back of her hand resting delicately on her forehead. I blamed myself. I should’ve suggested we take a shower beforehand. But the promise of a blowjob had been so close I could almost taste it. Now, all I could taste was Shaniqua’s vagitosis and the lingering scent of armpit.

I massaged her clit with the tip of my finger like I was applying ointment to a baboon’s ass, when, without warning, Shaniqua sprayed a watery, cottage cheese-like substance across my face, spreading out in a V shape like a skunk. It got in my hair, too. The warmth and weight of it reminded me of when I was a kid and my mom would shampoo my hair, the heavy lather settling on my scalp. I imagined her carefully working it through each strand as the substance dripped down my face.

In spite of everything, I still wanted to fuck. I am not the most experienced fucker, and I have never known how to ask. I couldn’t just slip it in—I needed her consent, and I had to be clear. I didn’t want to do her anally or orally; I wanted to do her vaginally. After a moment of deliberation, I told her exactly that, to leave no room for doubt. In my head, she would appreciate the straightforwardness and think of me as a gentleman. That didn’t happen.

Instead, Shaniqua insulted my manhood. Not only the size of my pecker, but my character as well. I had been too meek and soft. Her mortuary tits and caveman cooter were a gift for which I should be thankful. I would never land another woman like her.

Shaniqua was beautiful, but she had overestimated her hotness. Her ass was 10/10, but her personality needed some work - not to mention her titties needed work from the ground up.

I was tired and weak. The yeast had started coagulating in my throat, and I felt sick. Feverish and dizzy, I watched Shaniqua put her clothes back on, one boob at a time, leaving me alone as the room spun around me. My throat burned each time I swallowed, and I was sweating profusely. After a short nap, I went to the sandwich shop down the street for a 7-Up to soothe my throat. I decided to forego my usual sandwich; I had lost my appetite for tuna fish on sourdough.

The next day, I took myself to a medical clinic for testing and was relieved to hear I wasn’t dying. The doctor prescribed penicillin to kill whatever vaginal parasites had taken up residence in my throat, and after a weekend of rest, I was back to normal.

Practice proper cooter care.

Next Chapter: Cholos, Cheeks, and Chicanery