The Story Of O

I met her on the Greek coastal town of Sappho,
where the Aegean and the Gulf of Mexico collide,
clash wave for wave. Never a winner. Her dark hair
and grape-like lips stirred something in me from
the start. We had drinks at a sidewalk café, where
Xerxes himself had tried to land. His famous whip
washed ashore a thousand years ago. For weeks
we’d only hold hands. Weeks later we finally
kissed. Eventually I’d shove my tongue down her
throat in search of her heart. It was evident we
were falling in love. The first time we went to
make amore, she begged (on her knees) for me
to turn off the lights. I explained to her that men
are mostly visual, that we need to see the naked
body of a woman to maintain the illusion, to stay
at the peak of excitement, to perform at our best.
After much trepidation, she relented. She shy,
almost embarrassed. It was then I discovered
the root of her anxieties, her fear of light. She
was blessed with clitorides, yes, yes, oh dear
Lord, not one but two. One in its normal place,
and the other one at the opposite end of her
marvelous lips. I can not imagine living without
her! I will not live without her!