Her Last Cheer

| Chapter One + Ready? Set? Fuck |

Someone once told me my pussy tasted like diamonds.

And I already knew what you're thinking: that bitch's pussy was sharp and caused internal bleeding. And I knew what you were thinking because I thought the same thing. Exactly when that sentence came out that boy's mouth, I raised an eyebrow and asked him to explain what the fuck he was thinking, on saying that horrible thing about my vagina.

His excuse: I heard it in a song.

He was lucky I also had heard it in a song, but that still didn't make anything more clear. It actual made it worst because then, he looked like a dumbass. You are never supposed to say the shit that they say in songs out loud. Who even says song lyrics out loud if you're supposed to be lost in horniness and fucking someone?

When I came, did I fucking say, Boy you got that yummy yum, that yummy yum? No? Yeah, no I didn't. So who told him it was okay to say that shit out loud? His mom? His brother? His divorced uncle with the four kids, all from different baby-mommas? He thought that wrinkly sack of droopy balls knew how to please a woman?

This was why I didn't fuck with boys anymore. This was why my taste had changed. This why I hadn't had sex in over six months. Okay, maybe not because of that reason alone but it was all building up. Boys were needy. Boys were selfish. Boys didn't know what foreplay was. Nor did they know how to bring a woman to climax. I promise you if you were to ask a girl about how many boys have really made her come, it would be a number under ten.

Sad, really. 'Tis was the reason why I had been shielding my vagina from the boys. And completely exposing them to men. Men. Oh, men. I go crazy with men. Especially when I think about this certain man, but that was a story for later.

I was in my last year of college, my last year of the hoorays and last year to get crazy. Real crazy. A twenty-two-year-old who would be graduating in a couple months? It was basically required for you to go crazy.

I learned it from my mom. She went crazy during her college years - the birth of me. No, I will not be getting that crazy, but real close to it. You could describe my mom's and I relationship more like a friendship rather then the typical mother-daughter relationship. When my dad died, we became inseparable. Shopping together, sharing secrets together, watching movies together, gossiping together. My mother was my best friend. And I was not ashamed to say it: My mother was my bestest friend.

Eventhough I hadn't had sex in some time, I was still satisfied. I would venture my little amazing body downtown, to a nice club, find a man, and he would escort me sometimes to his house or sometimes to a nice hotel. I seemingly always found the good ones. And the good ones meant that the watch that was on his wrist looked like money. No, I wouldn't call myself a gold digger, I just didn't want to do sexual acts with someone in a place that looked like it belonged to Patrick Star.

And these sexual acts would consist of him pleasing me or me pleasing him. None would ever go near my vagina or back hole, I was saving them for someone special. Saving them for someone who probably would kill me if he knew that I was doing that. Saving it for someone who was. . .oh how do I say this? Fuck it, someone who was. . .married.

I paused, lightening did not strike me down yet. I was still alive. The ground was not swallowing me up. My locs were fire free. My two legs were stronger than ever. My head had not been chopped off- I was fine.

Fucking fine.

Was it a bad thing that I wanted to pursue a married man? Some would say yes. Well most would say yes, but who would really be in the wrong here? Me or him? Fuck. . .both of us, but sometimes in life you had to do some wrong to find something right.