When Lola had returned from her Halloween party, dressed as slutty Princess Leia, she seemed coherent, cognizant, and eager to fill her cunt with my cock and cum. Little did I know that she had eaten enough cannabis confections to outstrip an LSD trip of Grateful Dead proportions.
It was only the next day, when she groggily recounted to me the amazing journey she had taken in her mind and body, that I realized what her subjective sexperience was.
“I got home,” she said when she was more sober, “and I felt like I was a honey pot. Or rather, that my pussy was a honey pot. I was gushing and oozing, sloshing and dripping.”
“I can confirm that much was true. I didn’t know at the time it was from so many men at the party finding release between your legs.”
She didn’t take offense at this, but corrected me, “And women.”
“Yes, and women.”
“And then,” she abruptly stopped.
“And then what?”
“It’s so weird!”
“What is?”
“Well, then it was as if I was copulating with. . .”
“With what?”
“With all sorts of insects — bees, hornets, spiders, worms, cockroaches, beetles, slugs — I mean, if it crawls, flies, or slithers, it was fucking me.”