Reminiscence Of What Comes After

I once knew a woman who was OCD when it came to sex. She had to be banged very specifically. On first dates she’d give prospective mates the handbook. A beautiful leather-bound book. Over 700 pages long, full of explicit illustrations. That’s actually how I met her. We dated. I was totally into it. I mean, what a wonderful strange mind. I’m totally into weirdos, as long as they aren’t serious weirdos. Serious weirdos are the worst. Too serious about everything.

Anyway, I tried my damnedest to perform the complicated mating ritual and I’d failed her by page three. A lot of other people tried too. No one passed. Eventually all of us failures formed a big club. After a while, our club got too big and we got into boring philosophical arguments about the nature of fucking and etc. We split up into what are now the major religions of planet Earth.

I’ll be interested when someone figures out the right way to fuck the divine goddess. The legend states that when she comes her scream will eradicate reality in its entirety. I’m dying to know what happens after that.