January 14, 2008
What Nowherewoman?


What if I found my nowherewoman in some utopian city, some land tethered by the slenderest ship shrouds to my urban not urbane reality?

What if I found her, my nowherewoman, my nobomummy, no longer silent & invisible, this starry-eyed celestial woman whose clit hides divine in fluffy pubic clouds Michelangelo’s God on her putti-borne litter, while I recline in Adam’s leisure and nakedness? What if I found her?

(Would I then be recreated in her fashion? Or would I just lose a rib?)

What if I found her and she placed my hands on some vinyl wallpaper while some Oscar-turning blind-bard performance broadcasted banal in the background?

What if with one awesome godhand she pinned my two human hands there, on that vinyl wall, its texture pebbled like a Gideon Bible under my flat and pressed palms, what if she held them there, and what if with the other she raked her celestial nobomummy fingers into my hair?

What if she did that? (What if she gave me words & laws, would I follow them? Would I defy them? Or would I merely make them mine own?)

What if her hands clenched grabbed whiteknuckled my hair as if it could save her sweet sweet nobomummy ass from drowning (and what if it could)?

What if she raised my dress with her other hand, the hand not pinning my palms to the Gideon wall, what if she raised my dress and cupped the generous and good-humored curve of my ass? What if she ground her godhips rhythmically into those generous and good-natured curves?

What if her lips her mouth her teeth her tongue tasted the delicate manna of my throat like it were the fruit none dared eat but the wily serpent? (And what if it were?)

What if we kissed, my nobomummy and I, what if our open mouths met, might we speak in tongues? What if the room spun around us like Baz Luhrmann’s camera with the nearly nonironic romance of it all?

(What if it didn’t?)

What if I knelt before my nobomummy in an attitude of prayer, my hands pressed as on a pew but under them lay not unrelenting hard wood but a soft and forgiving mattress? What if my knees were kicked apart by the giant feet of the nobomummy, kicked as far as the lilac lace of my nearly pulled-down panties would allow? What if the nobomummy ran her hands over my ass as I knelt, bent kneed and supplicant, before her godhead?

What if she found my ass perfect, magnificent, beyond good-humored and in fact glorious?

What if she told me so? (And what if she in her lovingkindness had unknowingly created this benevolent ass in her seventh-day recreation? Or what if it just seemed like this?)
What if while she was cupping my ass, palming it, lifting and hefting it, while she was whiteknuckling my hair and hardsuckling my neck, what if while the nobomummy was doing all this I imagined her pussy? What if I imagined it into being out of its darkness & obscurity? (Or what if my nowherewoman simply disrobed?)

What if I imagined giving my Goddess head? (What if I did so?)

What if my dress laid Technicolor puddled on the floor? What if my lilac panties joined them?

What if I, emboldened emblazoned, took the god reins, what if I commanded the nobomummy to lie down on the bed, to recline like a pasha, like a potentate, like an idol/idle/idyll? (And what if she did as I told her to do?) And what if I were allowed to touch and kiss where I pleased? And what if where I pleased most were where I pleased most?

What if I swallowed my nobodaddy’s clit until my nose was pressed against her pubic bone like a ragamuffin child’s at a sweetshop’s window?

What if my mouth were fucked by this utopian pussy?

(What if sucking the godhead made me wet with recreational desire, filthy little godless slut that I am?)

What if nobomummy’s broad and expansive hands clasped grasped clamped my hair as she gasped hasped and rasped as she came in my mouth? And what if I swallowed her godhead juices and then licked my fingers after?

What if I suckled her spent clit like a tiny thumb?

What if it happened and I told you? Or what if it didn’t and I told you nonetheless?

What if in the dead of the night I created it all—my nobomummy, the godhead, the whiteknuckling, the gasping, the swallowing, the temple and the Gideon walls—in my head and in the beat beat beat of the quickening pulse of my pussy? What if I didn’t tell you? Would it be better because secresy gains female’s loud applause?


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