LITMIR.BIZ

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to walk around for a while, the blood has a chance to really soak in at body temperature and then it won’t come out even if you wash them on the hottest setting. Even if you were to wash the white underwear in boiling water. No chance.

      So my entire collection of underwear has a brown stain right in the middle. You get used to it after a few years. Do other people have it, too? What girl or woman could I ask? None. It’s always the same. With everything I really want to know.

      There are probably other, more hygiene-obsessed, girls who run around their entire lives wearing panty liners to protect their underwear from their own discharges.

      But I’m not one of them. I’d rather have everything stained with blood than do that.

      Those girls definitely don’t have the nice light-yellow crust in their crotch, either, which during the course of the day gets thicker as it continually gets re-moistened.

      Sometimes a bit of the crust will hang like a dreadlock from your pubic hair, spun around the hair like pollen on a bee’s leg by the rubbing motions of walking.

      I like to pull this pollen off and eat it. It’s a delicacy.

      I just can’t keep my fingers off anything on my body. I find a use for everything. If I notice a booger has slowly hardened in my nose, I have to pick it out.

      When I was little I would do this in class. Even today I don’t see anything wrong about someone eating boogers. There’s no way it’s unhealthy. I see people all the time on the highway who, when they think they aren’t being watched, pop a snack from their nose into their mouth.

      In school you get teased for it and quickly stop doing it. At some point I quit doing it except at home, either alone or in front of my boyfriend. I thought it was only reasonable. It’s a part of me after all, this habit. But I could see in his eyes that he couldn’t deal with it.

      Since then I’ve maintained a second life in the bathroom. Whenever I piss or take a crap, I munch my nose empty of boogers. Creates a liberating sensation in your nose. But that’s not the main reason I do it. If I can grab a dry booger and, by picking it out, manage to set something in motion and pull out a long piece of snot attached to it, it turns me on. Similar to pulling out the hairs stuck in my pussy. Or the crust on a pubic hair. It hurts and it turns me on. And all of it makes its way into my mouth and gets slowly chewed with my front teeth so I can really taste it. I don’t need any tissues. I’m my own garbage disposal. Bodily secretion recycler. I get the same thrill out of cleaning my ears with cotton swabs. Sticking them in a little too deep.

      That’s another distinct childhood memory. I’m sitting on the rim of the bathtub and my mother is cleaning my ears with a cotton swab dipped in warm water. A nice, tingling feeling that immediately turns to pain if you go in too far. I’m constantly told that I shouldn’t use cotton swabs because you might pack the earwax in and damage the ear. And that it’s bad to use cotton swabs too often because your ears will be too clean and the earwax is necessary to protect the inner ear. I don’t care. I don’t do it to clean my ears but to get myself off. More than once a day. Preferably on the toilet.

      Back to the hygiene freaks. They throw out the lovely crust with their panty liners each time they go to the bathroom and have to start collecting it all over again from scratch.

      And I’m sure these girls never forget they’re about to get their period. Even while in pain in the hospital. The highest imperative in their lives: leave no stains. With me it’s the opposite.

      It’s starting to flow, the blood. I knew it. I take the giant Tupperware container off the windowsill, put it on my lap, and root around in it until I’ve found some gauze squares. I estimate them to be about four inches by four inches. I decide to experiment and instead of making a tampon out of toilet paper as usual, I make one out of gauze.

      It should be easier, and unlike toilet paper it should be absorbant. We’ll see. I pull out a square and put the container back on the windowsill. I fold one side a little bit so I have a starting point to roll it up. Now it looks like a sausage. Then I fold it over like a horseshoe or a long apple strudel, so it fits in the oven with the thick, folded side shoved as deep in my pussy as possible.

      Whenever I can cheat the tampon industry, it makes me feel good.

      I smell the finger I used to stuff in my homemade tampon. I can already detect a musty pussy scent.

      At one of my numerous brothel visits a hooker told me that some men get off on coming in with their cocks dirty and making a hooker suck them off. She said it was a power game. Those are their least favorite clients, the dirty ones. The purposefully dirty ones. They don’t have anything against inadvertently dirty ones.

      I wanted to try that, too. I didn’t wash myself for a long time and then had a hooker go down on me. For me there was nothing different about it from having someone go down on me when I’m clean. Power games aren’t my thing.

      What can I do now to divert my attention from my numbing loneliness?

      I guess I could try to think of all the useful things I’ve learned over the course of my young life. I can entertain myself well that way—at least for a few minutes.

      I once had a really old lover. I love to say “lover.” It sounds so old-fashioned. Better than “fucker.” He was many, many years older than me. I learned a lot from him. He wanted me to experience everything about male sexuality so that in the future no man could ever pull one over on me. Now I supposedly know a lot about male sexuality, but I don’t know whether all of what I learned applies to all men or only to him. I still have to see. One of his cardinal rules was that you should always stick your finger up a guy’s ass during sex. Makes him come harder. So far I can certainly concur. It’s always a hit. They go wild. But you shouldn’t discuss it with them beforehand or after. Otherwise they’ll worry they’re gay and get all uptight. Just do it and afterward pretend nothing was ever in there.

      This older boyfriend also showed me lots of porn films. He thought not only could men learn a lot from them, but women, too. It’s true.

      It was in one of those films that I saw a black woman’s pussy for the first time. That’s something. Because they have dark skin, the interior colors of the pussy really pop when it’s spread open. Much more than with white women, where the contrast isn’t as extreme. Something to do with complementary colors, I think. Pussy-pink next to light-pink skin tone looks a lot more boring than pussy-pink next to dark-brown skin tone. Against dark brown the pussy-pink looks dark-lavender-bluish-red. Swollen and throbbing.

      I’m telling you. Complementary colors. Brown skin complements pussy-pink.

      It impressed me so much that since then I always put makeup on the inside of my pussy when I have a date to fuck. I use standard makeup that you’d normally put on your face. I have yet to find pussy makeup at the drugstore. A gap in the market.

      Like when you’re putting makeup on your eyes, I make it darker the closer you get to the center. I start with light pink and pink tones, lip gloss and eye shadow, and work my way through the folds until I’m right at the entrance to the tunnel, where I use dark red, lavender, and blue. I like to color the brown-pink of the rosette with a few dabs of lipstick, too, rubbing it on with my finger.

      It makes the pussy and rosette more dramatic, deeper, more beguiling.

      Since I learned that black women have the reddest pussies, I only go to black hookers. There are no other black women in my world—not in my school, not in my neighborhood. Prostitution is my only chance. I’m sure plenty of men understand my problem.

      I had a really bad experience with a white hooker. She had skin as pale as cheese and light-red hair. She was a little chubby and—totally unnecessarily—completely shaved. And I mean everything was bare. Not a single pubic hair anywhere. Her crotch looked like a sculpture of a newborn baby made out of cheese.

      I had been looking forward to her tits. From beneath her shirt they made a good impression. Big but still pointing upward. When she undressed and took off her bra, it was a big disappointment. She had big droopy breasts with flat

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