Before anything, that feeling courses through her body. An electrical signal sent from a neuron to the very ends of her fingertips, making them want it; needing it. Making them want to get in and get the job done.
The body is ready, the hand is steady, the finger is untrembling. Each muscle, right down to the tiniest twitching piece of flesh, eagerly awaits in anticipation; waiting to start their job, their somewhat familiar task.
The finger slowly enters, pushing through the tightness; the tightness that tries to deny entry, but only momentarily, before allowing entry into the warm, moist cavern.
It moves around, prodding, probing, prospecting.
This welcome alien invader, pushing itself into this forbidden cave, filling the emptiness, making it swell.
The task is often deemed wrong, and yet it feels so right; to be inside this tight, moist space.
The finger pushes deeper with the aid of the slick secretion that surrounds it. The thick viscous fluid is there for protection, but with it's liquid aid the finger pushes further and further until it can go in no more.
And that's where it finds it, that perfect little spot, that crevice that must be searched for and felt out. Slowly and devoutly it begins to work, wriggling in the enclosed tightness, jiggling in the tight warmness, niggling in the warm moistness, picking and flicking ever so slightly.
It feels so strange, to be invaded like this, yet the satisfaction feels so good.
So naughty.
Yet, so right.
Then it's over. Just like that. The prize has been sought and recovered; the treasure discovered.
The finger withdraws, ever so slowly, not wanting to disturb the riches that it fought so hard to claim.
And there it stands proud, the slimy mucus-sheen glistening in the light.
And atop that gallant finger sits the little nugget that was the reason behind the venture.
This is a feeling that everybody knows.
The joy of picking your nose.
The finger slowly enters, pushing through the tightness; the tightness that tries to deny entry, but only momentarily, before allowing entry into the warm, moist cavern.
It moves around, prodding, probing, prospecting.
This welcome alien invader, pushing itself into this forbidden cave, filling the emptiness, making it swell.
The task is often deemed wrong, and yet it feels so right; to be inside this tight, moist space.
The finger pushes deeper with the aid of the slick secretion that surrounds it. The thick viscous fluid is there for protection, but with it's liquid aid the finger pushes further and further until it can go in no more.
And that's where it finds it, that perfect little spot, that crevice that must be searched for and felt out. Slowly and devoutly it begins to work, wriggling in the enclosed tightness, jiggling in the tight warmness, niggling in the warm moistness, picking and flicking ever so slightly.
It feels so strange, to be invaded like this, yet the satisfaction feels so good.
So naughty.
Yet, so right.
Then it's over. Just like that. The prize has been sought and recovered; the treasure discovered.
The finger withdraws, ever so slowly, not wanting to disturb the riches that it fought so hard to claim.
And there it stands proud, the slimy mucus-sheen glistening in the light.
And atop that gallant finger sits the little nugget that was the reason behind the venture.
This is a feeling that everybody knows.
The joy of picking your nose.
By J. Barrett
No comments:
Post a Comment