Tuesday, October 18, 2005
Hal was surprised to see the girl next to him showing her tongue. "Yes," he thought to himself, "girls' tongues are very useful." "Excuse me," he imagined saying to her, "I brought some letters with me to mail. Could I trouble you to lick the stamps for me?" And the quick lilt in her voice answering "Sure!" He thought of the aural art of operas, and the tones of an aria shaped by a woman's tongue. How delightful those trills are to the ears. Invite her home! To close my eyes and dream while she marvels at my stamp collection... I could lay a bowl of microwaved milk before her on the table, and she would incline her head to it, lapping up the warm white liquid with the short, swift motions of a cat. Or to take her by the hand, lead her along with me to that unpleasant biddy who meets all smiles with lips frozen in frown. "There she is. That's the woman. Now! Stick out your tongue at her!" And afterwards, as a reward, share with her an ice cream cone bursting with scoops of lemon-vanilla. The thrill of our tongues accidentally brushing! But then his thoughts were the once still waters of a pond in the aftermath of a meteor slammed into its center. His hands shook and his mouth began to foam as he collapsed in an epileptic trance of oral fantasy. The therapy for curing tongue fetishes had not yet reached perfection.