One's first impulse is to kiss what? To kiss the lips.
Firm delicious lips, sweet lips.
Surrounding a warm, moist, dizzyingly scented mouth. That's what everyone wants to kiss.
Not a toe. Not a sea slug. A mouth.
And why do you think that is, stupid?
Because the mouth is the twin sister, the almost exact look-alike of the what? Not the toe. The mouth is the twin sister of the vagina. And all the creatures big and small seek the orifice.
The opening. To be taken in, engulfed. To be squeezed and lovingly crushed by what is truly, the all-powerful, all-encompassing. Now, if it's design you're concerned with hidden meanings, symbolism and power, forget the top of Mount Everest. Forget the bottom of the sea, the moon, the stars. There is no place, nowhere, that has been the object of more ambitions, more battles that the sweet, sacred mystery between a woman's legs that I am proud to call my pussy.
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