I’ve been drinking, and so decide to put graffiti on her belly with red lipstick. Read about this thing called the Theban alphabet on Wikipedia, you see, but as I’m drunk, I make most of it up and scrawl away regardless. She doesn’t notice though. She’s too busy eating grapes. Got them from the Tesco at the bottom of the road. They were reduced to only 50p a bag. Queens of the Stone Age is playing. That song about cocaine and summer. Chewing the grapes one by one, she spits the pips at me as I spread her legs drawing strange symbols on the insides of her thighs. I’m trying to summon something. Trying to see something of which has so far been denied me. She hasn’t shaved in a week or so, and when I kiss her pinky lips the hairs hurt my tongue, but she claims the only reason she’s stopped shaving is because the hairs of my beard bring her out in a rash of her own. It’s a terrible situation for us both, and one neither one of us is willing to back down from. Finishing her grapes, she spits the last pip out so it hits me between my eyes then chooses to watch the second Blair Witch movie. The one that came out right after the first and no one saw. Big favourite of mine though, and I won’t hear a bad word said about it. I’ve got ringworm on my hips. A few circles that itch and itch. She says if she finds any on my cock she won’t fuck me. Not at all. She doesn’t like me visiting the library either, and tells me in no uncertain times that if she finds out I’ve been going when she’s not around she’ll cut off my little man. Emphasis on the little. It’s because of the girl working there. The one with the cute smile and the same name as hers. That last point is probably the most crucial. It’s in her eyes as she grabs my ears and twists them as hard as she can while my tongue works its magic over her clit. I say magic. Perhaps it’s just luck. Hope not, though. To see her smiling at the ceiling as I spit and kiss her tickly bits puts the wonder in my soul for sure.