In the vagina of every girl there is a sleeping snake waiting for the magic music that will bring the creature to life. Slap, slap, slap. The sound of flesh against flesh.

He tastes of rice with a touch of saffron. He says I taste of seafood. I guess we'd make a good paella.

Cunnilingus is a girl’s best friend. Cunnilingus is life. Everything else is just waiting. An orgasm during cunnilingus turns you into an angel. You grow wings and glimpse paradise.

Eating the peach is a meditation. Your mind empties of all the must dos and should have dones. You are pure being. Your lover’s tongue is the key that turns the lock that opens the pleasure box. Life has few perfect moments; moments of cunnilingus score the highest on the sex blissometer.

In the Garden of Eden, Eve wore a fig leaf, not to cover her moist parts, but to draw Adam’s gaze to what lay hidden in the undergrowth. Extending the metaphor, the snake symbolizes Adam’s tongue, the apple the rosy, blood-engorged bundle of nerve endings pulsing within Eve’s clitoris.

Cunnilingus is not a three-minute twerking fad, here today junked tomorrow. It is Tchaikovsky. An overture. An operatic experience that makes you high, then takes you higher. Orgasm is the waft of smoke seen at the top of the volcano. As we know, the journey is pure pleasure, the arrival like the Big Bang that created the universe.