A Better Neti Pot

No one was more surprised than I was when he leapt from the bed. “Where are you going?” I asked, confused that he’d abandoned ship just as it was about to set sail, as it were.

“I want to come on your face.”

My head already hung half-way over the edge of the bed, so I quickly swiveled under him. “Give it to me,” I demanded, and I didn’t have to wait long. Before I could hoist my tits into what I thought would be the most attractive position, hot come splashed over me.

And then it obeyed the call of gravity, as fluids are wont to do. If I’d have moved I would have destroyed the tail end of his orgasm and possibly run head first into his nut-sack. So I laid still, but I couldn’t control my laughter as the come found its way into my hair.

And into my eyes. And up my nose.

He came to from the pleasure and noticed the state of my face. Immediately a stream of apologies shot forth from his mouth. I assured him that I loved — nay, lived for — being covered in come. “Can I get you a towel?” he asked, heading toward the bathroom.

“Yes please, and a nasal aspirator, if you have one.”

Remember what we learned in grade school, about how smell plays a large part in the way we perceive taste? Never have I been so vividly reminded of that lesson. For the rest of the evening I was immersed in not only the smell of his come but also its taste, even though none of it had originally landed in my mouth. Come can be pungent stuff; I’m glad my friend laid off the asparagus and broccoli before our meeting.

I found though that come does wonders for clearing out the sinuses. I’d recommend it for anyone dealing with colds or seasonal allergies. But if you happen to be the one administering the cure, you should probably check first.

Doling out this particular folk remedy without an explicit request might not be the best idea.

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