Onion

The onion made Susan cry, not because she was cutting it, just the idea of it brought the tears. It was the layers, the curved layers that made her think of the layered folds of her girlfriend Angie's pussy. More correctly, the curved layers of the onion made her think of her ex-girlfriend Angie's pussy, hence the tears.

Yeah, it had been quite a shock to her coming home and finding half the apartment suddenly empty. Well, it wasn't like a line ran down the middle with one side cluttered, the other empty. It was more like there was suddenly too much space between things and she was immediately reminded of the desert, how the cactus and scrub brush seemed simply spread too far apart.

Far apart, she loved it when Angie spread her legs far apart for her. When she did that for Susan she would always crawl up between the thighs and just gaze at her pussy for the longest time. Well, she would gaze as long as Angie would let her, and many times it wouldn't last long, she'd get too self conscious and in spite of how beautiful Susan would say her pussy was, she would cover herself up, pull her legs together or turn out the light. Even though Susan tried to memorize the pussy in infinite detail, once it slipped from her sight, she felt a sudden void. She could only look for the reminders of her pussy as she looked at things around her.

Picturing the incredible Georgia O'Keefe's paintings of flowers in a book Angie had, she studied the iris and would lose herself in the delicate folds, so like the ones between her girlfriend's legs. Yes, her girlfriend's pussy was an iris and she imagined she was a bee. Oh how she loved to sip her sweet nectar, slipping her tongue into the folds, pressing into her wet center. At times she actually would be disappointed after her girlfriend came several times and would announce to Susan it was her turn. She'd then have to move her face away from that incredible flower and let Angie go down on her. Susan would have tried to 69, but Angie complained it was far too distracting. Susan had to agree because the few times they tried it Susan would get annoyed as she tried to concentrate on Angie's pussy, while her lover did her at the same time.

Sure it did feel good when Angie ate her, but she'd still long to nestle her face between her lover's soft lips. During the time they were together, Angie's pussy became an obsession for Susan and when Angie finally woke up one morning to find herself uncovered with Susan curled up between her legs just wistfully staring at her pussy she apparently had enough.

She argued, "That's all I am to you, all I've ever been, just a gaping, wet cunt."

"You know I don't like that word, it is far too vulgar. What is wrong with me admiring your beauty?" Susan replied.

"My beauty? My beauty? You could be staring at any woman's pussy."

"But I am not, it's yours, your pussy I want to see. It is so beautiful with the light pink folds hidden just beneath the darker outer lips. The way the hair gently curls above your clit, and how hard that tiny nub gets. Don't you see it's your pussy I love, only yours?"

"Why can't you love these?" Angie screamed, grabbing and squeezing her ample breasts, "Or why not this?" she continued, running her hand up through her hair. "Or my face, my ass, my..."

"I love all of those," Susan lied, reaching her hand out to gently clasp Angie's breast.

She turned suddenly, tugging her breast away from Susan. "Why can't you love me, I'm here, I'm beautiful, but all you are interested in is my pussy. It's to hell with everything else, but I let you glimpse at, or even touch my pussy and you go nuts. Don't tell me any half-assed slut on the street can't drive you just as nuts just by showing you her pussy."

Angie was right of course and now that she was gone Susan only missed her pussy. She'd forgotten her breasts, her hair, her face, her ass and even had trouble recalling her last name, but she missed her pussy. She missed it so much that she saw it wherever she went, whatever she did. That is why she'd cry at onions, and later she might notice how the pages of a book folded around a pencil. When that happened she'd stare at the folds, imagine her tongue slipping in between the way the pencil did and end up slipping her hands into her panties and stroking her clit. Right now though it was an onion and all she could do was cry, missing her girlfriend -- no, missing her pussy.