ecstasy

Damiana, passion flower, and horny goat weed are in my body, doing to my human emotions what sex does. I can taste the reward and am savoring every sip. There’s no choice but to savor; it’s so thick.

The ingredients equal sex. These beautiful. strange, and intoxicating ingredients are in West Hollywood in an $18.95 smoothie called “Ecstasy.”

Where are the cameras to capture me in this food play? It’s totally arranged for money making. Thin, full bosomed girl standing on a street corner with her graphic tights and lemon yellow sunglasses attracting the attention of both cubs and cougars. She’s crassly sucking away at deep lilac colored cream, her cheeks turning in so hard they’re scraping her teeth, leaving the edges of her molars wet with red.

This is powerful food.

An acquaintance of mine who has lay next to me during a non smoothie state of Ecstasy, looked at my body dripping with sweat and gritty with sand, and cooed, “You’re such a good lover. How do you do that sober? I almost brought out my coke and then remembered that you weren’t doing anything – hadn’t done anything – and didn’t plan to. I didn’t want to ruin the moment. I didn’t want to be the one. I wanted to experience your state.”

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