Paul looked at the slit with delight. He licked his lips and thought about the prospect of inserting something inside.
She was amazing. Naked with just the right amount of shine on her. He knew what he'd do when he approached her.
It would be simple. He'd put it in. He'd put it in hard. Then he'd push down on it and let her feel his white piece. The warmth would flow all around them and they'd both be intertwined, connected, in mind and in goal.
It would be simple. His piece in her slit.
It would be glorious.
He looked around at his furnishings. The bare kitchen with the checkered floor. The flickering fluorescent light over head. The hum of the fridge reverberating the room all around them.
He looked at her and he looked at her naked slit, licking his lips once again.
The crevice, that part, the rift where everything happened.
It was all he could do to contain himself from thrusting himself forward.
'Fuck it,' he thought. 'If I'm going to enjoy myself, I might as well do this right.'
He approached the tasty slit, an opening sitting on the kitchen counter waiting to be filled. He looked at it and could smell what was inside. Paul imagined all who had come before, all who had been.
What pieces had gone in and out of this aperture? White? Brown? Black? Were they more experienced, were they better off from when they went in?
With that last thought, Paul undid the bag surrounding his loaf of bread and pulled a slice out. Paul licked his lips as he thrust the slice of white bread into the toaster pulling hard on the handle to warm it up. As the heater glowed red, Paul almost let out a sigh of relief as he realised it was really going to happen: he'd finally get to eat something tonight!