A THOUSAND TINY PEOPLE IN MY VAGINA.
That is what a want.
I want a thousand tiny people that were all innocently commuting a subway from their studio art class, job at a pizza place, youth group, child's day care, lover's apartment, the bakery to get a gluten-free birthday cake for their celiac sister- in my vagina.
The subway being pushed in like a tampon and then suddenly opening and expanding and unfolding in all directions (you should put an un-used decent brand super tampon in a glass of water if you haven't, it is like putting a peep in the microwave)
and a thousand tiny people running out, their sneakers, their high heals, rolling back packs, rolling and poking my vulva while they scream and press their tiny tiny hands into the giant hot dark walls of my sweating anatomy. i want to feel them all squirming around the way an ant pile looks when you knock the top off of it. I'll do kegels and squeeze them all together, cum covered, and wallowing in the inspiring solidarity that disasters bring.
I will save them, I will save them just when they think there is no hope. I'll hump a pillow and think about my exboyfriend's new unofficial girlfriend that has an unapologetically sensual demeanor and a habit of wearing ripped clothing, mesh, lace, antique themed collars and showing her bra. I'll think about the way her breath would feel on that sensitive and oddly hairless part of my left leg while the jumping and panting of a thousand tiny people almost tickles.
When I am cumming there will be sort of an exodus, but many will still be trapped. When I cum I normally pee a little, and a few brave individuals and some fat crying adults will have fallen out. Some of the brave men and women will run up to the lips and reach in their forearms and pull out the tiny hands and feet that are sticking out of the crease. They will roll up their sleeves first even though they are already soaked.
One tiny girl will pull her self out and stand bent over with her hands on her face looking for the boy she was just breaking up with on the d line. He emerges, having lost a shoe, and she grabs him by the neck and they roll around in the sprily pubes and make up and make out like virgins.
I am too ticklish after I masturbate do anything immediately. But, I will run the handle end of the spoon around the perimeter to make it easier to get through the muck. I'll wipe away the debris, the soaked tiny newspapers, hundreds of chapsticks, spilling purses, smooshed cakes, ruined cigarrettes, a balloon that managed not to pop will slip out a float away, and all the tiny groceries.
I'll poke the tip of the cold teaspoon in and let the tiny people mob onto it- like the last life boat in the titanic- and when it is full I'll used my finger to gently push them off the spoon onto a paper towel. there will be plastic caps of water so they can wash themselves off and as more and more refugees are spooned onto the towel, one of their cell phones will still work and they will call the police. Those tiny people, about as tiny as the leg of a plastic army man, forces will need a while to get all the way up my stone stairs and make it across to the bed. By then I'll have spooned everyone out safely. There will be many shocked but none injured. One of the tiny men from the tiny government will arrive in a tiny suit and try to reason with me through a tiny megaphone. But, I'll simply explain, I thought I was getting my period, I didn't get it yet, but I thought I reached into a box to grab a tampon and I accidently grabbed a tiny subway. I hadn't fully woken up from a nap I normally take around rush hour because everything you do is so exhausting that sleeping is the only way to come out even.
They'll be too afraid of the potential risks of the tiny world becoming known to the regular sized or proportionally giant world. They really have nothing to be sad about. The tiny internet will have breaking news about an insane breach of tiny security but the headline will read: Not one tiny lost soul in giant ecstacy. or 1,000 saved in subway crash. The tiny clean up crew will show up with tiny pressure washers and rescue people will use tiny pulley systems and tiny helmets with flash lights on them to repel down into my vagina- which will be cleaned and inspected to make sure no one is stuck. I will take photo booth pictures of my legs spread with all the tiny relief volunteers gazing at the odd giant selva. and edit them, contrast them, saturate them, expose them to look like drawings, I will not put up any relevant facebook status so as to conceal what awful, irresponsible debauchery I have committed. I will lean down to talk to the man in the suit again when everything seems to be done and he will use one of those tiny Men in black memory erasers to correct my memory.
I, of course, won't even think the pictures are odd because I often edit things so far from what they actually are that they look unbelievable. I will remember waking up. thinking of what work I should do and using that pillow that I only use for that.
If only I could have a thousand tiny people panic in my vagina.
That is what I want.
