5: Tall Tale of Hygiene

I impulsively shut my eyes so I can better picture my navigation in this spot where my vision cannot reach. My eyelids are hinged and latched, eyelashes intertwining with their corresponding lower lashes, like a locked door barricading the public realm from my feel-good secret. I cock my head and lean into it with an off center grin. One hand twirls my long shafted tool, all the while pulling it out just to stick it back in me. I can feel my sticky excretion gather around the bulbous end, the portion of my pleasure stick that is the deepest inside me.

Cleaning the inside of my ears with cotton swabs is the most satisfying task in my nighttime hygiene regimen. I save it for last. I brush my hair and pull it up into a high pony tail so no stray strands will interfere with my gyrating toothbrush, but most importantly, so no hairs will become knotted around the cotton swab dowel and ruin the gratification of my ear cleaning with the pin prick pain of being yanked out by the root. I rush through the ritual of splashing my face with the time consuming three step sanitization and refinement formulas employed by my Proactive system. But these preceding hygiene responsibilities are just foreplay. My ears are the vagina of senses; the cotton swab is the dildo of sanitary tools.

Like Xerox for copiers and Kleenex for tissues, Q-tip brand has become the universal household name for every kind of cotton swab. Actually, cotton swabs come in different assortments and qualities. Q-tips are superior to their off brand competition because of their high-quality. Q-tips are made of pure, off white materials: rolled paper pole and a bunch of cotton on either end. Their untainted appearance is like the innocence of a colorless wedding dress, waiting to be soiled by the honeymoon between cotton and ear canal. Each Q-tip is stored like Emperor Qin’s terracotta army—filed shoulder to shoulder in a well awaiting its calls of duty to battle…in this case, earwax. After the job is completed, the Q-tip stays in place to stimulate this sensitive region by tickling the minuscule hair follicles within the ear canal, provoking a toe-flexing enjoyment. More than two shakes classifies as playing with yourself. Their imitators try to disguise their faulty manufacturing by teasing users with flashy colors on their smooth, glossy plastic rods—the sluts of cotton swabs.

The purity of the Q-tip last only a few moments. And without its wholesomeness, it’s useless and is disposed of at once. Thankfully, once again like the terracotta soldiers, another is in line to take its predecessor’s post. There is no handkerchief parallel to the Q-tip; there are no reusable ear cleaners. Though each Q-tip is a virgin, it’s cursed to be a one-night-stand. And though its action maybe orgasmic, it’s infamous as a minute man.