Maturing into a man requires an affinity and taste for things previously thought to be repulsive, like scotch, cigars, and pussy
Maturity is necessary to fully comprehend the vast complications of what makes something great. Smelling and tasting become personal, like flipping a switch in the brain that tunes in to something from our past, it is ephemeral. It guides us toward our destiny.
The harshness of life enriches taste. As a child, innocence and sweetness dull down what makes life worth living, which are the struggles and the pain. Blinded by that reality as a 10 year old, we are told to avoid and to fear pain, but upon coming out the other side, there is an inevitable a sense of achievement, the blood seems to bubble like molten instead of boil like water. It is thick and vicious, and most importantly, impenetrable. What is important day in and day out is to seek the delicacies within the "strength." I had a hard time finding that word and settled on the one at the tip of my tongue the entire time. Strength is a better descriptor than abrasive, cruel, barbarous, garish - heartless. Maybe perseverance would have sufficed. Nonetheless, strength encompasses them all.
Pussy is strong, the taste is unforgettable, but the journey is soft. There are walls and barriers but they are not broken down with a battering ram they are soothed to be unlocked. Scotch to a neophyte tastes like battery oil. It is no consolation to the neophyte but they do not know what they are tasting. They do not know that what is hitting their lips is a cultural pastime, a combination of science and mother nature. What makes a scotch, scotch is the peat. The 10,000 year old moss used for generations to fuel stories and fire alike. Scotch is the product of mother nature. It is her orgasm. It stings the nostrils, bites the tongue and yet warms the soul. It combines the salinity of the sea with the fire of the earth. Berries touch it, herbs whisk through it. It is called a spirit because it gives the power of life. And yet it disgusts. That is the beauty of pussy. The intricate soliloquies of flavor that reveal themselves only to those who yearn for them.
Like anything else, everyone is predisposed to have a taste. I think the compatibility of the taste of pussy is more important than the compatibility of personality. It is primal. It is psychological. It is ethereal. I would argue there is a correlation between a destined lover’s scent and the mother’s womb, a place a man forever longs to return. Taste matches us with our partner in more ways than one, but we must first be mature enough to respect it.