White pony

An Orgasm. Or any feeling that is similar to tripping out on drugs.

Now, suddenly, he is lodged against your clitoris, pinning it to the wall, as it were; flattening it against the wall, where he polishes it repeatedly, like an old Greek grocer polishing an eggplant, like Aladdin summoning a reluctant genie; polishes it until you can feel it shine, feel it lighting up your vagina like a Broadway Show. Ta-Da! Down the aisle trots the white pony, proud and frisky. With a swish of its mane, it bounds down through the orchestra pit, leaps over the footlights, and lands center stage with a mighty whinny, hooves pawing the boards, mouth foaming, nostrils flaring, eyes popping on and off as if bulbs in a strobe. It brings down the house. And when he showers you with a hot tsunami of liquid white roses, it stands on its head for an encore.

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