Eat This Cigarette Butt


I had never seen someone eat a cigarette butt before. Much less on a Sunday, in a park, surrounded by nothing except bottle caps and nameless bugs.

“Why am I eating this again?” She asked.

“It’ll impress me.”

Without another hesitation the butt disappeared.

There wasn’t much I could do. She had raised the stakes and I had a gag reflex. I went into a mental spasm, pregnant with anxiety that she may walk away from this deserted park, leaving me alone in the night.

Insert a stick somewhere I shouldn’t? Is foreskin or butt hole more disgusting? Butt hole. But then I could make a joke about her only swallowing a butt whereas I had filled one with something. Something!? A stick. Too sharp. What about a cigarette butt? Too obvious. Too clichéd. How is sticking a cigarette butt up your ass in response to a random girl swallowing a cigarette butt clichéd!? Pull yourself together. OK.

There wasn’t much I could do except pour a beer on her head and try to decipher what her breath would smell like now.

“I bet your breath is going to stink,” I loosely commented and immediately regretted.

We hadn’t even kissed, though I had seen a hint of breast as she’d bent in half to collect a 6-pack from the bottom shelf of the cool room. I wasn’t even a breast man.

“I don’t care if my breath smells, do you?” I did, and I believed she didn’t.

“No, of course not, it’s not as if…”

With that, the girl I’d met only two hours earlier leant over and… well, you’ve all seen The Notebook. Fill in the gaps. 

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