> Syrup in the Butthole, Farted Onto My Pancakes

She hit me with the classic. "Talk dirty to me." No preamble, no context, just that little text bubble at 1:14 a.m. like she was ordering takeout. Most guys panic and go full pornhub thesaurus. Choke me. Breed me. Call me a dirty little whatever. I decided to cook.

I told her I wanted to take a whole bottle of real maple syrup, the good shyt from Vermont that costs more than her rent, and pour it slowly into her butthole. Not the fake corn syrup garbage. The real deal. Warm it up first so it runs nice and easy. Watch it disappear into that tight little ring while she clenches and tries not to laugh. Then I want her to climb on top of a stack of fresh pancakes, the thick fluffy kind with butter melting into the holes, and fart that syrup right out onto them so I can eat breakfast like a goddamn king.

She went quiet for a full minute. I watched the typing bubbles appear and vanish three times. Then she sent "what the fuq is wrong with you" followed immediately by "keep going."

So I did. I told her I want the pancakes to be slightly undercooked in the middle so the syrup has somewhere to pool. I want her to hold it in until I'm ready with the fork. I want the first bite to taste like maple and her. I want the second bite to have a little more of her. I want to look up from the plate while she's still straddling it and say "pass the butter" like this is the most normal Sunday morning of my life.

She asked if I was serious. I said deadly. She asked if I'd actually do it. I said only if the pancakes are made from scratch and she doesn't wash her ass first. She sent three laughing emojis and a photo of her middle finger. Then she asked what kind of syrup again. I sent her a link to the $28 grade A dark robust. She favorited it.

We kept going for another hour. I escalated. Told her I want a second bottle for her pussy so I can make a full breakfast sandwich. Told her I want her to sit on a waffle iron next time so the grid marks are still warm when the syrup comes out. Told her if she does it right I'll lick the plate clean and still have room for her. She was into it. Fully. Sent a voice note that was just her laughing and saying "you're sick" in that soft turned-on voice girls use when they mean the opposite.

I don't know what the fuq is wrong with me either. I just know that when a girl says talk dirty, most men go for the throat. I went for the breakfast table. And somehow that made her wetter than any choke kink ever has.

She's coming over Saturday. I'm buying two bottles. The good stuff. And a dozen eggs. Because if we're doing this, we're doing the whole diner menu. Syrup first. Then maybe some whipped cream in the other hole so she can make me a parfait. A man has standards.

If this is wrong I don't want to be right. Pass the napkins. And the syrup. And her.