Unlike my tongue, my yoni does not like spicy food. She discovered this not once, but twice. The first time she tasted Chile Rellenos, and the second time she tasted Goan fish curry. It all started on Valencia Street in San Francisco. I went to my boyfriend's house, and his roommate was making Chile Rellenos. He was using jalapenos instead of pablano chiles, so I knew it was going to be hot. My mouth started sallivating. We started eating in my boyfriend's room, and he took off his shirt. He was hot. My vagina started lubricating. I quickly stuffed my face with the remaining chile so I could satiate another hunger. But I wasn't the only one hungry. My boyfriend pulled off my jeans and underwear and started lapping up my yoni. First it felt good, but then it burned. I didn't know whether to keep going or stop. But then it really started to burn. I grabbed my boyfriend by the hair and flung him aside. I started jumping up and down. My boyfriend looked at my like I was crazy. Then he put it together. I ran in his bathroom and flushed out my vagina. I promised myself I would never experience that sensation again. But promises are broken. Eight years later I found myself in a cafe on the beach in Goa. I ate some of that really good Goan fish curry. It had coconuts and lots of chile. It reminded me of my grandmother's cooking, and I dropped the formalities of silverware and used my hands like I used to at home when I was a kid. I finished up my food and got ready to go relax on the beach. Then I remembered that I needed to change my tampon. I decided to go to the hotel next door since the sink area outside the bathroom looked really dirty. As I walked out, these leering pervert uncles started staring me down. They had just returned from the temple. I could tell from the vermillion on their foreheads, which only reminded me of the color between my legs that needed to quickly be contained. I glared at the uncles and ran to the hotel next door. "Where's the bathroom?" I asked the woman behind the desk.
"Go next door to hotel,"she told me.
"Don't you have one here?" I desperately asked.
"Sorry madam, you'll have to go to the hotel."
I had no choice. It was either go back inside or risk bleeding through my pants and/or risking toxic shock syndrome, so I went back inside. The uncles leered, I snarled and marched to the dirty smelly bathroom. As soon as I opened the door, I almost puked. This mofo had clearly not been cleaned for months. I didn't dare touch the faucet to wash my hands. I pulled down my pants and tugged at the string between my legs. The extra saturated tampon easily slipped out. I threw it in what I hoped was a trash receptacle. Then I opened my purse to find another tampon. Of course, I use the tampons without applicators, so I had to finger myself to get the tampon in. Hot shrimp curry fingers left burning sensations that were all too familiar. I quickly pulled up my pants, applied hand sanitizer to my curry and blood infused fingers, and ran into the beach, submerging myself to cool off. Needless to say, I was really happy to shower that night.