Pip reached into the bag once more, this time pulling out the letter G. He used his other hand to spread her lips this time, exposing her elongated clitoris; it pulsated at the cold air. Around it were dollops of hardened cream that had dried to her skin. The smell was putrid, rising fast through Pip’s small nostrils. “Jesus, do you ever bathe?” he asked. “Letter G for gunk flaps.”
That’s a big word for Elmo
