Adianoeta: An expression that, in addition to an obvious meaning, carries a second, subtle meaning (often at variance with the ostensible meaning).
I had been sitting there for the past 2 minutes and I was dying to stroke her pussy. It was multicolored and silky. I had petted it once before but it swatted at me with claws out. Luckily, it didn’t get me or I’d probably have a scratch across my hand—it’s like my father told me: “Don’t try to play with pussies that don’t want to play with you.” But the problem is, you don’t know whether they want to play with you if you don’t try to play with them.
This pussy was named “Feckless” and she belonged to my friend Marie. The first time I asked if I could play with Marie’s pussy, she smacked me in the face and told me to get the hell out of her apartment—that we didn’t have that kind of relationship. When I explained the confusion, she apologized for giving me a bloody nose, and told me I could play with her pussy as much as I wanted. I tried to pick up Feckless to stroke her, and like today, and the time before, she let me have it full blast, but this time she got me. I had to go to the emergency room. They laughed when I told them I was scratched by a pussy. Then and there I decided I would call pussies “cats.”
I have no idea where the pussy thing came from and why it took me so long to get it straightened out. You would think that Marie’s slap in the face would’ve woken me up, and to some extent it did. Then my football coach started calling me a pussy. He called me a pussy because I wasn’t interested in killing people from the other team. My teammates wouldn’t hesitate to stomp on the opposition’s throats, stomachs or crotches with their spikes. The crotch stomps did little damage due to the protection worn down there—but throats and stomachs were wonderfully vulnerable. When Coach called me a “pussy” I would meow at him and he would throw me off the field. I’d hiss at him as I headed for the locker room. I decided I didn’t want to be a pussy and I quit the team.
I became a “cat”—a “cool cat.” I grew my hair long with sideburns and started wearing blue jeans. I said “man” and “cool” all the time. I got a switchblade knife and motorcycle boots. Not only was I a cat, I was a stud. I joined a gang named “The Rabid Cats.” I participated in some petty crime and inconsequential gang fights. We fought it out with “Satan’s Halos” with bean bags and nerf guns. That’s when I decided to go back to my normal life.
I went looking for Marie, hoping that something would blossom between us. I found her. She had a baby. She said, “I never should’ve let that bastard stroke my pussy.”
Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu)
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