Oliver surveyed his room once more to ensure that everything was arranged perfectly. His door was shut and blinds drawn. A candle was lit and its match properly extinguished. A tissue was within reach on his bed, laid out to receive his body’s unclean byproduct. Yes, everything seemed perfect. It was finally time to clean his ears.

Opening the first travel sized packet of cotton swabs, he evaluated each individually until finding the singular tool with the finest swirl of fabric. The perfect cotton swab had the airiness necessary to make the process physically pleasing, while retaining the ability to free the unwanted materials from their purchase on his ears’ ridges. Oliver continued the selection for each package, until he had twelve perfect instruments resting in a line.

Now the time had truly come. Oliver allowed himself a deep, smiling breath and lifted the first cotton swab to the upper tip of his left ear. The feeling of that first contact, sweeping down the curve, teasing deeper inside before continuing on its path, electrified Oliver, practically making him shiver. He pulled the swab’s unused end up the ridge at the rear of his ear, then under the crest he had just passed from the opposite side. Oliver marveled that the sensation could be so totally different, despite stimulating areas that were separated only by the most fractional distance.

Each cotton swab was used in its turn, alternately being employed in delicate movements and more forceful sweeps, until the most vital two remained, those reserved for that most pleasurable of transgressions – entering the ear canal. Despite mountains of warnings against it, Oliver found himself compelled to feel the thrill of the cotton pushing inside him, twirling against sensitive walls in movements a conductor might use to bring a symphony to crescendo. A feeling of pure ecstasy.

Placing the last of his mess on the once virginal white of the tissue, Oliver was spent. For a moment he regretted his waste, until he assured himself that these little sins were permissible, as long as they were so pleasurable and without harm. He folded the edges carefully over his untidiness and disposed of it in the trash bin.

 
 
 
Perhaps obviously, I do not own the rights to the Q-Tip brand name. Those belong to Unilever. Or Kamaal Ibn John Fareed, if you want to get cute.