Houseflies are sweet. And that’s why the game is difficult.
Don’t brush your teeth, let its stench rival that of public latrines. At this stage, open your mouth like a flytrap, let your bait of unbearable stink attract the unlucky creature…
It finally comes buzzing, discovering. A wide grin across its face—the wind has been a good messenger. The fly perches on your tongue, inserts its proboscis. Sucking. Thinking: this is fly heaven…
Comfort blinds. Shut your mouth. Don’t do it tightly, restrain your ruthlessness; the sudden darkness, for now, is enough to startle it.
You feel it clamouring for freedom: thrusting itself on the walls within your mouth, knocking, struggling to set free. As it clamours, the sweet juice within it is cooking. Let it cook, cook and cook—but pray it does not discover that route down your throat.
When it slows down its movement, you know it is tired. The juice is ready. It is then you cripple its movement, sandwiching it between your tongue and upper mouth. You feel it on your tongue, tickling, trembling, scratching, digging, attempting to escape. But its legs are weak. Like hair strands.
Compress. At that point, it starts to secrete its juice. Your saliva pumps out, spreading the taste all over your mouth, giving your taste buds a rare experience—a blend of honey, milk and something strange. Keep compressing, squeezing it off its juice. The tighter, the wetter, the sweeter.
It is intoxicating, so know when to stop or else you crush it to death, then it becomes like a tank of gall spilled within your mouth. You spit, spit and spit, scrubbing your tongue with water, but the bitter taste never leaves. This shows you’re a bloody amateur.
To show you are not, squeeze the fly close to the point of death—at that point where a tighter squeeze would murder the sorry being. It is then you spit it out. There, you’ve passed the first stage.
When you spit out the fly, and it plunges straight to the ground, like an airplane out of fuel or it glides around like a drunk before rocketing to the ground, you’ve lost out.
But when you spit it out, and it flaps every tiny droplet of your saliva off it wings, gains momentum and takes off, then you are a pro: You’ve licked it clean for it to seek you again with more sweet dirtiness.
This is how you milk a housefly.