Nectarine oralgasm

When he called, he thought I was having sex.

"I am I interrupting something?" he asked.

"No, no. I've just found the most orgasmic nectarine."

"Pardon me?"

"I'm at the fruit stand and I found this perfectly ripe orgasmic-smelling nectarine."

"An orgasmic nectarine, hunh?" He sounded dubious.

"You've never bitten into a nectarine and had an oralgasm?"

"A what?"

"Nevermind. I'll save this one for when I see you tomorrow."


Sunday afternoon I produced The Nectarine. I cradled the smooth-skinned fruit in my hand. It was room temperature and the flesh had just enough give to it. I held it to my nose and inhaled, letting out a low moan. "Mmmmmm," I sighed.

He quirked an eyebrow.

"I'll share, but I'm going to teach you how to eat it my way."

"Your way?"

"Yes. I promise this nectarine will be oralgasmic if you eat it my way."

He nodded and I held the nectarine up to his nose. "Smell it."

He inhaled deeply.

"Does it smell good?"

"Yes, very good."

"Now, rub your lips against it."

"What?"

"Just close your eyes, and rub your lips against it."

He did as he was told.

"Smooth, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"Smooth like a baby's bottom? Smooth like my pussy?"

"Yes," he grunted that a bit.

"Touch it with your tongue. Slide your tongue over it, like you would if you were tasting me."

"Oooo-kay...." he said, but he did it.

"Now take a bite of it. Sink your teeth into it and suck the juices as you bite it."

He took a bite. It was a smallish bite.

"How does it taste?"

"Mmmm... very good."

"Now, run your tongue along the bite you made.... Feel that? Smooth and juicy?"

He nodded.

"Suck it."

He did. He made an appreciative noise.

"Not bad," I said, and smiled at him. "My turn."

I rubbed the nectarine against my lips. I smelled it. I opened my mouth and sank my teeth in and moaned as the juices filled my mouth. I sucked as I bit away the flesh and had a noisy oralgasm, moaning and sighing over how good it was. The best nectarine so far this season.

"Again," I told him, and held the fruit to his mouth.

I watched as his white teeth bit into the rosy skin, watched his lips purse as he sucked up some of the juices.

"Mmmmm..." I made the pleasure noises for him, my mouth watering, knowing what he was experiencing.

I watched as he flattened his tongue against the wound he had made, sliding it over the golden flesh. I pulled the nectarine away and kissed him, sucking at his tongue, licking at his lips, enjoying the combined flavor of man and fruit.

My turn again. I closed my eyes and slowly sank my teeth into it, savouring the feel of it on my tongue, loving the way my teeth sank into the flesh. I sucked at the juices that welled up around the holes my teeth were making. I bit away the piece and pressed my tongue to the wound, sliding it over the slippery smoothness, savoring the taste and texture. I moaned and sucked and sighed and chewed, and when I had finished my bite of the fruit he spoke.

"God, you're amazing," he said, his voice all throaty.

"What do you mean?"

"I'll never eat a nectarine the same way again."

"Good!" I said, and put the nectarine aside. I had something else for him to taste.


He must have been very appreciative of the lesson, because he sent me roses today. The photo above is one of them.

Life after work and illness

So I caught bronchitis after 6 weeks of working 1o-12 hour days. Two weeks, 4.5 days off work, and two inhalers later, I decided it would be good to resume my social life. So I accepted a few invitations with the proviso that I could rest if I needed to. Thursday night I drove to CW's and he made me a good dinner (my first in a week) and when I was tired we curled up on his bed and watched some comedians. Friday M contacted me, invited me over for a dinner party. We ate lamb and talked and then the group of us, perhaps 15 people, piled together on and around the couch to watch a movie. It felt good to sit between M's legs, to lean back against his chest while we watched Goonies and tug on his long curls and have him slide his hands down my arms and rest his chin on my head and just be. It also felt good to cuddle with J on Saturday night, to listen to the strong, slow beat of his heart, to feel his hard, firm body snuggled up against my softness and know how much he likes it that I am plump (as odd as it seems to me). I think I will take tomorrow as a day of rest.

Irrepressible me

Life is better than I have any right to expect. I suppose it has a lot to do with the fact that I am irrepressible. I am incapable of being depressed, repressed, or suppressed for more than an hour or two at a time.

Plus, I have a lot to be grateful for. Especially my friends. And my roomie.

My roommate is a TPE domestic (while living with me, anyway) submissive named C. She is between Masters--in fact, I have right of refusal on her next one, as her heart (and cunt) have no brain cells and she tends to fall for real jerks (IMHO, most "Doms" are men who have issues with women or their own masculinity). Anyway, I called her from Las Vegas and asked her to chill a bottle of viognier for me. She spent all of Saturday cleaning house, so when I got home, everything was spotless, the wine was cold, and the hug was warm.

She did everything but the windows, which I did Sunday morning while she was still asleep, so she would not feel badly for missing them. Sunday morning I was awake at 6am, five hours sleep on a tempurpedic being sufficient rest for me. I made a breakfast of granola and yogurt and blueberries, did some gardening, washed windows, and sat back to read a bit of Oscar Wilde. He always makes me smile. My current favorite of his epigrams is: "I have the simplest tastes. I am always satisfied with the best."

The silence and solitude of Sunday morning were truly golden. I do so love being alone. I basked in it, and slowly relaxed. I met M. for late lunch at Saburos (wonderful sushi--their unagi nigeri is so good, my mouth is watering remembering it). Spoke to B. about the Love Tribe Snuggle Salon starting at 6pm. He insisted it would be good for me, that I really needed it. He was right. Four hours of snuggling and massaging and I felt amazing afterwards. I'm a little sore today, but it was worth it.

When I got home from the Snuggle, C. was feeling social. I thanked her for all the things she'd done, and we sat on my bed and talked, and she showed me some of the fruits of her efforts with a graphic design project she is working on. It was good to be near her, and her undemanding socialness.

I take care of her, she takes care of me. I'm so lucky -- I always said I wanted a wife. Now I get all the benefits of one, w/o the sex. Which is fine :) I'm off women for a while, anway.

Weekend with a friend

I spent the weekend in San Francisco with a friend of mine, M, who is one of my three closest friends. We have a deeply intimate relationship, one which he describes as nebulous. He's been there for me in so many ways the past two years, my biggest supporter, the one I leaned on the most the first year after S and I broke up. During my period of celibacy he was a sexual sink for me, as well, which definately crossed a lot of male-female friendship lines. But at the time I did not have a female friend I felt intimate enough with to talk about the more erotic thoughts and feelings that were flowing through me as I practiced my libidinous brand of celibacy.

And so our intimacy developed and deepened until he was friend and confidant and lover-substitute. I have a talent for complicated relationships, I admit it. Particularly with men, as I prefer the compay of men as friends as well as lovers. But some of my hetero frienships are fraught with tensions, tensions I will not go into as I already posted my thoughts on the subject here. Suffice it to say, however, that the levels of intimacy that M and I achieved created problems when I started dating, because we come from opposite places with regards to loving relationships. I have no problems being mentally, emotionally, and physically intimate with my friends, be they male or female--to me it is a natural extension of my affection for them. Its not about romance or desire or passion... its about the deeply pleasurable sharing of self.

Dating, sexual activity--these created strain, not necessarily because he wanted me all to himself, but because he is territorial, and male, and normal (vanilla), and because suddenly my sexuality (now that others were involved) became a topic he was no longer comfortable discussing. Which hurt. I tried to respect the new boundaries, but kept running into his, because I don't have them. I am not a labyrinth of internal boundaries like most people. Anyway, we both made choices, we said and did things, we tried being there for each other, through our various crises, and slowly, over a six month period, we found ourselves saddened by the gulf growing between us. Physical distance was starting to translate into emotional distance, despite our best efforts at communication.

I love him. I love him like I love few people in my life. His happiness and well-being are important to my own. And the well-being of our relationship, whatever form it takes, is important to my own. And so I invited myself down to San Francisco for the weekend, determined to show us both that we can enjoy each other's company sans sexual tension. I masturbated like a fiend Friday night--drained my libido so completely that it really didn't start bouncing back until Monday night. I was so well-sated that it was safe to massage him awake Saturday morning, sitting at the foot of his water bed with the sunlight pouring over me and his wonderful sleepy scent filling the air. And Sunday I woke him up with a cuddle, spooning myself against him, letting love fill me and hoping it would seep into him, reassuring him of his importance and place in my life.

We visited the Exploratorium, walked through gardens and parks, ate sushi and dim sum, watched Princess Mononoke and a couple of Ghost in the Shell episodes. We savored the perfect weather, walking the hilly streets in the North Beach area, wading through the people who jammed the blockaded streets for the festival, and stretched out in the grass at the park to listen to music. We had some good conversation and comfortable silences, and as he drove me to the airport I knew we would both be ok. That the entity that is 'us' would be ok.

Baths, online dating, and reconsiling polyamory

Click here for audio/podcast.
Bath night was delayed by one day, but it was worth it. The soap I ordered arrived, the delicious Roger&Gallet Gingember, which smells of ginger and sandalwood. While water filled the tub, I located one of my hinoki masu and opened the bottle of Taisetsu sake that had been chilling in the refrigerator. I lowered myself into the tub, leaned back, and closed my eyes. Ahhhh. The cold sake was a wonderful contrast to the hot water, and it did not take long for the combination to go to my head. No, indeed.

As I soaked, I thought about the past week or so, what I had experienced, what I had accomplished, and my interactions with my loved ones.

I had a date Monday night, a first-time date with someone I had chatted-up online. It was the first time I had done something like this, and I was a bit nervous because I've heard from women-friends that their first-dates with people they had met online rarely went well. But I wasn't terribly nervous, because M. and I clicked well, and I knew he wasn't one of those hard-up types looking for sex--he was too relaxed and comfortable with himself. So I called him and asked him if he wanted to come with me to Fry's, because I knew we both had things we wanted to pick up there. A very geek place to go on a first date, I suppose, but it worked.

When we met, the first thing I noticed about him was his smell. It was a good, healthy-male pheromone smell, with no discernable cologne. It was not an instant turn-on, but his scent was a bit distracting to me. The second thing was his hair. I could not resist the hair, I had to pull on one of the ringlets hanging down his back. The third thing was his energy, which meshed well with mine. We talked comfortably for the half hour drive there and back, and seeing as we had not run out of things to say, went for sushi. After sushi, his place for tea and conversation, and (surprise!) some lovely kisses. I really like him, and I look forward to seeng him again when he returns from his business trip.

Of course, C. knew I was going out with M., and of course I told him how well we hit it off. And of course, he was a bit irked. I told him that I'm not looking for a relationship and M. isn't looking for a relationship and seeing as how he (C.) travels so much and has such a full life with his sister's family when he is home, its not like me seeing M. occasionally (if I do) is going to interfere with my ability to see him.

This lead to a discussion last night about about how sad I find it that most people feel that adding another person to the 'loved' circle means less love for everyone in it. I asked him if the birth of his nephew Luke meant he loved his nephew Mark less. He said no.

I asked him if the birth of his sister when he was a child meant his parents loved him less. He said no, but there was an expression on his face that I recognized, because it expressed my own feelings when I was a child and they brought my infant sisters home. My family may not have loved me less, but from that day forward they sure paid a LOT more attention to my sisters than they did to me. They tried to explain to me that it had to do with being a baby, that I got the same sort of attention when I was a baby, that babies are helpless and need constant care... but the child in me only understood that she was feeling abandoned, and envious of the attention someone else was getting, attention that she wanted.

Love shared, my inner-child learned, means less for me. I think most adults, consciously or not, operate from that emotional place when it comes to relationships. And most never move from it, it seems. I've thought about how it is I managed to move past it. I talked to my therapist about it when I was going through so much angst over societal non-acceptance of my poly nature, and the conclusion I have reached is that it has to do with a capacity I have carried forward from childhood: the capacity to love.

Children love. It is what they do best. They do it with full trust and without reservation. When I hugged my niece last month for the first time in two years, I could feel the love in her. I thought it would burst from her skin if I squeezed her too hard. It pulsed in her, splattered me with messy kisses, flattered me with adoring eyes, warmed me with trusting limbs draped on me in sleep. She fell in love with me and I with her and neither of us loved anyone else less for it.

A child's capacity for love is limitless. And so is an adult's. Most just don't realize it. They still have a child's belief that time and attention equals proof of love, and love is limited by time and attention, and that competition for that limited commodity means less for them.

I soaked in the tub until the water was cool, thinking, wondering how to get across to people that love shared does not diminish. For me, Love defies the law of diminishing returns. The more I love, the more I can love. I haves o many amazing, wonderful people in my life. They enrich me, intoxicate me, challenge me. They are the hyacinths which feed my soul. If asked to choose amongst them, I would be unable to.

When I think about my last relationship, when I think about how it felt, not just being monogamous, but having my nature curbed and under attack, and living under the shroud of S's perpetual suspicion, I feel something akin to despair. I am sensual, tactile. I hug, I kiss, I touch, I smile at the people I care for. But for the most part, I had to reserve it all for S, who didn't like demonstrations of affection outside the bedroom. All those other avenues of love blockaded did not mean more love or security for S. The relationship slowly deteriorated as I withdrew more and more into myself, trying to avoid missteps that might be mis-interpreted by S. as sexual interest in someone else (Why don't you just go fuck him? was not an uncommon question).

For me, not being able to just love people the way I want (need?) to is a form of torture. I imagine what Yo-yo Ma would feel like in world in which he could only play one instrument, a single, much loved cello, despite the longing in his heart to touch other cellos and bring their voices to life. Or a chef whose only ingredient was chateaubriand. Or an artist who had the finest brushes and canvases...but only one colour of paint.

I love.
It is who I am.
It is what I do.

And C. (and a few others of my loved-ones), well, his adult mind understands my polyamorous nature. Its is inner-child that has trouble with it. Some people just can't get past their fear that sharing anything, especially someone's love, means less for them. I sure hope he can get past it though, because I'm done trying to curb the way I love in order to assuage a lover's fears. It makes me miserable. It diminishes me.

Friday night sushi

Friday, RS asked me what I was doing for dinner: I told him I had no plans. So we went for sushi at a little hole-in-the-wall place, and sat outside under some flowering dogwoods, and talked. He told me I looked stressed. I teased him and told him he shouldn't tell a woman that she looks stressed, because it means she looks old. He laughed. He looked like he needed a laugh. He's lost a lot of weight the past couple of weeks, and I took the opportunity to ask him about it. He said he is having issues with his ex-lover.

And so we had a conversation about what we want in our next long-term partners.

He said that sex isn't as important as it once was, that companionship, that mental and emotional compatability were most important to him. He said that when a relationship is built mostly on sex, and the strong sexual attraction dies, which is almost always doomed to happen, then there isn't anything to sustain the relationship.

I asked him what if he came across a Great Love that was fulfilling on the mental and emotional and spiritual levels, but not sexually, would he walk away. And he leaned back in the chair and laid his head on the hands cupped behind his head and his expression became very pensive.

And he said: "I don't know... sex is very important..." and then he watched the sky a little longer, and he said, "Sex is very important... in the beginning..." He shifted position, leaning forward to rest his elbow on the table, touched the flower centerpiece with his other hand. And into the silence that grew between us, I told him quietly of CG, who had been on my mind since the anniversary of his death, and described what had been there between us.

I put one hand on my solar plexus, and told him what it felt like there, the connection, the depth of it, the flow, and he looked so solemn, and his eyes widened and closed. And he said that if he felt that for someone one, and they felt it too, he could never walk away from it. I felt tears in my eyes, and I asked him, what if one felt sexually attracted, and not the other? And said, "Oh Kay...that would be hell."

We sat in silence for a while longer, and he asked. "Were you the one who was not attracted?", and when I nodded, he asked, "You didn't even let him try to make love to you, did you?" I told him no. I told him I'd deliberately ignored all of CG's overtures, pretending to be oblivious, and succeeding, until one night, I just couldn't ignore it. CG was reading Twain to me, and it was late, and I fell asleep with my head in his lap, and when I woke up, he was touching me, and his hand trembled, and when I opened my eyes he looked at me with such intensity in those clear grey-green eyes, and I knew. And knowing, I couldn't deceive myself anymore. I thought of MR and the arguments we'd been having over CG. I loved them both, but MR and I were fanastic together physically and there was no way I was willing to give that up for the tepidness I felt for CG sexually, despite the link we had. And so I pushed him out of my life, thinking it was for the best.

RS is an amazing listener, very focussed. He was quiet for a while, and he said "Its a funny thing about chemistry--sometimes its there and sometimes its not." And he said to me that I have considerably more experience than he does, so he knows that I know that sex is about chemistry and pheromones, but did I know that love-making is about emotional and psychological cues? I asked for clarification. He asked me if I'd had a lover want sex when I didn't. And I smiled and said of course. He asked if I pushed them away, or let that person make love to me, to which I answered that I usually let them make love to me, because it almost always felt good enough that arousal usually followed, like a slow burn. And then he said, "Knowing that, why didn't you let CG try?" My answer was that I didn't know it then.

He told me that if I was ever lucky enough to come across something like that again in my life, I would be a fool to walk away. I nodded. I had no other response to that, other than tears that never made it past my eyelashes.