Sunday, February 2, 2014


Extra Virgin Olive Oil has been around the Mediterranean landscape for over ten thousand years, as food, skin massage oil, medicine, a magic potion with so many virtues.... and this funny name.... 

“What do you mean ‘extra virgin’? Either you are a virgin or you are not, right?” “Well, not quite. In most cultures, if you are describing the ancestral traditions of sex and marriage and the concept of not having sexual intercourse before marriage, then yes, things are simple. Or, are they? Virginity equals purity, the notion that comes from nature, the untouched land, the new spring flower, the clear water of the pristine river with the untold but ever present thought that it is indeed the virginity of the bride that guarantees the male that his first born descendant is genetically his. Only the virginity of his bride can assure him of that. And only for the first born of course, after defloration, breakage of the hymen with the symbolic drop of blood, life takes its course and twists, love and sex mingle and separate like oil and water, sometimes emulsified like a vinaigrette and a times separated on their own course like an oil spill that pollutes the ocean. The resulting baby is different, genetically and physically. Whose baby is it and how would you even know until the advent of genetic identification? As the old saying goes: “Whose baby? Mama’s baby, Papa’s maybe!”

So the virgin bride gives one sure chance to the groom on their wedding night. The ritual is on, the tradition perpetuates itself, at least it did for a few millenniums, until the sexual revolution of the twentieth century changed the odds, the freedom, the emancipation of young women to control their future and sex and love life the way they see fit. In most cultures of the twenty first century it has become common practice and admittedly customary for the bride not to be a virgin on her wedding night; to in fact have sexual experience and knowledge of life’s pleasure, as it had been quite admissible for the groom.

Cultures mostly driven by religion still value the virginity of the bride as the symbolic purity of wedlock to conceive and procreate. In our new culture and environment the “extra virgin” might be the women who’s had no sex at all whereas the ‘virgin’ would have only preserved the purity of her intact hymen, yet permitted herself to experience other forms of sex. Yes, why not oral and anal as long as she comes to her wedding bed with an untouched vagina? This way of balancing the exigencies of religious cultural demands within the permissive society of the twenty first century seems more prevalent in certain parts of the world, for example in North Africa. I remember N’ in Casablanca who gave me her round and hairy ass to take but I was young and inexperienced so I didn’t, N’ was younger than I but very mature. She taught me a few interesting lessons; one of them essential: “you should never come in a woman’s mouth without first asking permission”. A few years later in Paris I met P’ the petite brunette from Algiers who worked at a charming traditional bakery and who wouldn’t have sex otherwise. She clearly stated on our first date “I will remain a virgin but you can have my derrière.” And then came M’ from Tunisia, a beautiful tall woman with tanned skin and striking black hair, always wrapped in her Hermès scarf. Again, in a whisper she informed me that although she had just turned 30, she was still a virgin however we could have sex. And indeed, we did. It was hot, tumultuous and torrid. It was all sensual, anal, and oral.

Fly forward from Paris to New York, a decade into the future, and here I am with 1’ I met on OK Cupid. “I give you two choices”, she said, ”What will you do?” “If we do it tonight, you will never see me again. Or, if you want to see me again, then we do it next time we meet.”

I was definitely tricked and not sure how to get out of this one. She was such a good teaser the whole evening, but now we had been kissing and hugging for over a hour, standing by her bike, as she kept saying she has to go home to sleep at her mommy’s house, and yet she seemed that serious about her proposal when she gave me this diabolical charade to decipher. What did she really want? Would she actually oblige if I took her word, and said” let’s have sex now”, and the risk of alienating her forever. But then, we live in the present, not forever, especially guys, I noticed mentally. How are these women wired, I wonder? It’s scary and so damn hard to figure out. OK, let’s go back rationally on this. You are not supposed to have sex on the first date anyway, right? That’s the classic adage of dating? And it applies to most cultures, so it would obviously be true in Dominican Republic. Better clarify this. I’m kind of baffled by her proposal. This is no longer a tease; it’s an actual test of my resolve. So I must take this baffled look and exclaim: ”Wow, do you actually mean this for real? So you are saying if we have sex tonight, I’ll never see you again?” –-“ The choice is yours entirely,” she says with a mischievous smile. “You tell me what you prefer; I’ll do whatever you like. But if we have sex now, you’ll never see me again, whereas if you really want to see me again, then you will have to wait until next time. So what’s your decision?” Her smile is bright and wide, her lips still humid, from our last kiss, a minute ago, not the deep French kiss I wanted, rather the teasing kiss she’s been playing on me since we came out of the Greek restaurant earlier. She is so beautiful with her hair pulled back and her sparkling eyes illuminating the street like two inquisitive flashlights pointing at me and searching into my soul. 

Museum of Arts & Design, NY
– “So what’s your decision?”
OMG, she is testing me alright and not letting go the pressure. How can I save time and come up with a non-offensive reply that leaves us into my bed and doesn’t sound so obvious? Or is there no way out of this trap anyway? I would have never suspected, I’d be faced with such a dilemma when we met for the first time at the museum just a few hours earlier. We chatted online in the afternoon. She had a cute screen name that started with a “1” and I liked it. So I immediately called her 1’ and she liked it too. “How about meeting for a drink instead of chatting all day?” I said. And to my surprise, 1’ replied:” I’ll be at the MAD on Columbia Circle at 6 with my friends if you want to join us at the museum.” I hadn't been back to the Museum of American Design in a long time, so why not?

I found her turquoise scarf following a tour on the fifth floor as she had instructed me and I joined the tour quietly while the docent was pointing to some piece of carved wood that looked like a puzzle. In a whisper, 1’ introduced me to her two girlfriends F’ and J’; F’ sexy, alert, warm; J’ cold, uneasy, and unhappy to see me crash their girls’ night out. J’s hand was sweaty and she didn’t look at me in the eyes as we were being introduced. 1’ on the other hand was warm and welcoming. As we kissed on the cheek in a French “bonjour”, she briefly touched my arm with her hand as an inviting gesture and that gave the tone of our first encounter. For the next hour, we only exchanged a few words while the docent was getting louder and over-excited about every art piece she was showing – now a wooden chair with some carved patchwork on it – wanting everyone’s attention on the artist and the artwork, not on each other’s butt. I wasn’t paying much attention; I was watching 1’ from the back of the tour, mentally rehearsing notes from her OKC profile description. She was taller and slimmer than her profile pics would let you believe, and her round and generous derrière was surprisingly larger than in the picture on the beach of Fire Island. Maybe because she wore those thick and tight leggings probably better for biking. She held her white helmet in her hand with a small purse tucked in it. Her top tank was also very tight and flattened her breasts. Finally, she wore a light mousseline blouse with a black and blue print and the turquoise scarf I had spotted easily, loosely thrown around her graceful neck. With her hair pulled up and tightened with a blue hair-band you could see her long neck line and her ear lobes graced with oversized ring-style earrings. Her pitch-black complexion made her eyes sparkle even more and let her smile illuminate the room every time she opened her mouth. I found the space in her front teeth so charming....

 - “So, what’s your decision?”
 - “I’m not sure,” I replied, “I’ve never been confronted to such teasing dilemma and frankly I’m still trying to figure out if you really mean what you said.”
 - “I’m not teasing. I mean it. What’s your decision?”
 - “Well, suppose I say let’s have sex right now, I’m guessing you’ll change your mind, so with my Cartesian approach, I should of course take the other option and see you tomorrow or next time I come to New York in a week or two, but then, I’m wondering if you really want to see me again or is this a smart way of making sure you can elegantly disappear?”
 - “Oh no, I would see you again but only if we do not have sex tonight. You have to let me go home right now, it’s getting late and I’m tired.”
 - “Well then, if you tired, why even bother to offer to have sex tonight with the condition I’ll never see you again? This makes no sense, right? So, if I’m not mistaken, I should elect the option of sex right now so I can test you with your own poison and see if you drink it or you don’t!”
 - “Would you dare do that and take a chance to never see me again? You don’t like me then, you’re only interested in sex like all those other guys after all!”
 - “Hold on, you’re very good at teasing but see, I can tell this was a trap. All you wanted to check is if I would say yes, let’s do it so as to prove am not interested in having a relationship with you, only instant gratification; let’s suppose for a second that I’d say yes right now just to test you in return and see if you are real….” I laughed a few second and added “with the conviction I will get one of two possible outcomes: either you’ll say I’m too tired I changed my mind or we do tonight and it’s so great that we both want to do it again!” She looked incredulous.
 - “ No, you can’t change the rule. If we do it tonight, I said never again and I mean it.” As she said that, she frowned while smiling, so cute and desirable, I wanted to kiss her again, so I hugged and squeezed her a little and as my tongue was starting to penetrate her wet lips, she bit me.
 - “Ouch! You’re crazy!”
 - “ Oh, did it hurt? I’m sorry.”
 - “No, you’re not. That was deliberate and quite violent.”
 - “ No. I’m really sorry it’s just a game.”

I had never met such a teaser in my life, sparkling eyes, soft touch, dangerous and so articulate. OMG this is going to be complicated.
 - “ Ok, let’s go back to my hotel.”
 - “ Are you serious?”
 - “ Yes, dead serious, let’s get it over with! I mean let me make love to you now and we’ll see what happens.”
 - “ Do you like me?”
 - “ Of course I like you. Why would I want to make love to you if I didn't?”
 - “How can you say you like me if you don’t ever want to see me again, that’s not true then.”
 - “ I’m telling you I made an assumption you will change your mind, it’s my way of testing you. “
 - “Hmm, that’s not fair.”
 - “Well, do you like me?”
 - “Yes, actually I want to see you again. So I’ll just go home to my mummy’s right now.” As she said that, she put her biking helmet, swiftly unlocked her bike and proceeded to move.
 - “ Wait, that wasn’t the deal! I do want to see you again soon. How about you come visit me at my hotel with some croissants first thing in the morning? “
 - “ Oh I don’t know about that, I need to sleep. I’m tired.”
 We kept chatting and hugging another 20, 30 minutes on the sidewalk; the most erotic thing she did was to gently scratch my chest with her fingers before we parted and she pedaled away and disappeared from my eyesight as a shadow. I walked back ten blocks pensively thinking I’d probably never see her again. She won. I lost the warmth of her touch on my arms, on my chest; her fingers on my neck…. Would I gain a friend or just a memory of a furtive shadow?

The next day, I was still in New York City. Little did I know the ultimate tease from 1’ was yet to come. I texted her in the morning, but she was too busy to meet me, perhaps coffee in the afternoon before I hopped back on my train…. “How about something sweet to go with the coffee? “ I said. There was this new pastry shop downtown, started by a brilliant gourmand Dominique Ansel Bakery.
Kiki de Montparnasse store in New York
But then, at the last minute, I told 1’ “why don’t we meet instead at Kiki De Montparnasse, since you’ve never shopped for a sex toy yet? They have beautiful undies too.” “Sure”, she said, “I’ll meet you there.” I got there in no time; waited for a half hour; and started getting anxious about catching my train when suddenly 1’ appeared at the end of Mercer Street on her bike. As we browsed through the store we couldn’t find the perfect sex toy because the very model she wanted was out of stock. I promised I would get it later and I did. Meanwhile 1’ found a very sexy set in knitted cotton with a small bra and matching panties. I suggested trying them to make sure they fit and as she did I peeked inside the fitting room, she was having fun trying to fit the tinny cups of the bra onto her generous breasts. I got a little closer to give her an air kiss and did slip a finger under the cup to very softly brush her nipple. Only teasing. The day was running away from us. So was my train. After debating internally whether I should stay over and spend the rest of the evening with 1’, I turned around towards Penn Station and she escaped again on her bike and a big smile.

The ultimate teasing was yet to come upon our next encounter in NYC, two weeks later. We first had a serious discussion over dinner at the Spice Market downtown. She asked what my expectations were from the relationship and reciprocally offered extensive background information on her recent breakup and the fact she did not seek anything “serious” at this point. She quickly narrowed it down to a simple menu of options: we could be “friends” in public and “sex buddies” in private. I agreed but also added I wanted to be her personal massage therapist. Deal. We went back to my hotel room, and had a long and deep kiss; the kind of French kiss I had been craving for. We both enjoyed the moment so much that we stopped moving about and only kept the kiss suspended in time as the only thing that mattered. After an infinite and enjoyable lapse, still standing in the middle of the small room, we let our hands slowly explore our bodies through heavy layers of clothing. We moved to the bed for her massage; that first one was going to be baby oil that night, before we scaled up later to her coconut oil and then even more fun with EVOO.

I asked 1’: ”please get on your tummy so I can start your massage; baby oil is ok? “Hmm, Yup!” I helped her removed her jacket and top and she put her head face down inside a pillow, I tucked one more pillow under her stomach to lift her buttocks a little and unclipped her bra to free her back for my two palms. She let me pull her green skirt down, helping me unzip it quickly and lift her up to get rid of it but wanted to keep her tights for now. I fist touched her bare skin to experience the softness of her dark complexion and fine grain, moving up from her low back to her neck line. I then applied a few drops of baby oil to my palms and spread it vigorously along both sides of her vertebras, as I started moving ever slowly in circular motions from her spine to her sides. 1’ looked like a full figure when dressed up and amazingly much slimmer when naked because her very thin waist more than compensated for her generous thighs. That evening was the first time I saw her naked and I was shocked by the silkiness of her skin and equally surprised by the true hourglass shape of her silhouette. As my hands were alternating the softest of caress with firm and deep tissue massage, I was moving up progressively from 1’s lower back to mid-torso in arching motions; on both sides of her body, I caressed only the sides of her breasts while my hard-on was getting much harder in my black “naked” jeans. They were called “Naked & Famous” because they had never been washed, but I was still fully dressed. I massaged 1’s neck and strong shoulders for several minutes, methodically digging in every muscle and worked my way back down to the tight spots under her scapula, then along both sides of the spine, looking for the very points of shiatsu, those Chinese meridians along the main nerve lines, all the way down to her butt, I continued digging to find the two pressure points inside her gluts and at that moment pulled down her tights.

Unlike J’ who never wore panties under her tights, 1’ was wearing the delicately knitted pair of white panties we got two weeks before at Kiki De Montparnasse. I left them on and admired her large round derrière sticking out in contrast to her very thin waist, still surprised and excited. My hard-on was starting to hurt at that point so I removed my “ Naked jeans” and kept my protuberating briefs covered by my floating black shirt. I sat on her butt, careful not to squeeze her too hard and massaged her lower back one more time until I moved down to her legs. There again, I methodically looked for the pressure points spread along the nerve line on the back of each leg; going from the gluts to the heels with ease, like an old Chinese master I had known in a previous life. 1’ was beginning to breathe somewhat heavier and lifted her butt as I was working my way down to her feet and massage them for long minutes. I dug my knuckles inside the sole and grabbed her toes, lifted her foot up ninety degrees from her knees and let it go. I spread her thighs a little more so I could now massage their inside towards the back of her crotch. I was looking for the soft and sensitive skin inside the thighs and just under the large lips of her pussy, still cover by the small piece of white French lace. I was careful to actually not touch her lips but only her skin at the edge of her panties. Her breath was getting heavier and louder. I pulled her legs down closer to the edge of the bed while kneeling down behind her and only then I slipped my right index slowly under her wet soaked panties and kissed her pink lips delicately from behind as soft as I could while inhaling her juices and natural pungent flavor.  

That alone aroused me to a peak. I just felt like liberating my pulsating penis and driving it right though her pussy from the back while holding her ass firmly with both hands but I didn’t; instead, I remained right where I was with my nose a half inch from her pussy and two hands massaging the inside her thighs while my right index was now soaked with her juices. I got closing enough so that my tongue barely touched the lips of her pussy and I started drinking from it without interrupting the massage now squeezing her butt with both hands and pressing my nose against her butt hole. I lifted her by one inch just enough to slide my big nose inside her pussy opened my mouth wide for breathing and extended my tongue to reach her clit. To me, this is the ultimate sex act in its glorious power that controls the beast in us and enables to give pleasure, to procure one or more inevitable orgasms while enjoying the liqueur of pussy juice that is my reward. I don’t need to come, to ejaculate, to sully and free myself from a scream, I only want my partners loud scream of joy as I drink from her behind. That’s what I truly enjoy the most, like control I exert on your soul as you let me drink the serum I extract from your pussy by sucking gently on your clitoris; sometimes I pinch it a little with my lips, I alternate the softest possible suckling with the firm aspiring suction of a vacuum and let go again while foraging inside your vagina with my nose as if it wear actually fucking you in slow motion, I’ve never failed to provoke a strong orgasm that way, often much deeper and powerful than with any kind of traditional banging. I enjoy it so much that sometime I don’t want to let it go right after your orgasm, so I would continue in slow motion while you recover and then start building momentum for the second orgasm right from there, that’s exactly what I did that night with 1’ and the second time she came in a breath, faster and louder and I finally let go; stood there motionless kneeling besides the bed; waited a few minutes and said: “ I’m not done with your massage yet, please turn on your back!” What I didn’t say was:” you’ll come many more times in my mouth but I’ll never come in yours, or if I ever do, you’ll never get a single drop of my cum because I stop it, where I might want to come is deep inside your gorgeous ass,” that last part I ended up saying to 1’ much later after I completed her massage, by then I was up for a surprised teasing again, 1’ told me she’d be happy to have anal sex but only after marriage. I was dumfounded and of course insisted that if she was no virgin and decidedly wanted to have a full and educated experience before marriage like most young women do nowadays, why not complete her study of sexuality with anal expertise as well? “No”, she said” I reserved that special gift for my hubby!”

The next time we met she brought her special coconut oil for massage and it was as intense and sensual as the first massage except that time I let her massage my back and reciprocate. As I jumped out of the shower after we had long and slow sex, her with multiple orgasms, me without coming, she grabbed me at the edge of the bathtub and started a slow vacuum suckling on my cock like I had been doing on her clit. In no time, I grew hard and fat again, reddish and ready to explode…. But stopped my juices by squeezing myself under my crotch and showed 1’ how to do it in case she wanted to experiment further in that department. But her butt was out of reach again in spite of my insistent yet unconvincing argument that maybe, after her wedding, she’d find out she hated anal sex and feared it from her beloved hubby. “I’m willing to take a chance and I think I’ll like it so it has to be a gift to my husband, this is my wish.” But then I argued, “what difference did it make to be a virgin or not?” She implied “an ass virgin is not the same”, no one is expected to get married a virgin anymore and being one from behind entailed a special gift” as our relationship continue to develop and flourish into this nourishing convo, 1’ sometimes would hint that “I want you to enjoy yourself as well since we are officially sex buddies and you keep telling me you can only come in my butt, so one day I’ll let you have it. “ And next week, she’d retract again when I would tease her butt hole with the tip of my penis, pulling it from her soaking pussy and rubbing it with her juices against her tight asshole.

One day, 1’ wanted me to do a special rub on her using olive oil and sea salt. I immediately went shopping to my favorite food store for the best EVOO I could find. Oh yes, incidentally EVOO means Extra Virgin Olive Oil, first cold pressed from the fruits, simply dry the olives and press them like it has been done by the Romans and Greeks for thousands of years. I’ve found an Italian EVOO and a French Fleur De Sel, the best crust from air-dried sea salt. That rub I gave her ended up as the apex of our relationship and one of the hottest moments I had ever experienced with a sex buddy or a lover, ever.

I poured half a box of salt in a large bowl with a half-liter of the EVOO and mixed the two to soak the salt in the olive. We stepped into the shower, oh, that fresh close shave she did especially in preparation of the rub we had planed for weeks. “ Please start with my back” she ordered. I executed, spreading a handful of the mixture of salt and olive oil all over her back and started rubbing gently in motion like I did with the massage except the salt scrubbed hard from her back I moved up to her shoulders where I dug and scrapped for a while before making my way down to her feet, spending a fair amount of time rubbing her sexy derrière until she started breathing louder…. We were on a roll with her feet feeling my hand rub, we did not open the water yet only used the EVOO with salt in the shower; we felt covered with olive oil empowered us like Hellenic athletes training in the nude for the Olympic games, with their body spread with the magic potion. 

As she rotated, I could now very softly inflict the same treatment to her breast and tummy except it had to be much more gentle; the salt and olive oil on her nipples had them erect in no time. I was afraid it was a little harsh on them, so I started licking their very tip to clean them from excess fleur de sel. Her dark skin was already so soft and yet after the rub, each part of her body became silk. While 1’ started pouring salty olive oil all over me, including on top of my head and massaging my scalp with both her hands, I kneeled in the shower to eat her seasoned pussy soaked in the mixture of her own juices, EVOO, and salt. What a unique taste! It beat all the olive oil tastings I had done over the years. Her rub on my hard dick proved more painful than I had anticipated so I turned on the hot water and we rinsed the best we could, I with soap, 1’ just with water so she would remain oily and silky when we hit the bed. There we fucked fast and furiously, as we both grew so hot and impatient. Again she came in minutes, I didn't, only retired from her pussy before I was ready to explode, blocked my sperm from escaping and released inside without ejaculating. She wasn't sure if that counted as an orgasm or not. I replied it didn't matter as she continued to enjoy raw sex, the tender sex, the soft and the rough, the slow and the quickie, the double and the exhilarating, the missionary and the doggie….I would come later eventually.

As I was saying that, I flipped 1’ on her tummy and this time tucked two pillows under it so her ass was up in the air. It looked so gorgeous and appetizing; I started licking it to enjoy the cocktail of her anus sudation with the remaining olive oil. As I licked the tight hole with the tip of my tongue, I commenced a tongue fucking dance into it, by digging further in small touches with my tongue sticking out like an erect penis and my two hands spreading her butt cheeks upon each thrust forward. Soon, I could penetrate her ass with my tongue and smell the aroma of her pussy juice still dripping. I slipped a hand underneath to caress her clit as I was moving deeper. I jumped back on my feet behind her standing on the bed and adjusted my height by bending my knees just to the point the tip of my penis replaced my tongue and then asked 1’: “May I, please?”
- “Yes,” she said, in a soft voice that dripped into my ear, “slowly, please”.
With my hand still under her crotch caressing her pussy, the other directing my penis slowly into her ass, I flexed my knees slightly, just enough to penetrate her tight hole with only the tip of my penis; small pushes in rhythm, while accelerating the rub on her clitoris. As she came one more time, I was about to cum into her black magic ass and instead pulled from it and released long and steady flows of my white liqueur; I grunted like an animal and rubbed it all over her back, mixed with the remaining EVOO. 

Extra Virgin No More: EVNM.

Tuesday, December 24, 2013

Merry X-Mas and Thanks a Million!

Merry X-Mas and Thanks a million! My deepest thanks to all fifty-five thousand five hundred fifty-five fierceful readers and supporters, commenters and passionate feedbackers! Your forceful encouragements have allowed me to reflect and ameliorate, to delve in and deliver some morsels of Chapters, the book that I hope to complete in the coming year in the form of shared stories, yours and mine, on human love, food, and sexuality, permissive and forbidden, survival and poetic, universal yet hidden, beautiful and intriguing.

Nibble a nipple a little
Before you enter the entrée
After lunch, rest on a breast
And if by accident you bit a clit, don’t quit
Simply start over
Nibble a nipple a little

Today, December 24, 2013, marks the first anniversary of Love Food & Sex. Exactly a year ago, when I introduced it on this blog with the first installment, On Carrots, how could I imagine such enormous afflux of support and outpouring feedback?

The top three most read and commented Chapters of Love Food & Sex are:
On A Kiss

Here is the list of all eighteen chapters I published so far with some direct link to their page on the blog:
Chapter I-On Carrots
Chapter II-On Love
Chapter III-On The Enemy
Chapter IV-On Fragrance
Chapter IX-On Shaving
Chapter V-On A Kiss
Chapter VII-On Multiples
Chapter VIII-On Frogs
Chapter XI-On Macarons
Chapter XVI-On Closure
Chapter XVII-On Chocolate
Chapter XVIII-On Poetry

Thank you again for reading and passing along to your friend, also for submitting your ideas on what I should cover, write, and publish that most resonates with your wishes and desires. With your help and shared stories, I will continue to cover some of our most feared primal needs along with our most superfluous power foods and drinks. More to cum….
Happy, joyous and festive holiday to all readers with great food, eternal love and rewarding sex!


Thursday, November 28, 2013

On Poetry

On Poetry

Alliteration in the rime
Creates a movement ‘n a wave
Recedes in the writer’s pleasure
To grasp and firmly penetrate

Sexually tease as it entails
Too often simply masturbate
Cerebral seductive travails
Rupture on the verge of

Careless as if it were his grave
Pretentious way to claim
I am

With S’MD we wrote daily
Prose or verse as the wind carried
We then convened at the café
Les Cyclamens as it was named

Does it exist still in Paris?
It doesn't need since it remains
The figment of our creation
We wrote in anticipation

Of witnessing the other read
After processing our ritual
Of ordering our lemon teas
Sipping watching slowly enjoyed

Finally reached in our backpack
Each our treasured orange note pad
Handed it over to our lover
In unison started to think

Sat in silence devouring lines
Peaked just to see who was longer
More prolific faster reader
Later in the park I’ll touch her

Squeeze her small breasts it makes me hard
For now the space is magic time
Ponder and bounce before the jump
Into heated conversation

Nowadays the process is more mundane
Eclectic and less intense
Still driven by desire
To please and shine seduce and love.

Then what?

I had one such experience of heated online exchange and written climax to the point we decided to meet and reach our respective souls, senses, and erotic promises. It went in successive fire and ended cold in wet powder; but not before some fireworks of poetic acclaim and declarations, twisted mimicry, and debilitation.
This is how it happened.

I met C’ via her nicely written profile where she displayed some suggestive poses, some kind of poetic license for hooking up rather than a more traditional online dating exhibition of extreme sports and candid shots taken around capitals of the world. Not surprising for a young artist in Art School, visual arts, and theater. She was plump and speckled as if she were red hair, except her hair looked auburn and soft. Her features were round and generous. Her writing incisive and smart. That was the hook for me.

On September the fourth, I wrote a few verses, appealing to her senses. I received in return:

“flex limb limbo lap lucid
locate limber lustrous limp mound
mystic muscle mussel moving motion
psychic simple slumber sucking potion
whistle whimper whine wag wound
grow grasp glean grin glow
sap spoon swoon bloom missile
fix fly fling roam thistle
sing sad song swim swung
centaur seduction
frisk me
design delight devour
sweet, salty, sour.
In the future lies an encounter that roars
smell me soon.

After a rush of delight and flight into submission, I composed back a song of my confection to C’ the artist who had shared her passions. Before I knew it we were discussing shaving techniques and hot French kisses.

I am not sure yet
Which I enjoy most
Your pictorialsensoheroicotamilasierosamifaabulissim visual work or
Your wordnesslickopoeticyummyapabilities?
Both :D
Of course I prefer you to prune
That is until I get to know you
While I was thinking of your pruning
I shaved close today
Down to my perineum as far reaching as I could
Hope you don't mind
My bald balls
Going to the boldly ball
Embalm bellum artful scissors
Delilah Daedalus Narcissus mortem
Iris stem pill ferule
Outrage whisking brutal truth
Harsh tone violent femme
Suffering posture sensitize terminations
Tit pit spit split
Taste mast master terroir
Wine rest reservoir must
Is your natural color red hair?
Speckles have spoken in a tongue I can't ignore
Appease my insane curiosity once more
The sing song see saw swings from here too you know?
You are divinely inspiring
Please proceed to procreate
Pleasing crowds await
Let them have a leg
Of this work of yours
And feast brazenly
Out of your
Full Moon flesh
'nite kiss

On September the sixth, desperate to not hear back so soon, I added a note and a pitch:

Amazingly so
The busier I get the more I think about you
Why is that?
I think of you
Singing sound
Muted wake
Stone silence
Peerless drop
Believing femme
Manly heard
Tragic hope
Cruel dilemma
Metaphorically plausible
I think of you
Reflecting time
Perils of virtuality
Blooming relation
High expectations
Secret dream astounding
I feel myself drifting
Away from her
As you keep exercising
Planetary momentum
In-Carnation nec mergitur
Omnipresent light
Rotating figure
Laudamus veneratur
I think of you

Two long interminable days later came her reply in the form of its title: Word Tangle. With it, our poetic joust was regaining momentum.

Word Tangle

slick and slender
sipping sour juices
from sourer fruits,
the storm inside the house,
the bee in the jar.
sterile squeeze
sturdy stammer
sticky stealthy stupor
surrender silence
squall swell swine
siempre tuyo
siempre mio
suckle slit seduce.
hammer the heat
hiss, hold, holy.
beneath the
crook of your elbow
lies the dawn of your pleasure.
hip hum host
hasten hither
here, how, hero.
resume, become.
resent, restore.
ruins, rocks, ribs.
rim, rum, run.
lust long luster
languid, loose, limb
(her eyelids pale,
wild orchids in a dark cave).
lucid, lake, loquacious, liquor,
lick her limestone crevice.
(a round stone in the palm of your hand).
floor fuck.
grapes, pluck.
+(optional ending)
measure your treasure
sink below the sea
the silken, slimy sea.
the dirt smudged on your knee,
the heavy scent of honeysuckle drifting from the tree.
bow, now, plow
rustle, russet, brow.
child, if you keep quiet you will heard the fairie's meow.

I found the idea of the optional ending seductive and open, delusional and pleasurable, audacious and revealing. Why could I never envisage an optional ending? Is it our force of imagination to only rule out all the optional endings that we find unsatisfactory or is it the power of selection that informs our choices into optional oblivion? We must live by our decision; we can’t come back to remission. So be it. I fired: Incessant thinking

Incessant thinking sinks in
Pause breathe fresh aim
Skinny skim
Candy dim
What incessant
Thinking means
As she came on my big toe
I was feeling your skin
Could not turn off my nerves
Brains and nose alike
She fit me like a glove
Wet and dripping
As if coming back from a hike
She was more disappointed than I
Because she wants it over with
This virtual fantasizing
A balloon to play with
Unless there is more to it
My absent gaze suggests
While scrutating the sky
Incessant thinking sinks in

That same night I received her missile. The game was on. Getting more graphic and erotic, sensual and free.

lying flat

on the cream of the linen
on the blood of the sheets
on the silk of the salty city
you torture me
the length and posture
of your words,
the fixed gate
of your distant figure,
the tick tock tangle,
the shadow
of the blinds
projected on the whitewashed wall
window wisteria vagina
vessel respect reside
opened pearly pistil
the rumor of your weapon
the wrist of your wink
the risk of your luck
blind and buck and whimper
study the floor
bury the sinker
and linger
and laminate your longing stare
my back, my neck, my cunt
are bare
fold find fuck fumble
burn bite blue mumble
the tangle of my hair
the smudge of my eyes
the bend of your knuckles
fingers touching secrets
locked between my thighs
purple tender
storm, surrender
peeking primping
enter exit enter sink in
stew, stoned, slam, sizzle
draw drip drink drizzle
hold the hardness of your heat
harness the holy beating beat
curve your fingers upward
toward the belly button
toward the sailor's knot
toward the sumptuous surprise
count the eyelashes
count the whispers
count the fingered slips
count the moans
and count the kicks
kissing upward
(trace the length of my torso with your tongue)
kissing upward
(my shell hardening under pressure)
kissing upward
(command caress command commence)
after time thoughts fond fuck fodder,
a discovery,
a feast--
your golden yolk
your fragile frequency
your alchemy
your sincere apology,
your wickedness--
a liquid on my breast.
And then in successive salvo as I was briefly asleep at the wheel, she fired again, this time more profound:

A sad poem not as good as the others

with my breast exposed
with my shallow breath
with my pounding central muscle
i look into the darkened sea
and i feel small and afraid.
the sea will swallow me
the sea will eat me alive
the sea will remove my eyes
the sea will remove my eyes and skin
the sea will remove my eyes and skin and take my heart away
and leave me broken
a saddened pile of bones
on the ocean floor.
millions of fish will gather
their nimble lips puckered
plucking juices from my flesh
sipping the soul from my sinew.
who am i to refuse the will of the tides?
as my father left this world,
the pink froth bubbling from his lips,
i too shall die.
the destiny of kings is to die a noble death
mobile nobility
noble mobility
the feast of flames
the will of the waves
the lament of the locust.
death is sound in a silent cave.

Later, she explained her father drowned. I felt respect and awe. On September the fourteenth, I wrote in another vein, this time positively shocked and excited by her poses in a series of nudes photographs she took of herself lying on the floor with her wet hair dripping out of the shower, curvaceous smile and visibly in heat.

Lioness Queen

Ruling on the board
Like in the jungle
Clinched teeth
Nose alert
On the move
Smelling the air
King is your prey
Move over
Little black pawns
Swift pure speed
Shapes a fast check
Seize release
Revenge firm
Grasp command
Execute factice
Rook trick
Ferule senses
Tools dagger
Blade swerve
Reminisce adept
Form shape
Rocks can’t
Stop you
Rush tell
Serve meal
Smell sniff
Tarp rasp
Rest realm
Offer fragile
Bishops are fun
Resist cause
Knights surprise you
At times
When they attempt taking you
From an unfamiliar angle
That has been
So well guarded
Flesh grotto
Repel fight
Blind auburn
Respite danger
Facile tactile
Sunny gold
Reveal charm
You let some ground
Control the space
Check that corner
Not a sure mate
Burnt savanna
Yet fertile ground
Blend taste
Elusive fart
Tribal scream
Firm treble pitch
Capture meal
Delectable game
Blow the board
Start over
Tan Lioness Queen

Shortly after that, we entertained the idea of a meeting. We had been jousting for a while now and the heat was on. Time was of the essence and a small window of opportunity could possibly close the distance; that physicality made hours of driving away; and improbable mating; not to mention the quasi impossibility of a relationship as we designed the future in present verses that pitched evasiveness as a way of life for the enjoyment of a moment in our busy spheres.
I say no more,
that was the actual title of my short poem to C’

the blinds leads the wild
the wild leads the charm
the charm leads the nerd
the nerd leads the flower
the flower leads the seed
the seed leads the fire
the fire leads the gaze
the gaze leads the wind
the wind leads the cloud
the cloud leads the rain
the rain leads the cunt
the cunt leads the finger
the finger leads the mouth
the mouth leads the lollipop
the lollipop leads the ass
the ass leads the nostril
the nostril leads the air
the air leads the cum
the cum leads the breast
the breast leads the milk
the milk leads the song
the song leads the deaf
the deaf leads the caress
the caress leads the silk
the silk leads the blind

Here’s her swift and sensual reply that made me reconsider for a moment and ponder…. Should we meet, really?

The walls we build and break

its that thick wet between your legs
the fantasy of fuck and sheets
twisting, enraging ankles and
awakening skin.
its that arch of your back
spine twisted up towards
the hang of breasts,
one, two, three, four
they touch
and begin to think
for themselves
alive and taut
reaching reaching.
there is heat
and sticky breath
there are sticky hands and stickier tighs
the words here are fuck and fight and fire
and they lay densely on your neck
your brow collecting sweat with the
and yet there isn't enough fuck
so we groan and come to
the position of possession where we
own one another
you are mine and i can do what i wish
whatever i wish.
there is a cunt and a pussy
and you hate those words
but i own so i say them
and i scream them into your navel
your belly-button smells of yogurt and musk
and i loathe it but i like it
because what else am i supposed to do with my tongue?
and later
there are other objects for me to worship
like that hidden shell between your legs
that hardens gently
with the probe and pull of lips and waves
and you undulate
and you heave and
now you're full of fuck
and fight
and fire
so i push you off the wall
which you so cleverly climbed
but unlike the famous egg
you don't break
instead you shake
and you tremble
not knowing what to do
now that the
is gone.

With that she sent me more pictures of her nudity in full view and details of her cunt and pink wet lips. She was impossible and open, wanting and ready for an adventure with that stranger she had been talking to from the virtuality of a website to the reality of our exchanges. We were both ready. We decided to meet that Friday and I felt the urge to immortalize the moment, especially because I was still having sex with D’ and therefore thinking of C’ was becoming an impossible combination of pain and excitement. I thought best was to invite D’ to come and meet C’; yet I could not get D’ to come and meet her. My mind was imploding. I just fired:

Thinking about Friday

As time grew clear of little clouds
Rain was washing down the river
She was moaning her pleasure loud
Standing tall in front of me
As my nose was deep into her cunt
I could tickle her little button
From the tip of my extended tongue
While powerfully blinded by her buttocks
My two free hands softly caressed
The back of her knees
A tender spot I would have never named
If it weren't for your own desire
Of how you like to be kissed right there
As I inserted her favorite
The pink flexible fun toy
In the tight and forbidden crease
So that I could feel the new tension
I was obsessed by its color
Flowing from your very lips
Is it the same shade of pink?

Friday came upon us. Finally. A long drive of a couple hours for each of us. A commitment for sure. A small café in a village she knew. Our encounter was a brief fire, a wet salvo, a gaze at a deer, a stare at her, a caress on her neck, and a quick embrace on a bench, a wet kiss and disappointment, respectfully negative; not what the writings and pics had led us to believe we would find. It started with small talk and reason to believe we were meeting for a hookup with our respective soul poet.
After a quick lunch, we went for a walk in the forest nearby. There it was, the deer watching us watch her. What a beautiful gaze charged with symbols and emotion. That’s when I slowly moved behind C’ and stared with her in the same direction of the pair of scrutating eyes observing us in defiance. I then moved ever slowly to caress the bottom of her neck and felt the tingle.

There was nevertheless something bothering me from the first sight of our encounter. It wasn’t the negligée bohemian look and clothing she wore in funny poses with her scarf touching the ground; rather the cleanliness of her elegance that was missing in every detail. The pheromones weren’t right. And that was generally the killer for me. I would have been running away a long time ago if it weren’t for the hours already driven and invested, to meet with the poet who had moved me for weeks. Instead, I strolled in the forest until we found a good spot on a hill from were we could see the Hudson Valley extend its reach into the horizon. We kissed and I sucked the lobe of her ear but again, I felt nausea from the smell of her earlobe and neck. I was turned off by her lack of self-consideration. Her nails had been painted turquoise blue weeks ago, probably before she wrote the first poem. There were traces of nail polish, chipped away, some eaten from the biting. I was lost and suggested we return….

After having refused to rent a room at the place she wanted in the next village; refused to further kiss and touch; refused to embrace and love; to fake and pretend; I was simply lost for words. The worst that can happen to a poet. She cried and asked why. I swallowed my pride. I turned around and drove back. I was a broken poet, mistaken and sad. I felt obligated after a long day of silence to write a post-mortem.


Inasmuch as I would love
To slowly insert my half-moons
Into your full moon
To make you moan
And tease your hormones
You may be right about the soufflé
Having lost its dazzling oomph
Its zing, its pizzazz
And to resemble more
What looks like
A flat cold pizza
So, let's call it a day
PS: do not take offense
I did not call you a pizza
PPS: Do not take offense
Do work on your nails
PPPS: D’ may have
Been right after all....
I'll still be around
Doing leaps and bounds
If you ever need a reader
Of a final statement
For your Watson application

I would never see C’ again.