So this Wednesday we are asked to reflect on our experiences with food and sex, for me a simple single moment sprang to mind. Two seminal moments separated by a few days now inextricably linked in my memory. Asparagus and my first taste of cum
. The late life awakening that showed me that life had so much more to offer than the world I had been living in had even hinted at. That with the right exposure, the right people, so much more was possible. You just needed to take a deep breath, blag your way to the front of the queue and jump.
Asparagus; loving that first slight tension as your teeth pierce the skin then the subtle softness, the caress of the stalk then the buds against your tongue as all the while you savour the earthy undertones trying not to let butter dribble down your chin. An acquired taste, one that spoke of new experiences, growing older, seeking pleasures in new things without hesitation or fear. An erect cock, warm, stiff yet enveloped in softness, the early days of the internet hunting connections with those of like mind. Admitting to yourself that you wanted to know more. Each shaft crowned by a head from which the flavour flowed, each an entirely new and now often craved temptation.
Asparagus was a taste I discovered roughly at the same time as male cum:
Both fed to me in unique places, one at a rather formal dinner in The Mansion House, the other in a car park near Walton Bridge in Surrey. One served to me in silence by a slightly in awe waiter, the other by a man trying to stifle his groans lest people in nearby cars, or passing pedestrians hear… The similarity between the steamed al dente asparagus with its tender stem and bulbous head, and my first lovers cock. Which wasn’t green before you ask; whilst the muppets were popular back then, blowing a frog I’d have written about way earlier than this and under a completely different meme… The eroticism of using my tongue to explore both, curling around the shaft probing the head to taste. Inhaling the scent, the slight nervousness would I like the taste? the texture, would I want to swallow or spit it out? The earthy luxury covering my tastebuds, the feeling of being watched as I ate, a rite of passage into the next phase of becoming me.
In both cases I had lied… Oh of course, yes, often, one of my favourite things… at 38 you have to really don’t you?
After both I would explode centre stage in my life, as if asparagus and cum drizzling down my throat were the essential lubricants to free the locked parts of me. The me that loves when in season, the taste of cum from now either sex, and steamed asparagus in butter. The me that has enjoyed munching raw asparagus on the crowded train home, or giving head in Hyde Park on summer days filled with people wandering by oblivious to all.
Smiles, so, brief, lacking detailed description, but none the less a small insight into my life truths.
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