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A New York Escorts Confessions
Honeybell
“It’s Honeybell season,” she said.
“Oh”
“Honeybell. You know. Honeybells.”
“No. I don’t.”
“The oranges? You don’t know about this?”
“I thought it was a crap year for citrus.”
“Not for Honeybells. My mom sends me a case every February. This year she sent me two. I think it’s some kind of hint.”
“What? To get more vitamin C?”
“No. Now that I have the apartment, you know? Now that I’m not living in a box. She wants me to mate.”
Her mom did have a point. Eliza’s new place was probably three times the size of her old one. Brand spankin’ new, high ceilings, not one, not two, not three, but four closets—one of them walk-in. Beautiful tiling in the kitchen and bathroom. I was in heaven. In her mom’s version, heaven probably came with children.
“You have to take some home. Here.” She piled me up with five of the oranges. “So here’s the thing. You have to eat them first thing in the morning. Standing in the bathtub. Naked. Okay?”
I blinked. I didn’t understand this directive. “Why?”
She smiled and nodded. “You’ll see.”
I woke up the next morning in a crapola mood. Two words: dentist, filling. Need I say more? Then I stumbled to my coffee maker and there they were. Five of them. perfect, orange, Honeybells.
You know, there’s something sublime about doing something ridiculous every now and again. Naked, Honeybell, bathtub sounded a whole lot better than dentist, filling, no insurance. So I did just as I was supposed to. I slipped off my nightie, my panties. I stepped into the bath and began to peel. Juice shot off in all directions. I took my first bite. A mouthful of sweetness dribbled down my chin, my neck. I spit the pith out at will, like a little kid with watermelon seeds. My hands were covered in juice. I licked them, licked my lips, felt the stickiness envelop me. I ate away segment by segment by segment, giggling and laughing and screaming each time the juice went shooting out of my mouth. When it was done, I took a long hot shower. It was simple, decadent, absurd, obscene and the best thing I had done in weeks.
Each morning for the following four mornings, I invoked the ritual. Each morning I felt the same—silly, mad, goofy, sexy. It was like the best kind of secret.
A secret though, that needed to be shared. On morning five I called Eliza back. “You were absolutely right.”
“About what?” she said.
“About the Honeybells.”
“Aren’t they amazing?”
“Amazing. Some of the peel went down the drain though. I’m sure that’s not good for the plumbing.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You know. First thing in the morning. In the bathtub—”
“You really did that?! Oh my God. I was being metaphorical.”
“How is that a metaphor?”
“You know. They’re juicy.” And she began to laugh.
Maybe the joke was on me. But you know what? Man does not live by metaphor alone.
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confessionsComments
I bet you were an excellent student because you follow directions so well. :) Forget Eliza's metaphor and just do it your way. Now how can some of us get our hands on those honeybells of yours or just honeybells? ;D
Posted by Pete from Cal on Feb 26 11:31PMPost a Comment
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about me
So why am I writing this blog? I have an inner exhibitionist that just needs to be let out. I've always wanted to bare myself completely in front of strangers but have always been held back by fear.
As strange as it may sound, I've never really truly bared myself in front of any of my clients. For all that they've seen, they've never seen me be me. And for all that I've seen, I simply need to share it with you!
So why should you come? To be tantalized and teased. To get release by knowing the true me.
I promise that I won't bite, and if I do bite, I'll make sure you like it!
my favorite posts
- Caveat Vendor - Part II
- Selling Out (Part III)
- Poops!... I Did It Again!
- My First Escorting Experience
- My First Lesbian Experience
- Daddy's Little Girl (Part II)
- Selling Out (Part III)
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And yet I was turned on by how you paid attention and followed directions so well. LOL Tasty.
Posted by The Fury on Feb 24 02:20AM