Orgasm on a Spoon
I finished my lunch with an orgasm that helped drive my migraine into a chair in the back of the room.
There was no sex involved. No masturbation. Not even my standard kinky orgy fantasy (several male friends, several bloggers (both sexes), Sergei, and 5 Freebie Lays).
It was my lunch (and when I typed that just now, my fingers quivered and my snoopy started throbbing).
See, this weekend I made chunky garden gazpacho, full of cilantro and peppers and tomatoes and chick peas and garlic and other veggies and hot stuff. And it’s just a slice of nirvana, all lumpy and bumpy and chilled and succulent (drool) and it tickles yer tongue and sends shivers down yer spine (oh baby, oh yes!).
I brought some in today for lunch. Eating it was like foreplay, long licking foreplay, and halfway through I got that…”feeling”, ya know the one, in your nethers, getting tingly and the blood rushing there and then your arms feel like they’re on fire? That one. And the more I ate, the better I felt. As I was slurping down the last little bits, wishing I had more, those little waves came, you know, food orgasm waves, almost like the sex ones, and then…gulp!...AHHHHH!...and it was over, and my head felt not quite so bad and the nausea almost gone.
I believe that’s evidence of food masturbation, without using a banana or cucumber.