A note on the history of this tale: There was a long thread some
years back about the best ways to pollinate peppers. Some folks
suggested that rubbing a vibrator up and down the stems of the
plants would gently knock the pollen off and worked like a charm.
With that in mind, there soon appeared a classic story from Rael.....it
goes like this:
"Something in, oh, basic black would be nice," I said looking at the humongous breasts of the woman standing behind the counter. She was wearing a belly-button abyss cut, black leather dress. "Or one of those neon colors if you have such."
"Do you need a specific length or size?" she asked, after raising a jet black brow, which brought back an episode of Star Trek where Spock said, "Captain, I advise caution. We know nothing of this system."
I considered a couple of possible answers but decided I should just be up-front with her. No point in toying with the woman, no matter how much I desired to do so, and be on my merry way. Happy hour was coming up on me fast anyway, and I still had to try to get my damn chile plants pollinated.
"Honestly, dear, I need this implement to aid some bright and promising flowers on my chile plants in pollination. I give them each an individual vibration, tickle their hormones, so to speak, and used to use an old electric toothbrush, but can't find the thing and, well, I doubt you're interested in this. Nevertheless, as long as the end is tapered and batteries are included, whatever you recommend will be perfect. I trust your expertise, my dear."
"I see," she said inhaling deeply, illustrating the wonderful ability for leather to stretch and define that which it confines. A wonderful thing, leather. "Then I assume you won't be needing the hands-on instruction and demonstration of the many uses of the tool?"
I was dumbfounded there for a moment. But I managed to ask her if she was serious.
"It's been a rather slow day," she said.
I felt a bead of sweat form on my brow and remembered there were a few blooms on my plants that, well, could probably use another day to stretch and achieve full potential of their bloominess. In addition, as a self-appointed archivist of life's experiences, desiring education and wisdom in that which crossed my path thought simply, screw caution.
"I bow to you, my teacher, instruct me and I shall learn," I said, my gaze dropping as she exited from behind the counter and slowly drifted across the floor of the shop to the door. She locked it tight and the "Closed" sign was turned outward to the public view. She turned to me with a gleam in her eye, a smile on her lips, and I noticed she had a quite large black vibrator in her hand. She held it tightly between her breasts.
"This will be yours," she said, walking towards me, then passing me and disappearing behind a curtain into the back. I followed, wondering what good I had done in the past to deserve such fortune. And then I heard a hum...
"Can't make it in," I said to Butch, the assistant floor manager, over the phone. "Let C. know I'm calling in a favor and I apologize for the short notice, but something has occurred that demands my immediate attention as well as action."
"Yanking weeds in your garden or something?" said Butch. He was an extremist member of ZPR, Zero Population Growth, but in his extremism he had decided that the best way to reduce further populating of the world was avoidance of the sexual act itself. To compound his state of being, he was a man who lived a life of all work and no play since he considered himself bisexual and consequently said that this made the entire world one of temptation. Rather than becoming a hermit, Butch ingested a lot of Valium as well as -- or so he told me for some damn reason -- wore a penile restraint. This made for a strange existence, in my opinion, and to be blunt, I figured one day he was going to loose it and either jump the bones of the person nearest to him or he'd just sit down and drift into a coma. He was a good assistant manager and did his job, but he was one strange boy regardless. He worried me.
"Yeah, something, Butch. Just tell C. He owes me. And tell him I'll be in tomorrow....unless I call you again." And as I hung up the phone, Serena re-entered the room with a small basket of fruit and a grocery sack.
"Ready for the next session of your training, apprentice of mine?" she said setting the bag down on the waveless waterbed I was perched upon. "Ready to expand your mind...and other things?"
Ready? Hell, I was born for such, I thought, and was about to offer a hearty "hell yes, sugar momma", but as I looked in the bag, I found I was capable of only nodding my head like a six-year- old receiving a hot, gooey, chocolate-chip cookie, mouth open wide and probably a bit of spittle in the corners. There was some Redi-Whip [TM], mentholated cough drops, a bag of red string licorice, Mississippi clover honey, guacamole dip, a family pack of razors, some Tecate beer, vitamins, and...jesus, I hadn't seen these in years.
"Pop Rocks [TM]?! Where the hell did you find these? Thought they had gone the way of, oh hell, that gum that squirts in your mouth."
"I have my sources," Serena said. "I find them to be quite invigorating myself. Never did find a use for that gum though," she said. "And trust me, my love puppy, I did try."
I was quickly becoming Rael, Man of the Expanding Body and my mind was racing right along with my physical state. Pop Rocks. Jesus, these things are priceless, I thought, as I had a brief yet vivid flashback of my last encounter with Pop Rocks and a woman named Jimmy Lynn.
She introduced me to "sex without sex", as she called it, and considering I was 14 and had no working knowledge of anything sexual other than that devised with my own mind and hands, I really didn't care what she called oral sex. And honestly, after she pulled the Pop Rocks trick on me, I believe I would have been satisfied to just have sex of that nature for the rest of my life. She was two years older than me though and when she graduated, she vanished. I still wondered what happened to her.
"But I don't understand why you had to have these peppers though," said Serena, slapping my mind back to things at hand. She took a sack from the fruit basket which I saw was full of blood oranges, limes, and strawberries and placed it on the nightstand by the strobe light.
"Chiles, my Mistress in Black, they are chiles. Habaneros, to be specific," I said peeking into the bag to assure myself that the produce guy at the store I sent Serena to hadn't prayed upon her ignorance. He had served her well, I thought, seeing a dozen bright yellow-orange parcels of orgasmic pleasure smiling back at me. I made a mental note to bring him a loaf of my habanero brown bread as I placed the bag back in the basket.
"Let's just say that I am quite certain that after receiving your infinite wisdom of gyratory and oscillatory physics, I will feel compelled to bestow a gift upon you, my little sybarite, the gift of Chilepicurian Delights. Of this, I am master."
I spied her epidermal reaction to my statement as she began to peel her clothes off or maybe it was just the nippy-ness of the air, but irregardless of which, I was unable to restrain my urges anymore, and attacked her feet and ankles, washed them lovingly, albeit impatiently, with my tongue, then nibbled my way up her legs and solidly clamped my teeth into the soft, tasty skin of her knee-pit. Again, I heard a hum....
I awoke sometime in the morning after spending the remainder of the day and most of the night in the capacity of apprentice. Once my head cleared enough whereas I figured out where the hell I was, I realized Serena was on top of me, her knees by my head and her head was lying on my right thigh, and we were both atop her pool table which, at first I found to be an odd addition to her abode considering she said she didn't play pool. But once she showed me how the S-rings of those black, stretchy, rubber cargo restraints hooked into the pockets of the table, I understood her thinking. I was wondering though how in hell she found someone to cover the top in leather. Black, of course.
Laying there, I was unable to go back to sleep, desperately wanted a cigarette, yet didn't want to wake my guru of love, and considering the fact that she had black sheets over the windows and had placed black lights in all the fixtures, I stared at her derriere and all that lay between it and my face because that was all I could see and tried to see what images my mind would conjur up out of the shadows of black and blacker. Simple mind games for a simple mind.
Yet I desperately wanted a cigarette. I had a hazy remembrance of placing a pack next to the fruit basket which we had moved to the pool table, thus closer to the source of consumption and consummation, and somehow managed to free my arm from beneath Serena's left leg without causing her to emit more than a slight moan and a wiggle in which she widened her straddle across my chest. I congratulated myself silently and proceeded to feel my way outward through squeezed, mashed, and gnashed orange rinds hoping I would discover the basket. And the basket I did discover....complete with a small paper bag.
Chiles, I thought, as I looked down my chest at Serena, or what I could see of her, that is. I placed my hand in the bag. Habaneros. Twelve of the Mothers of Pain and El Grande Pleasure. And I did promise her instruction in Chilepicurian Delight, I thought, smiling as I felt a smooth, ripe, taut hab between my fingers. I turned my head as I brought it to my lips, sniffed, muffled a moan, and bit in. I chewed slowly, relishing the flavor that only a habanero has as well as the joy in having the horrid taste in my mouth I awoke with removed. And as I chewed, I began to smile as the pleasure of capsaicin overran my senses, electrified my system, and stirred my body from flaccid embers to blazing flames. My eyes rolled back as the waters of pleasure flowed liberally, mixing with the sweet and sour of oranges and limes on my cheeks as did the sweat that began to exude from my skin. I reached for another, thinking that this was indeed the only way to begin a day....especially a day in which I could pass on my wisdom of Chiles as a Sex Tool. Chilepicurian Delights.....Rael I was, and a guru I be.
Not much later as I held the twelfth habanero to my burning lips, I had a brief thought that I should save the chile for Serena to eat and employ, but a brief thought it was. It is my turn to teach, I thought, chastising myself for being a selfish bastard. She has given me so much over the short while we've been together, I continued in my mind; she took me into her arms and let me suckle at the teat of vibratory knowledge. I pretty much knew all the B&D stuff already.
I took the entire hab into my mouth and crushed it between my molars, chewing slowly so as the flesh and juices would mix and meld with my saliva, grinding the chile to pulp, stirring with my tongue -- long since numb -- swishing between teeth and gum. Once I was certain I had absorbed as much of the capsaicin as possible, I swallowed.
After a moment of meditation and a prayer to the God of Hab that I learned from other members of the Transcendental Capsaicinophilic Society (TCS), I regained control of my senses and brought myself back from my flight through the Chilean Heavens. This was the moment I began to ever-so-slowly nibble and lick the backs and insides of Serena's thighs. Tenderly I did lick with patience and sincere care, for I am a lover of the flesh of woman in general, and knowing that my licks and kisses would leave a glistening path of love napalm, I attended my task well and with glee. I also stroked the outside of her thighs with the tips of my fingers which I had purposely dug into a few of the chiles, coaxing the sacred oils from within. No such thing as too much pleasure, I always said.
I felt Serena stir slightly, heard her inhale a bit more deeply, as I saturated her flesh with my capsaicin elixir and ventured onwards and upwards towards her sex, braving to move my hands over the small of her back and over the tight, smooth flesh of her derriere. Her body was responding slightly with an occasional twitch and her skin began to warm as was my own. I raised my face nearer to her and began deep, slow, breathing, directing the air exhaled over her flesh and into her depths. I stiffened myself as I felt Serena's mouth and tongue on my body and realizing her being conscious, more or less, I rose further, ventured deeper, and grinned as I faced my journeys end, or rather the beginning of Serena's journey into Chilepicurianism. I then moved my hands towards her bountiful breasts and removed the small piece of habanero from between my cheek and gum -- where I had placed it -- with my tongue, mashed the mushy hunk of veggie against the roof of my mouth, and proceeded to transfer it onto my lips and then, on and into Serena's Netherlands.
I'm quite positive it was at this moment that Serena let out a scream which was not unlike that of a person having a hot poker shoved into any one of their orifices. I immediately jerked my head back but found I was locked between her powerful thighs, so I attempted to tilt my face upwards and away from her fleshy parts, but Serena had decided to sit up at the same moment, and thus literally sat on my face. Had I foresight of this happening, a minute sign of her negative response to the secrets of the Chilepicurian Delight, I could have prepared, that is, used meditative breath control and possibly been able to hold my breath until we separated, but I had not and did not, and consequently, opened my mouth to gasp for a breath. Unfortunately, in doing so I literally sucked her in between my lips and into my mouth which was an action that only brought her into a more intimate contact with my capsaicin saturated mouth --which was obviously no longer the idea here -- and with this action I reacted instinctively by pushing that which was forcing its way into my mouth outward with my tongue...as well as the bulk of the pulverized chile.
As fate would have it, my tongue met her nodus erectis and proceeded to say hello and shake hands which caused Serena's thighs to constrict about my head more than they already were. As I felt my eyes begin to bulge profusely, I also felt pain in one of my legs and what I imagined five well-manicured, black fingernails digging into my flesh would feel like became a reality, but honestly, this pain was negligible, merely bothersome actually, compared with what I was experiencing in another part of my body. I was feeling sever, intense, and premeditated, I imagined, pain due to the fact that throughout this entire episode, from the point I made direct contact with her nether region and she exhibited Chilepicurian Rejection, Serena had me by the balls, literally.
What happened next is only a blur, but in essence Serena had me in the Allstate grip and I had obviously instilled burnin' love within her deeply and completely. She wasn't about to let go nor was I going to lie there and suffocate as my genitals were ripped from my body. Fortunately for me, she believed herself to be in control, or was at least in shock, and thus allowed me the opportunity to place one arm around her and push down on the pool table with my other and rotate violently to one side.
Damned if it didn't work, I thought, as Serena moved from above to beside, but I was aware that she still hadn't relinquished her hold on me and gave no indication of doing such. In fact, I saw her head and mouth with teeth gnashing moving in the direction of her vise-grip hand, so I tried to even the odds and grabbed her foot, sucked her big toe into my mouth and bit down hard. She screamed yet again and shuddered slightly -- which I found interesting -- but in doing so relaxed her grip for a split second, and noticing this was a now-or-never moment, I gritted my teeth and ripped myself from her clutches and rolled away from her loving arms.
Jumping up, I let out a primal scream of my own that would have made my ancestors proud and leapt from the pool table towards the nearest door. It was the bathroom, of course, as my luck would have it, but I ripped the toilet seat from its hinges, threw it through the window, followed out after it and started running towards my car, naked, and as I jumped in the front seat I was happy to remember my old man had always told me to keep a spare key taped under the dash.....and that I had followed his advice. Blessed be Chiles, I chanted, wondering why my Pop kept a spare key under his dash.
I made it about five miles when I decided it wasn't to intelligent to be driving naked, especially the way my luck runs. I found a dirty t-shirt in my back seat which at least made me appear clothed to other drivers. I kept my eye out for trucks though as I headed towards the restaurant. There I pulled up to the back door, ran into the kitchen, was relieved to see that Mabel, the prep cook of about 60 years of age wasn't working, and ran back to my locker where I had some spare pants.
I talked with C. briefly and told him I decided I might as well just take a week of vacation considering I had it coming and needed some more time off anyway. Of course he was more interested in what the hell I had been up to and when I wouldn't tell him, he got all managerial on me, claimed his debt was paid since he had to work for me the one day, and that even though I was the head cook I was going on report. But I really didn't care much less wanted to argued with him. I had just spent the last forty-eight hours with a woman who did truly expand my horizons and had given me invaluable knowledge in the Vibratory Arts yet also provided definitive proof that yes, there were people in this world that could not take the last step and rise above their mortality and visit the Land of Ultimate Chileness, and yes, I almost had my ass whipped by a Goddess. I was a bit depressed with this knowledge. Not that my manly ego was shattered or anything -- can't say I've ever had much of an ego -- but jesus, she had such fine breasts.
Needless to say, I was exhausted, somewhat bruised, needed a beer really bad, and was famished, so I left the restaurant and decided to go to the pub rather than home and get a big bowl of gumbo which Frank, the owner, made every Friday. A nice, cool black-and-tan really hit the spot as I waited for Frank to jazz up my gumbo with a couple of serranos that I knew he'd have on-hand since I was the one that gave them to him regularly .
I was well into my pint when Frank brought me my steaming bowl of gumbo. He was quite a cook. True, he was using my recipe for gumbo, but he did make it well. I used to wonder why an Italian-blooded man with a Bronx accent had come to Mississippi and opened an Irish Pub. I was drunk one day and had gathered the courage to ask him such. He replied, in short, with "Who the hell sez I ain't Irish and why the hell do you think it's any of your bizness?"
After that I told myself that he was obviously part of a Witness Protection program...and to mind my own damn business. Yet I still liked him and his cooking. Had Guinness on tap as well..
"Damn, Frank," I said, "that's some good gumbo, especially with those serranos in there. Wanna bite?"
"No I don't want none of your friggin' souped-up gumbo. I got a whole damn pot of gumbo back here that's good like it is."
"Ha, ha....that was pretty good, Frank. Souped-up. Gumbo." I said, feeling my eyes water a bit.
"What?" he said.
"The pun, Frank," I said, still laughing. "You know....souped-up...gumbo. Gumbo is a soup."
Frank walked out of the kitchen and looked at me. I noticed he had a chefs knife in his hand and a zucchini with one end chopped off in the other. After a moment he put the zucchini down, grabbed a bottle of mescal from the liquor display and set it in front of me. He then placed a shot glass beside it, dug in the cooler for a moment, produced a lime, and set it and the knife on the bar as well.
"Drink this," he said and turned back to the kitchen. He picked up the zucchini and as he was about to step back into the kitchen, he turned back around and said, "And shut the hell up. I don't wanna hear you no more. I'm busy, see?"
I knew he was serious. Normally I would have be curious, wondered if he was just having a really bad day, or maybe, well, one just never knew with Frank. One thing I did know though. If he had had tits and black leather on, he and that zucchini woulda looked just like Serena had two days ago. Jesus, I thought.
I poured a shot of mescal, drank it, turned the television on with the remote, and poured another shot. I smiled and dug back into my gumbo.
Man, I've really got to get to my chile plants, I thought, and then realized I never did get that vibrator.
And then I heard a hum...