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Je veux être la fille avec la plupart de gâteau. Regardez-moi dans la glace.
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06 May 2005


Honey Ryder: Sushi Girl

It’s 9:45 on Friday, and Marcus calls the sushi restaurant near my house. They serve until 10:30. Excellent.

In the weeks leading up to his visit, I had made only one concrete plan (besides the fucking) for us: Sushi.

I am a born and bred Midwestern girl. I have lived in many different parts of the world, but my sense of trepidation at seafood (let alone uncooked seafood) has never left me. I know next to nothing about sushi; Marcus was going to change that.

We had walked past the restaurant earlier in the day. It met with Marcus's approval. So, after a late afternoon nap in my bed (I on my stomach, he next to me caressing the entire length of my back until I fell asleep to the music of Röyksopp), we got up, showered and dressed.

We are seated; two of the eight total patrons at this late hour. Our waiter was a tall, skinny gay boy with growing-out hair and a face which reminded me of a hawkish Simon le Bon. He was very polite, and appropriately deferent to Marcus, who clearly knew what he was doing.

We ordered sake, and Marcus proceeded to teach me.

“Were you aware that the Japanese are obsessed with James Bond?”
“No, actually, I was not…but I suppose that makes sense, since the first 007 movie was Dr. No. It is my favorite. Ursula Andress…yum.”
“Well, yes, and so in every Sushi bar in every city around the world, you will find a Sean Connery Roll on the menu.”
“Huh! Interesting.”

Here is another thing about Marcus: he has a very good poker face and loves bullshitting me. He is better at it than just about anyone I know.

Marcus starts laughing hysterically, “I can’t believe you bought that! A Sean Connery Roll in Every Sushi Bar?!”

Whatever. He’s going to have to do better than that to get a rise out of me.

“Okay, Madeline. Seriously, tell me what you know about sushi.”
”Seriously, I’ve eaten a California roll in my life. That’s about it, except for some kind of marinated tuna that my brother likes to make.”
“Alright. So…do you have a problem with seafood?”
“Not a huge one, although I really don’t like caviar.”
“Why is that?”
“Too fishy.”
“Um, we may have a problem here…much of sushi is fish, you know.”
“I trust you, Marcus, and I promise to try everything.”

Marcus gets up to see the fish before he decides what to order. I watch him walk confidently to the counter in his leather (!) pants. All of a sudden, there is a fumbling, bumbling, tumbling sound. Marcus has knocked over a container of sea salt, which has remained intact, despite bouncing off the cash register and counter. I am giggling at the table.

Once he has interviewed the sushi chef about the freshness of the tuna and yellowtail, he comes back and orders.

1. Edamame-soybeans cooked in their pods and salted
2. Gyoza-fried pork wontons
3. Age dofu- lightly pan fried tofu topped with fish flakes
4. Unagi- Eel
5. Hamachi- young yellowtail (sashimi)
6. Toro-fatty tuna (sashimi)
7. Uni- sea urchin

I follow Marcus’s lead, sampling some of everything. So fucking good! I thought I might have had to force some things down, but I am really enjoying everything I put into my mouth. When Marcus gets to the Uni he tells me, as he will the next day when we are eating cheesecake, that I may not look at him or speak to him during his Uni Orgasm.

I have a similar reaction to the Uni. It is unbelievable.

We finish most of the food, polish off two pots of hot sake and Marcus has only to glance over in the general direction of our waiter and he is there in a flash. Marcus pays the check and we stand to leave.

“Thank you, Marcus. This was so great. I loved it. And I will come back and not feel like an idiot.”

I kiss him in the middle of the floor. I can’t wait to get home.

I drive back to my apartment. We walk inside and don't bother turning on the lights.

Did someone tell me that Uni is an aphrodesiac?

We are kissing, tugging at jackets and shirts. Marcus gets his leather (!) pants down around his knees. He is not wearing underwear.

"Come here and suck my cock."

I crawl over to him, wetting my mouth as I make my way. I take his hard cock into my mouth the way I usually do; deep and wet, all at once. Almost immediately, I feel uneasy. My stomach is too full for this. Usually I have fairly good control over my gag reflex. Uh-uh. Not this time, kids.

Yes, I have just eaten, and there is probably a rule about sucking cock too close to a large meal; much like swimming. But then I realize that it is something else, too. His cock tastes like new leather. It really tastes funky.

I try to tell Marcus that I need to stop; that it is too much, but his dick has already been down my throat. It is not giving up so easily. He fucks my face, and I try to relax as my gags become closer together.

Enough. I feel the leading edge of my vomit rising in my throat. I pull my head off his cock, stand and quickly walk to the bathroom. Clear my throat several times, rinse my mouth. I never actually vomited, but it was close enough.

I sucked his dick later that night, after we'd watched a movie in bed and I rode him like a cowgirl.


Blogger Viviane said...

Someday, I'll take you to the place the sushi chefs from Hatsuhana go to when they knock off work. And then we can talk about food orgasms. But as usual, I digress.

Anonymous Mitzi said...

I almost made Pukies the other day while taking down a penis after Scrabled Eggs, and Grapes.

Blogger Madeline Glass said...

You know I will hold you to that, Viviane. I have a feeling we'll be talking about much more than that.

Digress, sister. You are the Lady of the Lake.

Blogger Viviane said...

'In my time I have been called many things: sister, lover, priestess, wise-woman, queen.'

Ah...! I have my original copy.

Blogger Jefferson said...

You took that side of bacon like a hungry lumberjack, Mitzi.


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