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I
reach behind me and begin sliding my hand up the inside of her right
leg. “I assume you’re
referring to the ice cream,” I say.
“Ass.
. . U. . . Me. . .
Assume. Assumptions
often get us in trouble. Chocolate
ice cream, please.”
I
say, “You didn’t answer
my question.”
“Chocolate
ice cream will be just right.”
She pauses and then adds, “at
least for now.” In
the midst of several sensual interruptions, I manage to dish out the ice
cream. When I am finished, Jazbell returns the container to
the freezer, rinses the serving spoon, places it in the drying rack, and
returns to me.
“Where
are the spoons,” I ask?
“Ass.
. . U. . . Me. . .
again, she says. Who said anything about spoons?” She spins me around on the chair and sits on my lap
straddling me with her spread legs.
The only thing now between my wand of light and her wide-opened
yoni is two millimeters of towel.
I feel my loins and my lingam responding to the situation.
Jazbell
wiggles, giggles and says, “Oooo, this feels like it ought to be
fun.” She picks up
one of the dishes, takes a piece of ice cream in her fingers and places
it in my mouth. I
take in the bulk of the ice cream and then lick off what remains on her
fingers.
“OK,
it’s my turn.” She
opens her mouth and waits. I
feed her ice cream with my fingers.
She laps up both the ice cream and my fingers.
This goes on back and forth in drippy delight until both dishes
are empty. The sensual pleasures are once again profound.
Needless to say, things get pretty messy before we’re finished.
We have melted ice cream all over ourselves, the towels, the
counter, and even on the floor.
Jazbell
stands up, takes off her towel, wets a corner of it in the sink and
proceeds to wipe the ice cream off of me.
As I stand up, she takes off my towel also.
My semi-erection pops into full view.
“Pleased
to meet you, sir,” she says as she nonchalantly reaches out and
briefly takes hold of my lingam. She
shakes it up and down as though she were shaking hands with a dog and
then lets go and returns to wiping ice cream off my chest.
We
clean up each other and the kitchen, bring the rinsed towels out to the
laundry area, and hang them with the other items already there.
“What
now?” she says.
“You
seem to have things pretty much planned, so I’ll invite your
suggestions.”
“To
say that things are planned is not entirely accurate.
I do have some themes and ideas in mind and I have created a few
special bits like the taped male voice you heard earlier, but there is
nothing specifically planned other than what was stated in our opening
intentions. For example, bringing the chocolate ice cream was
planned, but everything about how we shared it was completely
spontaneous.”
“I
understand.”
“Before
we do get into whatever we do next, I have two questions for each of us
to answer for the other.”
“And
those questions are?”
“First,
what is it that you liked best about what we just shared together today?”
“Jazbell,
the thing I liked best so far was how you were there for me during our
blindfold game.”
“And
what I liked best was when you acknowledged that you were shaking after
we did the taped voice bit. You
really shared your vulnerability with me.
Thank you.”
“You’re
welcome. What’s the
other question?”
“How
could we have brought more joy to our experiences?”
“You
mean what would I want to be different?”
“You
could say it that way.”
“I
wish I hadn’t come so quickly in the shower.”
“Thanks
for sharing that. Just
remember that nothing that happens here is in any way wrong.”
“I
know. So what’s your answer to the question?”
“I
would like to have extended the ice cream sharing longer.”
“Do
you mean more ice cream or do something differently?”
“More
ice cream.”
“We
can still do that.”
“No,
thank you. The reason
for asking these two questions is to expand our awareness.
It’s not to fix anything.
“Are
those two questions part of a regular CLIC session?”
“They’re
part of awareness expansion, and, yes, they’re frequently included in
CLI Circles.”
We
both become silent and look into each other eyes. I'm
loving this connection and at the same time it's making me
nervous. "OK, now what?" I ask. She
does not respond other than to keep looking intently at me.
I wonder if she, too, is violating our agreement about no emotional
attachments. I have no clear way to know and I'm not about
to risk asking. All I do know for certain is that I have to look
away before my heart starts running my mouth.
I
look for a distraction and notice a pair of scissors hanging from the
cord which controls the window blind. I point to the
scissors and say, "What are the scissors doing hanging on the
window cord?
Jazz
responds, "If you'll bring them to me, I'll explain
why. I go over to retrieve the scissors and find that I
cannot remove them from the cord. I notice she's watching me
with a mischievous smile on her face and so I intensify my effort to
remove the scissors from the cord. The cord comes from the
control mechanism at the top of the window, loops down to where the
scissors are and then leads back up and into the control
mechanism. Seeing no break in the cord anywhere in site, I
close and open the blinds and still find no end to the cord.
The two haves of the scissors are connected with a rivet and obviously
don't come apart.
I
look back at Jazz and say, "OK smart ass, what's with the
scissors?"
"Come
back here and I'll answer your question." She gestures to the
stool I was sitting on during our ice cream sharing and says,
"Sit."
As
I sit, she steps to the window, takes the scissors in her hand, turns so
I cannot see what she is doing, and in less that thirty seconds, she
returns to me with scissors in hand. I look at her and say,
"Is this some kind of magician's illusion?
"No,"
she says, "it's simply a function of knowing how to remove the
scissors."
"All
right, then how's it done?" Without answering my
question, she returns to the window, again blocks my view and, before I
can get up to see what she is doing, she steps aside and the scissors
are back on the window cord. I examine the scissors and find
them on the cord exactly the way the were before. I spend
another minute in another unsuccessful attempt to remove them.
Jazbell
pulls me away from the window saying, "Come on, don't get lost in
your head. Today is about being and feeling, not about
thinking."
"I
take it that you're not going to show me how to. . ."
She
interrupts with, "Of course not." She opens
a nearby cupboard and takes out a similar pair of scissors attached to a
cord the ends of which are buried in a block of plastic.
"Here," she says, "take this home with you and figure it
out later."  27-1
She
reaches back into the cupboard, extracts a piece of paper and
hands it to me saying, "Here, take this,
too."
Here's
what's on the page:
|
.
|
Connect
the nine dots below with four straight
lines
without lifting your pencil off the paper.
.
.
|
.
|
.
I
say, "Another challenge. Thank you, I accept."
She
adds, "I invite you to think of them as gifts."
"I
take it there's more to this than scissors on a cord."
She just smiles and I know I have my answer.
End
of Chapter Twenty Seven --- Chocolate Ice Cream Can Get
Pretty Hot
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