Tasting (Party 1) : By Queer Coolie

There are few words to describe the smell of sesame oil. And I don’t have them…

I stood in front of a harlequin of chopped vegetables. Cooking.

I adore cooking. The snap, crackle, pop, fizz, hiss and fumes swirl together and evoke much sensory delight. And tonight, I was cooking for her. Reminded suddenly of the bizarre need to impress, my left hand automatically reached out for a wine glass that possessively ensconced some crisp and dry dutch courage. Gulp.

My thoughts returned to ponder the bottle of sesame oil I held in my hand mid-pour. I heard the shower turn off in the distance. She would be out soon. Rightly, I should have hurried on along and got chopping. But… you know that luscious anticipation of waiting to smell, feel and taste something so delicious that you can never get enough? Well, I decided to prolong it.

“Mmmm… Something smells good” She said from behind me, her arms wrapping themselves around my waist in a slow embrace. Her cheek placed gently against my back.

“Yes…Yes it does…” I replied. Her many bodily scents- her shampoo, her own warm scent- teasing my nostrils. I let the fingers of my free hand trail up and down her arm relishing the soft contact of her skin still glowing from the shower.

In the background, a French song played its charm and we gently swayed to its rhythm. It had been far too long since we had made love. Travel, work and utter exhaustion meant I had been denied of soul shaking sensory bliss for unending days with the woman I adored. And how I missed it. She felt so good pressed up against me. Warm, soft and …What was she wearing? I wondered. Ignoring the urge to turn around, take her in my arms and pepper her divine neck with titillating kisses, I sautéed the vegetables with a comical single-mindedness.

She hummed along to the song, her hands lazily wandering over my torso wrapped in a fitted black shirt. Coyly fingering the top button. Undoing it. Redoing it. And again. Breathing in deeply, I let her know she had my attention. Tonight was date night. Our night. We were to create one more memory. To our own personal soundtrack of whispers, whimpers and sighs.

“You hungry, baby?” I asked out of genuine concern. She did need her sustenance for the promises of the evening. I felt her nod against my back. I opened my mouth to reassure her that my culinary concoction would be done soon but I was interrupted.

By a breathy whisper…”For you”

Whatever I was to say came out as a half strangled groan. My senses were overwhelmed. I quickly switched off the stove. Whatever was cooking was done. It had to be. Turning around, I saw her for the first time that night. Cradling her face my eyes greedily absorbed her unsettling beauty. It got me every time. She clenched my shirt and pulled me closer, I bent my head. We were breathing the same air. She unconsciously licked her lips. The brief peek of her pink tongue tipped me over. My mouth was on hers. Tasting.

About the author

Queer Coolie

Queer Coolie is the pink and cheery avatar of a single Indian lesbian recently repatriated from the US. She also dabbles at being the following - Editor @gaysifamily | Dimsum Lover | Kettlebell Swinger | Startup Standup | Bathroom Beyoncé