Asparagi Selvatici
It was her eye for wild asparagus. Her knack for individuating the scaly heads pushing out of the wildest tangle of thorns and brambles. Over and over she honed in and plucked her prize from the dense green.
Upon reaching the summit, she’d gathered enough to fill a grocery sack. I offered to carry it for her. We discussed recipes. She prefers it raw or in an omelet. I like it in risotto.
I longed to follow her into the woods when she disappeared to pee. I would have offered to stand guard but knew I’d be too tempted to sneak a glimpse then return to the spot sniffing like a dog.
I invited the whole hiking group over for the meal, though it was only the asparagus picker who interested me. Her black curls as untamed as the brambles tied with colorfully fringed scarves, dancing brown eyes and splash of freckles across her cheeks, the perfect collar bone.
We each made a dish but agreed her omelet with garlic and just the tips was by far the most delicious. I kept refilling her glass to be sure she’d need the loo before the evening was out. When she finally asked, I accompanied her.
“The flush is broken,” I lied, “so just leave it and I’ll wash it down later.”
“Are you sure? I can do it.” she proffered.
“Don’t worry, I don’t mind.”
As soon as she’d exited, I entered. I immediately caught the heavenly scent I’d been imagining ever since I watched her nibble up to the head of a freshly plucked stem. I pressed my finger to my clit then dipped into my velvet ooze. The orgasm was all I’d anticipated and more as I took in the pungency of that darling’s wild asparagus pee.
Copyright © 2005 by Leigh Amore. All rights reserved.
To create some fervor in her otherwise languid Sicilian life, Leigh Amore surfs the internet for erotica assignments. Little do her two sons know what their mamma is up to while they’re napping ... even her marito for that matter.
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