by J. Sherwood
(12/09/09)

I thought the nicest thing about eating Helen Waterman was that it would piss the hell out of my buddy, Chris Cramer.

Chris and I live in Mexico, in Puerto Vallarta, in what is called the "Zona Romantica," the Romantic Zone, which is the old section south of the Rio Cuales. In our little Mexican complex, Chris lives in the apartment at the end of the hall, and I live in the one next to his. I trusted Chris.

But buddy or not, when I had to fly back to the States for a couple of weeks to attend the funeral of a favorite aunt as well as settle her financial affairs, Chris had allowed himself to be seduced both by his own libido and by Lili Winegarten -- lean, lithe, lovely Lili, the woman I had looked for at least twenty years, the woman I had increasingly imagined looking at with joy for at least the next fifty years.

Before Lili, Chris and I used to put in a lot of testosterone time strolling the beaches, streets, and bars of Vallarta looking for willing young women, who in this still-popular Pacific Coast resort are easy to come by...for me and most men, but not for Chris...Chris the Bashful.

He begged to be my protégé, and he was making rapid progress until I suddenly left him on his own, neglecting him almost completely because I had met Lili early one morning on Playa de los Muertos, Old Vallarta's most popular beach, doing her daily yoga routine, "Salute to the Sun." I had succumbed at first sight to her supple charms. That was three months ago.

Yes, I fell in love, immediately, madly. I was attracted to Lili's exquisitely refined body, to her small but significant breasts blessed with splendidly stippled nipples that stood out a full 3/4" when she was excited. No wonder every man at Cristina's on Saturday nights wanted to dance with Lili when she showed up braless in her tight t-shirts. But for the record, I was also attracted to her intelligence, to her love of books, ideas.

Lili exuded a "sense of presence" that one sometimes finds in very independent human beings. That "sense of presence" only happens when external value systems are no longer active. Those of us who remain defined by external value systems but who are earnestly struggling not to be...are invariably drawn to people like Lili.

Lucky for me, my favorite pastime dovetailed into Lili's favorite pastime: I loved eating beautiful women, and Lili loved being eaten.

But, as love would have it, Lili was usually attracted to more than one man at a time -- no serial monogamy for her -- something she had confessed...no, clarified...to me after our first night together. I, on the other hand, a devoted romantic, knew I had discovered the woman in whose lap I wanted to rest this thirty-five-year-old head for the remainder of my mortal life.

"Jeff," she told me early in our time together, after I had eaten her for the third time one evening: "You're the only man who has ever been able to do that so well that it feels like some beautiful thing is beginning to blossom inside of me. It's like you touch my soul with the tip of your tongue."

"Lili," I said, "You're a natural poet.

Poet or not, I secretly thought her revelation and joy meant that I was the only man for her after all.

In the meantime, my buddy Chris, being now largely ignored, was becoming a bit dejected. But, I discovered, Chris was also becoming obsessed with Helen Waterman who lived on the first floor in the apartment directly below mine. Helen had come to Vallarta for three months to totally immerse herself in Spanish, and the only men I had seen near this exotic redhead were bespectacled young Mexicans who looked more like studious young seminarians than hustlers. I understood why Chris wanted to totally immerse himself in Helen.

Helen was preoccupied with a man she called her "dude." The dude apparently was waiting for her back in Montana. Still, with or without her dude, Helen liked to strut, in her tiny pink bikini, particularly up and down the Playa de los Muertos. That vision of Venus in red curls with a ripe body hardly covered at all was enough to make most men want to sink to the sand and offer up their tongues in homage to this particular apparition of the Goddess.

Chris had really made some dramatic leaps in his pick-up style -- at least he was now in the race -- but when it came to Helen Waterman, Chris was like those horses you sometimes read about who, although they make a superb showing, always run only a close second because through some innate respect for what they perceive to be the alpha horse, they refuse to pass it.

One afternoon when Helen was returning to her apartment, I stopped and spoke with her about Chris. She liked Chris, she liked the silent types. Her faithful dude back home was one of those silent types.

"But you, Jeff," she said, "You're more like some off-the-beaten-path resort that it's nice to visit now and then."

"In that case I think I have a time-share set aside that says 'Saved for Helen Waterman."

Helen leaned toward me and confided that were I not coupled with Ms. Winegarten, she might consider a fun affair with me in the month that remained before she left Vallarta...perhaps a little morsel to carry back to Montana as a Vallarta memory, something for those cold Montana nights.

I liked Helen a lot.

That evening I invited myself over to Chris's apartment for a pizza and a few chilled Dos Equis and a man-to-man talk.

"Listen Cramer, you got to stop telling me over and over that Helen is the most beautiful woman in the world, and you got to start doing something to get her into your life."

"But she is the most beautiful woman in the world. That's why I don't know what to do!"

"Jesus Christ, Chris, follow her down the beach tomorrow and just walk up to her and start talking. Tell her you just walked past a piña colada that had her name on it. Or better yet, tell her you mix the best margaritas in town. And after the second margarita that's when you tell her that she's the most beautiful woman in the world."

"Half the men on the beach think they mix the best margaritas in town."

"Take the attitude that you're the only man on the beach, at least the only man for Helen. And go get a t-shirt printed up that says in big letters, 'DUDE'!"

When Lili showed up a little later, she flirted playfully with Chris for less than a minute before she pulled me out of his apartment and into mine.

Lili loved to stretch her feline self out on the bed, lift up her back and buttocks, tuck a pillow under her, and almost purr in anticipation as I peeled off her fine silk panties while blowing a stream of hot breath onto her most beautiful feature.

One thing I should tell you...I know I'm good at what I do. I LOVE "dining at the Y." I love to "go way down South." I love to give "lip service," to "kneel at the altar," to have a "box lunch." A lover in passing, whom I had met the previous year during her three weeks in Vallarta, had gifted me with a gold T-shirt before she left, which announced in bold red letters: "Muff Diver." Gobs of love seemed to be dripping off each of the letters. I might have chosen something a little more literary, but a gift given in love is always a good gift.

Lili liked that T-shirt. She thought "Muff Diver" sounded really quaint.

"Well, this quaint muff diver is curious about what you'd like on your T-shirt."

"Crème brulet."

"'Crème brulet?'"

"Yes, 'crème brulet,' and maybe below that in smaller letters something like, 'bring rich crème, ginger, and vanilla bean to a rolling boil.'"

As I looked at Lili, I realized once again that I loved eating a beautiful woman more than I loved fucking or being sucked, although I certainly loved those passions as well.

Sexual trends fascinate me. The current one -- at least regarding women in their late 20s and 30s in Vallarta -- and perhaps more than a trend, seems to me to be this...to live well is to be eaten regularly and well. Sometimes they like to give blow jobs, although reciprocation is certainly not necessary when both partners fully participate in the feast offered by the female body. Even the two lesbians in the apartment on the other side of me of me often keep me awake at night with their sweet cooings and occasionally comings. It is clear that they love eating each other. Even now they are off to Cancún to a week-long conference for committed lesbian couples. I could easily understand how a woman would love to have sex with another woman.

Lili thinks the planetary consciousness is changing because of over-population. The Goddess is saving the planet by redirecting our energies away from sex as procreation toward sex as recreation, and just to be on the safe side, toward oral sex, with a focus, perhaps long overdue, on honoring the Goddess.

Most Vallarta women, including Lili, shave carefully because for the most part they wear thin, form-fitting bikinis. Some are masters of fragrances as well. Often you can smell exotic oils, Madini oils from Morocco, for example, like Lili's favorite, the popular Madini White Musk, which tempers the seductive Tangiers musk with a lighter floral. Even patchouli still lingers on in Vallarta and is easily available in some of the contemporary head shops.

But beneath those oils are the other oils, the subtle, undeniably delectable, oils of sensual women, those unforgettable, silk-like fragrances that remind you of the world hidden inside of this more ordinary one. No wonder you want to take those chosen ones to your favorite night spot.

Lili and I like to dance at Cristina's on Saturday nights, but by far my favorite night spot in Vallarta is my own little apartment, only three blocks from Playa de los Muertos. As you walk in, you see a luxurious reddish-brown leather sofa. On the marble coffee table a bronze bust of Aphrodite I picked up in Cyprus casts her confident eyes on all who enter. On the walls I have a dozen prints of the ancient erotic sculpture -- carved out of stone -- that apparently is found all over India. Sometimes I leave out on the coffee table copies of both The Cult of Desire, which is filled with a hundred photographs of these delightful couplings, and The Illustrated Kama Sutra. Hundreds of other books -- mostly fiction and philosophy, but also some large art books honoring the Goddess -- are carefully arranged on the custom shelves a master carpenter built for me the week I moved in...out of a rich wood streaked with rose.

In the bathroom I have mounted a large reddish-orange clay plate, a replica of a plate created 2500 years ago that I purchased on the island of Lesbos. Painted in black are two naked women. One kneels with a look of calm adoration, her nipples, like Lili's, very erect as she strokes the cunt of the woman standing. That woman standing (with almost identical nipples), equally calm as she receives the caresses, is holding in one outstretched hand a glass of wine.

The candles I use those nights when I am not alone are pure beeswax. I have no television. I do not allow plastic objects in my house. Everything seems to fit well with everything else. Lili told me that she had a strong orgasm one morning simply doing her yoga routine in my apartment.

By the time I headed back to the States for my aunt's funeral, I was convinced that Lili was equally sure that we were destined to be locked together, as man and wife, forever, with my head in her lovely lap, my lips sucking her sweet love lump, my tongue dancing its way up her labia -- Latin for lips -- which flutter like the slowly moving fins of exotic Siamese fish, or flap languidly like the butterflies of Venus, lifting me to a world beyond this one, where truth and beauty are the same, and indeed as Keats observed, are all we need to know.

Two times each week and also Friday and Saturday night -- that was our rhythm. Those nights Lili also stayed over. Other nights she preferred, as I do, to be alone. On those nights, in our separate apartments, we read, or meditate, or cook, but we also manage to accumulate a lot of energy for the times to come, the times we are together.

In Kansas I dialed Lili every other night, and she was almost always there, at the end of the line, waiting for me to call. And she was always excited. Lili told me about the new books she was reading, usually she had two or three going at once, at least one a novel. One night she told me about a man she had met that morning who, even though he knew no Spanish, was traveling the length of the Pacific Coast on his new Harley, carrying a hand-held translator with him; another night she talked about a woman in her forties who had studied Lili with loving eyes, had introduced herself, had accidentally brushed a hand against Lili's nipples, and then invited Lili to lunch at Maximilian's. But, the most important substance of each conversation was how much she needed me, and how, in particular, she needed the tip of my tongue.

"When are you coming back, Muff Diver?"

Yes, it did sound quaint, "Muff Diver." Saying it several times it began to sound sort of like a character out of a Jules Verne novel; but I loved the way Lili said it, as if she were practicing elocution lessons at a 19th century finishing school in Louisiana.

Although I sometimes use it, I do not particularly like the word "cunt" to describe the single feature of the universe that I find most beautiful. I do not like the sound of "cunt." And I do not like the word "cunnilingus" at all -- it is both too Latinate and sociological. No word really serves well to describe either the body part or the act, because both are beyond what language is capable of doing. If anything, I prefer something closer to poetry. Although Lili is charmed by "muff diver," she also insists that I occasionally use the word "cunt" so that I do not forget that we are still in a finite world where, she says, we must occasionally bow to the "norm" so that it does not control us. "For form to follow essence," she said, "we need to be centered in the infinite."

While I was back in Kansas, I really missed Lili. I missed her "cunt" or "muff" and particularly her "form" that indeed seemed to follow her "essence." I missed the noises her cunt made at the moments of her intense orgasms; and I missed the other noises that began down there in her cunt but curled up through body rising finally out of her swan-like throat as a joyous scream that seemed to reach out to everything that lived. And of course that joyous scream penetrated into Chris's room as well, who undoubtedly with her first moan had pressed a frustrated ear against the wall. Often the following morning he seemed more sad than jealous.

And he still had not had any success with Helen.

In Kansas I worked hard to finish up details a few days early and was able to switch to another flight. I landed back in Vallarta on Friday night instead of Sunday night. I would surprise Lili. I salivated as I thought about it.

I took a took a cab through town back to the Romantic Zone below the Rio Cuales and finally climbed the tiled stairs to the second-story apartment I had come to call home. I would settle in a bit and then call Lili.

The moment I walked through the door I heard some loud moans coming through the wall I shared with Chris.

"Good work, Chris!" I almost shouted out loud. The fair Helen, whose red curls and bikini-clad body could launch a thousand cocks, has finally succumbed. Chris, my man, I have taught you well!

I stretched out on the bed to take delight in my success as well as Chris's as I listened to those sounds that were also my triumph. As the moans became louder they began to sound familiar. By those final joyous screams I knew for certain that the woman on the other side of the wall was my Lili, love of my life.

Chris had betrayed me, and Lili had as well, although regarding Lili it was hard to call it betrayal when she had been very clear about her needs the first night I pounced upon her. I didn't know what to call it.

I knew, though, that I was pissed as hell, but I also was aware that I had a huge erection. Part of me was actually getting turned on listening to those ecstatic screams coming out of the mouth of the woman I loved.

Nevertheless, the first impulse I had was to storm into Chris's room and confront both of them, but long ago I learned not to trust first impulses. Another thing I learned long ago was to fight fire with fire. I slipped into the bathroom quietly and dialed Helen Waterman. Helen was trying to conquer a novel in Spanish, but sure, she'd love to come up.

"Be very quiet when you arrive," I said, "it's getting late."

"Late?" she laughed. "Vallarta only starts to wake up at ten o'clock at night."

Helen slipped in like she was a secret agent. She immediately loosened the Bali batik wrap and tossed it onto the bed. She was wearing that iridescent and irresistible pink bikini that made all of the heterosexual cocks in the vicinity stand up and pay attention, including Chris's (and yes, I admit it, also mine).

"Aren't you still with Lili?"

"Sometimes," I whispered, "But tonight I want only to be with you."

Helen sat on the bed with her knees slightly parted, pulled up toward her chin, revealing her creamy inner thighs. Her breasts, now naked, were pressed against her legs. The crotch of her pink bikini had slipped between her labia. It looked wet. Helen was grinning.

"This will be one of my best Vallarta memories," she said. "Do to me what I can hear you do to Lili."

I moistened my lips. I kneeled on the bed. I reached over and cupped Helen's knees and pushed them farther apart, sucking each pink nipple, almost the color of her bikini, before I dropped down to nibble up each thigh toward those pink folds of lovely flesh that now were swelling out of each side of that now very soaked crotch of her pink bikini.

I peeled off that bikini as Helen began sighing. I love the moment when I begin to lick my way up a woman's thighs toward her labia. Then, framing her labia with my thumbs and forefingers, I ran my tongue between those glistening lips, dipping into her now iridescent cunt before I cradled her clitoris on my tongue and begin rocking it back and forth, sucking, as Lili likes to say, "the soul out of it."

Helen's moans were louder and louder, so much like Lili's that I thought Helen must have listened many times in her room below. As I continued to lap against her swollen lump of joy, Helen suddenly lifted up her hips, pressed her cunt hard against me, grabbed my hair with both hands and let out a series of joyous screams almost equal to Lili's as she jetted out streams of sweet female juices. I love those female juices. That was another really nice thing about eating Helen.

"Oh Jeff!" she cried out.

I was totally satisfied, although Helen insisted now on pulling me up on top of her until I was straddling her breasts. She slipped me into her mouth and began rolling her tongue around my cock while sliding her hand, soaked with her own juices, up and down the shaft. Unable to hold back, I also cried out, coming again and again into her mouth and over her face.

"Helen! Helen! You're incredible," I shouted.

Then I was able to finally hear the polite knocking, coming from Chris's side of the wall.

"Jeff, honey, is that you?" I heard Lili's concerned, muted, almost formal, voice.

I looked at Helen and winked. She lay in satisfied comfort, not worried at all about that voice. Like me, Helen found it difficult to be disturbed about anything in the bliss that immediately follows intense orgasm.

"Jeff...honey...is that you!" Lili called again through the wall, louder this time.

"Of course it's me, this is where I live," I said.

Then I heard another voice, my traitorous protégé, Chris.

"Who are you fucking around with over there you son of a bitch!"

I said nothing.

This time a male fist pounded against the wall.

"I'll give you a clue. She was wearing a pink bikini.

"I heard you shout 'Helen.'"

"Who wouldn't, after a blow job like that!"

"So it is Helen," Chris said, sounding disgusted.

"Chris," I shouted back, "All I'll tell you is that I'm with the most beautiful woman in the world." In the midst of this male-head butting, I had forgotten about Lili.

To rub it in I added, "And Chris, I'm looking at her really close up. Really close up."

Helen beamed. But inside I was beginning to feel really irritated, jealous, disgusted with how easily that idiot Chris had moved in on the girl I intended to marry. Still, though, my body felt terrific. I watched Helen coyly gathering my come off of her face and sucking her fingers clean.

Chris shouted back, now almost laughing

"Jeff, actually I'm with the most beautiful woman in the world. And you should see her really close up."

I thought Chris was right. Lili is the most beautiful woman in the world.

Chris probably thought I was right about Helen being the most beautiful. Just wait until he sees her close up, I thought.

I hoped, though, that Lili was ready to rush into my room, to beg me to forgive her, to tell me how she loves me, to tell me how she had been tricked by Chris and her young hormones, to tell me she would never trust another man again.

I waited.

Now there was only silence on the other side.

I looked at Helen. She, indeed, was one jewel of a woman. She had lain back down and drawn up her legs and spread them. Her wet cunt was smiling up at me.

Well, at least it was over now. What was done was done. What I really wanted was to have Lili back over here with me.

"Lili," I said toward the wall. There was no answer.

Then, unbelievably, I could hear Lili's loud moans beginning once again.

Four can play this game I thought.

"Helen," I said rather loudly, as I slid up on the bed and lay once again between Helen's legs. As I pushed my tongue into her cunt, still working my upper lip furiously against her clitoris, I could hear my Lili next door, moving again toward orgasm, apparently without a thought toward me, and more turned on now than ever.

Helen was also wilder this second time, and at the very moment Lili screamed, Helen also screamed. The wall between our two apartments seemed to shudder.

Once again Helen was drenched in her own juices. I rubbed them all over her taut belly and her tits and they were already all over my face. Like some other women I have known, Helen soon dropped into a deep post-orgasm slumber, a smile of bliss on her swollen lips, my come drying on her rosy cheeks. She looked like a cherub.

Unable to sleep, I lay there thinking about what had happened.

Around two o'clock in the morning, I got up, wrapped a towel around me, and tiptoed out. I knocked softly on Chris's door and he opened it just as softly, wearing absolutely nothing. It surprised me that his cock was almost as big as mine.

He smelled so much like Lili's juices that, ridiculously, I almost kissed him. Chris looked happy. I wanted him to look worried. Lili made men look happy, I thought. After you had been with Lili, you no longer worried about anything. Something about Lili released all of that old stuff inside of you and washed it away.

"Helen's sound asleep," I said, resting my hand softly on his shoulder, "but she'll wake up for you, Buddy. I was just getting her warmed up for you."

Chris looked surprised, but satisfied. He looked confident. He looked like a winner.

"Well, Buddy," Chris said, "Lili's in there waiting for you." As he slipped out the door he turned his back toward me and added, "And I warmed her up for you real good."

Inside Chris's apartment I dropped my towel. The thought that came over me was that Lili was better adjusted sexually than any human being I had ever met. Certainly much more than I was, I was sad to say. She had been good both for Chris and for me, and probably for Helen as well.

"Hello lover," I heard a sweet voice say, "I missed you."

"Apparently not very much," I said, already letting the old male ego move in.

"Actually very. I missed you very much. That's why I came to visit Chris, just to talk about you and to be near your apartment."

She cupped my head in her hands and pulled me toward her nipples.

As I sucked them earnestly, she continued talking in that sweet and melodious voice while backing toward Chris's bed.

"Jeff, I was so proud of you when Chris told me how good you'd been to him. He said you've been teaching him not just how to pick up women but also to make them happy. He said you told him everything he knows about eating a woman. Now, because of you, he even calls it 'muff diving.'"

She softly pressed her hands against the top of my head and began pushing me toward her cunt as she gracefully sat down, spread her legs apart, and planted her feet firmly on each side of me. I knelt on Chris's carpets.

"I told Chris he was learning from a master. Just thinking about it, though, made me wet. I was getting really turned on. I couldn't decide what to do about it. I kept crossing and uncrossing my legs, and Chris could see my nipples sticking way out. Then Chris knelt before me, resting a hand on each knee, just like you like to do. I spread my knees further apart. It wasn't Chris's idea to betray you. It was my idea to help Chris, just like you've been doing, but in my own way."

What could I say? Even though her thighs were still soaked with Chris's saliva and her own copious juices, I was already wiggling my tongue up the length of her labia and up toward her clitoris.

"Are you really mad at me, honey?" Lili asked?

I sure wasn't in much of a mood for many words, but I put some thought into what I said next, and just before touching the tip of my tongue to her clitoris, something true in me wanted to speak.

"Lili, you did just the right thing."

"Jeff, I love you," she said, "but now listen...I hear music."

The moaning was beginning once again over in my room. "Good work Chris," I almost shouted out for the second time tonight.

As Lili began her own moans and crescendoed toward still another intense orgasm, I stopped for only a second and whispered in a muffled voice, "Lili, will you marry me?"

"Yes," she gurgled. Then she wrapped her legs so tightly around my head that it was impossible to say another word.

How bizarre we human beings are. I suddenly felt so clean and happy. For the first time I could even clearly see our future. I wondered, "When our children ask us to describe the night I proposed, what will we say?"

Then I thought about nothing at all, because the sweetest cunt lips in the universe were still calling to me. And so what if those cunt lips occasionally called to another. In her own way Lili was teaching me a lot about life, about living independently of the way the world demanded that you live, about living more deeply, closer to what she called essence.

And I had actually proposed to Lili...on my knees, now that I thought about it.

Incredibly, I had heard her say yes.

That turned out to be really the very nicest thing about eating Helen Waterman.

Our permanent collection of erotic stories