Mind Caviar Fiction

Oceania  is a Web Goddess who has created, designed and maintained some of the most artistic and sensual websites on the Net: Peacockblue, Girlphoria, Radioactive Sex, the and many more. She is most known for her sensual audio recordings and has become known by the moniker, "The Voice of Erotica" having recorded works for Playgirl, Passion Press and Penthouse, as well as countless personal and professional clients for whom she writes and records exclusive custom erotica. Her Webmaster content can be found all over the Web. She has also performed the vocals on Mind Caviar's own Jamie Joy Gatto's latest audio CD version of her book, Unveiling Venus.

E-mail Oceania. Visit Peacockblue to experience Oceania's Vision.

Oceania is Erotica

Relationships With Food

When he is not here,
I eat.
It soothes my soul.
(God I hate it when people, writers, use the word "soul" in their stories.)

Anyway, he and I are not seeing eye-to-eye today and I have been doing the refrigerator lunge,
eating everything in sight.
I am not hungry.
In fact, I really,
except for the bare fridge shelves,
have little memory of eating anything at all.

All this week we have been separated. I took a job to pay the bills. A horrible job answering phones. The people on the other end are whiny and mean, and go out of their way to try and make themselves powerful and others insignificant. At the end of the day I just want to come home and sleep it off like a bad hangover.

But then I get home, drop my car keys on the floor near my desk, and wait a heartbeat. The phone rings on cue. It’s him. He’s always on time. He wants to let me know how hard he is, how much he misses me like it’s one-sided. I hear that whispering catch in his voice, the one that when I am in a good mood excites me and makes me come. I feel like I am being played, controlled and I fight with him. 

He ignores it and continues to push all my buttons. My hot buttons -- only in the fact that he makes me hot. And I hate him, just for this moment.

Sometimes on days like this, I make it through the phone conversation and go back to the Web… my baby .. my creation where I can toil in bondage to my hunger to do more than survive. Today I am so angry I just hang up on him. Instinctively I turn off the ringer and go back to my life. For the first time I sit and watch television. The joke is true, ninety-nine channels and nothing to watch. I flip through the channels for an hour. A bag of Oreos is empty and so is the box of microwave popcorn.

I wonder if he has called but, I am afraid to look. He can out wait me. He has before and that hurts more than angry words. Frustrated, I go back to my studio and look. There is a message. He has gone for walk, but he wants to talk. 

But I really do,
And I try to think of things to busy myself.

I write,
organize my email,
and cook.
Oh, more food-- just what I need!
And I think…

When he is here
Food takes on another form:
Breakfast on the balcony,
Me in his shirt,
Him in just his underwear.

Eggs sunny-side up, 
eaten with the fingers.
Toast dunked in running yolks and ripped by buttered lips.

Oh, when he is here 
food is sensual,
part of our play time
and best eaten in the nude.

Fingers go from plate to him, plate to me,
Me to him.

We are part of the ritual,
Eating and being eaten.
It is delicious and always ends up in the shower or a lingering bath.

But the rare occasions when we do eat out, 
It’s fried chicken
In garlic bar-b-que sauce.
Dripping down hands and elbows…
Down chins…
Licked off
Through suppressed giggles and grins.
Hands finger-licking good,
Roam across exposed legs and open shirts
Leaving trails of desires and lust.

One day I know we will be throw out for lewd and indecent behavior.
But it can’t be helped.
When he is here,
Life is erotic
And sensual
And I am whole.
And do not eat to fill a void.

Copyright © 2001-2002 by Oceania of peacockblue.com. All rights reserved. Do not copy or post.

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