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Drumstick soup 1

Short story By: Megalanthropus

When I met her, she confused the hell out of me. That was when we both knew trouble would follow.

Submitted:Feb 25, 2014    Reads: 389    Comments: 3    Likes: 1   


I saw her from a distance. A very great distance. There were no two ways about it. I was very confused.

We met, flirted, dined together, kissed, and spoke sweet nothings. Then she told me her secret. She was asexual. Nada. Not one sexual thought flitted across the vast expanse of her mental canvas.

I gave God one seriously pained look, and asked her if she was set in her ways.

She said she wasn't, and that I could try and arouse her, but many men had tried, and failed, and run from her. She'd been called ice queen, frigid as an icicle, sex-killer and a host of other barbs that were unmerited, because she was a fabulous human being.

So, we decided to sit down and play some chess. I told her that her company was enough. As long as I had her lovely blonde hair shining in my peripheral vision, while I looked into those green-blue eyes, I would be content.

She asked me what I would do about my sexual needs. I told her I'd masturbate when she was occupied otherwise. I would masturbate imagining that I was making love to her. I would masturbate thinking all sorts of outrageous scenarios about her. That would be good enough.

She cried a little bit, at how selfless I was. A couple of men had tried forcing her, and she didn't want that to happen again. So she wanted some time together, before we took any big decisions. I was happy to go along, as long as I could look at those lovely green-blues.

Over the next two months, I tried everything. I tried candles and gentle waltzes. I tried Tantric chants and Taoist secrets of the Jade bedroom. I tried watching soft core porn movies with her, but she grimaced and excused herself, leaving me with a hard-on. I took her dancing and danced with her while I had an erection. When her face started expressing a shade of revulsion, I took her home, and told her I was sorry. I searched the internet for tips on sexual arousal. I bought jack fruit and papaya and other means that were purported to set your libido on fire. I fed her lots of drumstick soup and prayed at night, wondering whether any of this was having any effect.

I took her to a comedy club. The zingers and one-liners came fast and loose, and all the jokes were on sex and sexual themes, and even on frigid people, mostly frigid women. We laughed through all of it. When the frigid woman jokes started, she pretended to laugh, but her face assumed the most alarming of expressions. I knew she was taking each joke to heart, as though it were about her.

I was very concerned, and told her that I'd like to leave early, because there was some work I wanted to complete. She nodded, and the relief on her face was reward enough for me. Sexually inclined or not, she was the most beautiful woman in the world.

Then she asked me if I made jokes about her frigidity. I had done just that, a couple of times, early in our relationship. That was it. Never again. I told her that. She glared at me, and wouldn't speak for a long time. I pleaded that I was sorry I ever did that, but I wanted her to know, because lying to her was abhorrent to me.

She finally melted, and asked me up to her place. She asked me if I'd like to do anything to her - sexually. She wouldn't get into it, but at least it would make me happy. I laughed, and played with her hair, and told her that if she wasn't enjoying it, then I wasn't doing it. She cried. I held her. I kissed her. I told her not to worry.

We fell asleep on her sofa in each other's arms, after having enjoyed a neat little bottle of claret.

The next three months, I kept up my efforts. I took her to every romantic movie I could think of, and kissed her only when she really wanted to kiss. I bought her a fortune in chocolates, but I wasn't counting. I would buy ten times that amount to see those green-blues light up. I kept feeding her drumstick soup and jack fruit. It made her body heat up more than she was used to, but she enjoyed them so much that we kept eating it. We studied the Taoist love arts with enormous diligence, and discovered our fire, earth, metal, water and wood proportions. We tried all the suggested methods for healing sexual frigidity, but she was still asexual.

I didn't even masturbate. I wanted to work on her, and was constantly aroused in her presence, but I held myself together. Five months without release is an interesting experience, but I was determined that my lovely green-blue eyed woman would be the one to take my seed, when she really wanted to with her loins. Or her mouth or her anus. But when she really wanted to.

In the seventh month of our happy relationship, when we were one soul and two bodies, something happened. I took her tango dancing. She enjoyed herself so much, and I felt my heart fill up when I saw her spectacular eyes shine with joy. I tousled her golden hair, and just listened to her fill my space with her presence.

We started exploring flea markets the next couple of weeks, and walked several miles a day after work in the evening. We kept up our attempts, but were often too exhausted to think of sex or how to bring it about. It was just work, walking and rest.

Then we started fighting. Everyday. I still loved her. She still loved me. And then we drove each other crazy. The groceries, the amount of pepper in the drumstick soup, the choice of a movie - anything was catalyst enough for a fight.

So I told her my thoughts on what was happening. We needed space from each other. She blamed me for the fights and we fought again. I was very turned on by the flashing anger in her green-blues, but that didn't help.

So I asked her to leave. She stormed out. I turned away in a huff, and brought out another bottle of something intoxicating. I didn't even see the label. I sat down and drank and watched action movies for seven hours. I needed to punch somebody, so it was better to simply watch someone do it.

I didn't call her. I kept picking up my phone and looking at our last text. I almost dialed her number a thousand times each night. But I didn't call her. She didn't call me. I could sense that she was still angry.

We ran into each other a week later in the Galleria, a mega-mall that was a symbol of the consumer culture. She was moping at a little store that sold gewgaws and gimcracks. She was lost in the activity, but was very tense when she was doing it. I fell in love all over again. The golden ponytail and the aquamarine eyes were as potent as ever. She was wearing black jade hoops on her ears, and was dressed in a salmon colored dress.

I was stunned by the sight of her. I stopped several paces short of her, and just kept staring at her. She looked up ahead, and then turned and saw me staring. She stopped fidgeting with the gewgaws, and stared back.

I ran upto her and swept her into my arms. She didn't question or resist it. I kissed her on the lips, and found that she was desperate for it. She wouldn't let go of my mouth, and I was glad for it. We drew a crowd of spectators and catcalls and cries that we should get a room.

I held her while she completed her gewgaw shopping. It was beautiful feeling, having her right there again. Sexual or not, she was the most beautiful woman in the world.

We went back to my place. We spoke about all we had done all week, and how many times we had almost called each other. Our eyes drank each other in, and enjoyed the sheer joy of each other's company. I loved her and she loved me.

I ordered in Thai red curry, with sticky rice, and padthai, and brought out the flan for later. We ate the peanut sauce off each other's lips. We danced a waltz, and I tried to keep our waists separate so she didn't feel my erection. She laughed and told me I was an incorrigible sex maniac, and I laughed and told her I was crazy for her.

Then I said something about how we weren't fighting any more and that was great, but I said it in a clumsy way. She dropped her smile like a hot potato, and glared at me. I knew silence was golden just then.

Our anger escalated and then we inhabited different corners of my apartment. We slept in different rooms, and then I heard something in her room. I heard her talking to herself. She was angry with herself, and thought she was hurting me.

I knocked on her door, and waited for her response. She told me to go away. I went inside. She was angry and upset, so I knelt by her and held her hand. She told me it was all her fault.

I kissed her hand, and told her that she was all that I wanted, sex or no sex. She cried when I said that. She promised that she would work like a demon on her lack of sexual feeling. I asked never to worry on that count. If being with her meant never making love again, I was content to kiss her. She cried more, and kissed me.

Then it happened. We didn't know whether it was the drumstick soup or the Taoist breathing exercises, or the Tantric loving. It was a bolt out of the blue.


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