B.J.'s BJ.

Teasing my sexblogging colleague, Debauched Diva, about her chocolate cravings over Twitter this evening, curiousity found me peeking online for references to foodplay just for fun. Because, you know, I'm online at home again. Yeah.

Sitophilia. Vore. Nyotaimori.

Hey, I love sushi...

But apart from teasing so-sexy-Shayne once about what I'd do to her with five pounds of strawberries (which are still in my goddam freezer), it had me thinking of real events in my past where I've used food during sexplay. I had poured Frangelico into The Grrl's mouth (and along her lips) when I had her tied up... I'm certain there was at least one time when I had painted my Diva's breasts with Nutella and feasted from her nipples while we were on the waterbed... And then there was the huge May Day party I had hosted years ago that featured goofy and ribald games among the guests, including blowjob simulations with peeled bananas and cunnilingus simulations with halved Twinkies, fifteen or so couples lined up in a row (and no one with their respective partners as one saucily held the food object before the other)...

And then I remembered B.J. Yes, that really was her name.

We were friends in high school. Barely more than acquaintances really, the sort of 'friends' who found themselves riding the subway together with the same pack of kids but were never in the same classes because I was in a grade ahead of her. B.J. was a quiet, thickly curvaceous, wavy-haired blonde Latina with a pleasant wit. We would hang in the school cafeteria amongst our mutual buds, sometimes skipping classes together when our shared pack made excursions into Greenwich Village or Chinatown.

But, in those days, dating was a new and weird phenomenon. I was drooling over other girls at the time, and had had sex with very few. B.J., barely known to me at all, never really registered on my radar.

But I guess I registered on hers... because then she took me home.



I had come from tae kwon do practice when I spotted B.J. hanging outside the school with a few other girls. Since we were accustomed to riding the R train together to and from school, she approached me and asked if we'd go together. Sure, I shrugged, and it was probably one of the few times that we actually talked, as it was after hours and we were alone while strolling toward the subway, backpacks on our shoulders. I'm sure we continued chatting during our 30-minute train ride, and she asked me to come with her to her place when we reached her stop. Maybe she liked something I said...

I thought nothing of it, really. As far as I knew, I was simply getting to know more about her and in the most platonic way. If she had been flirting in my direction, I was clueless to it. What did I know? I was a kid. And I certainly didn't sense anything would be up once we got there, where I met her father, who was busily practicing on their large, loud, upright piano in the main room of their Brooklyn apartment.

She said her quick hello to Daddy, he greeted me in cordial but broken English, and then he returned to the ivories as we scooted to her room. Perfectly normal. B.J. and I talked about homework. Perfectly normal. Homework shifted to smalltalk as we sat on her hardwood bedroom floor. Perfectly normal. B.J. suddenly leaned close and kissed me, full on the lips, open-mouthed and steamy. Whoah.

My head raced to catch up, but by the time I realized what was happening and was just beginning to wrap an arm around her back, she stood and excused herself out of the room. For a few moments, I was left on the floor, blinking my eyes in stunned perplexity, my eager teenage cock having a much clearer idea of things than my head did. The piano playing stopped as I overhead B.J. and her father discussing something in Spanish. It started again as she strode back into her bedroom, closed the door, and opened the jar of honey that she had collected from the kitchen. She dropped herself into my lap, held my head, and resumed her passionate kisses.

Clearly, my high school friend had something on her mind.

Her warm and searching tongue probed my mouth, darted across my teeth. I held her tight, still completely surprised by it all, but now also aware of the heat coming from my hardening shaft as it lay pressed firmly along my bare thigh under my tight jeans. B.J., being a pleasantly thick girl, had firm and very large breasts under her top and bra, and my adolescent heart thundered in my chest as my hands explored them. She, in turn, reached down to my waist, and her breathing quickening into a gasping in my mouth when her fingers found and started petting the length of me from over my jeans. She felt my heat, my girth, and she started to shake as she gyrated her hips on my lap. We were fully clothed and very hot, all the while the apartment echoing with her father's piano playing two rooms away.

B.J. slowed down and started to pull away, telling me she was getting nervous about being discovered. Instantly, I realized something: so long as we heard the piano, we knew where her father was. At that, her eyes widened gleefully, her kisses resumed again, and she started pawing at my crotch for true.

She lay me back onto the floor. She dropped her weight on top of me, my legs pinned by her thighs at either side. She panted as she started to unbuckle my belt and unzip my jeans. My chest was shaking, my head spinning, completely disbelieving what was going on. We listened to the piano.

She undid my pants and yanked them down my legs. I reached down and under her shirt to cup one of her large tits. She squeezed the length of my dick from over my boxers. We listened to the piano.

She bent herself over, still kneeling on the floor and pinning me in place as I lay there, and tugged my boxers off of me. My cock sprang free before her reddening face, and without a moment's hesitation, she engulfed me with her panting mouth. We listened to the piano.

She reached for the jar of honey and, scooping a glob of the golden thickness onto her fingers, she started coating my cock with it. It was cold and sticky and actually somewhat uncomfortable, tugging my skin in ways I wasn't entirely happy with, but soon the excitement of it all got the better of me. There was no piano.

We froze. She spun around to look at her bedroom door and was about to leap off of me when... it started again. I tried to keep from laughing out loud, but I faked "real conversation" with her during the moment of silence. Sneaky, naughty me.

Soon, teenage B.J. was giving me a honey-dripping BJ on the hardwood of her room, the bobbing of her head slightly slowed by the thick stickiness of the sweet goo she had almost completely covered me with. B.J. lapped at my cock, feasting on the sweetness, feeling my thickness pushing past her full and honey-drenched lips. I taught her how to stroke the base of me with her fist, and I relished in the weight of her impressive breasts on my legs. Her long, curly hair teased my thighs. Reaching down some more, her young breasts spilled out of my hands.

She repositioned herself to grind her jeans-covered crotch against my leg, and I could feel her seething wetness and womanly heat. My head filled with thoughts of how drenched, how steamy, how tight, how hot she would feel if I could fuck her, feel my balls against her plump ass while her legs reached high into the air... and by then, she had consumed most of the honey from my cock and I could feel her sucking mouth and strong tongue more firmly. The sudden sensation, with my mind's eye hungering to fuck her hard, sent me over the edge as I exploded stream after stream of my cum into her honeyed mouth.

I can't imagine how much of me she tasted, if any at all. But she sucked me, swallowed me, and her mouth lingered with slow slurps as she slowly came down from her high. Her face was bright red with passion and exertion, and when she sat up again, her lips were puffy and swollen, slick with honey or cum or both. Her hair was wayward. Her top, halfway undone. The crotch of her jeans darkened with her own musky cum.

It was late. Her father pleasantly said goodbye to me as I gathered my things. B.J. and I talked in the apartment building hallway for a while before I turned to go home. The piano continued as I caught the elevator.

We never hooked up again, and I have no idea of what's become of her. But no one else has ever used honey on me.