Eat, Drink, Man, Man
By Ronald Pineda

His name was Edward. Sometimes when I say it aloud, I find myself compelled to relive my memories with him, when we both were just starting our experimental "college phase" and were getting adjusted to our newfound freedom away from home. To this day I still remember his scent, that intoxicating mix of cologne and natural odors, which, like his personality, is at once strong and overpowering, yet at the same time gentle and lingering. I remember his strut, the way he carried his body like a stone temple unwavering and unrelenting. Every movement he made was like lightning touching a surface. He was the same when we had sex. He became the seemingly indomitable pillar that I had to climb and conquer. Edward. He who made me feel real, who forced me to see beauty in everything, and, most importantly, who helped to redefine my idea of the ideal five-course dinner.

Our dinners sometimes started with vegetarian rolls, eaten with our hands. It was sort of a gastronomic foreplay routine filled with sexual innuendos. Edward would alternate between feeding me bite-sized chunks, and then eating a few by himself. All the while, he'd look straight at me, scanning and smelling the room to gauge how long I could last without his finger in my mouth. When he did that, he became unbearable, like someone selfishly trying to deprive another the drug he needs to survive. I'd counter by opening just one end of a roll and eating it from the inside, leaving only the fried wrapper to rest idly on his plate. He'd laugh. And we'd continue teasing ourselves until we were ready for the next course.

Edward had a way with soups. He could, for instance, mix ingredients so varied I almost felt they wouldn't be able to work. But I usually never argued, because he always proved me wrong. Whatever the combination, the result was always pure heaven. His key was rice. He added it into all of his soups. In one way, it served as a testament to our common ancestry and heritage; in another, it made for an ideal buffer between our first course and our third. We just ate it together, sharing from one large bowl. Although it was the least sexually-loaded course, it was the one I enjoyed best, because we ate it in near-complete silence, so that all I could hear was his breath as it traveled in cycles in and out of his nostrils and landed as soft breezes on my shoulder.

Usually, I cooked the main course and Edward served as the plate. One night, however, he surprised me by making steak, done medium rare, with mushrooms, brown gravy, and served with rice pilaf. He had me lay on my back because he wanted to serve everything on my chest. It didn't work. It was probably the shortest main course we ever had, because I couldn't sit still as his whiskers brushed against my bare skin. We ate a few pieces of steak together, then he pecked away at a few stray long grains littered across my stomach, and to my surprise proceeded to go down further-to an early dessert.

One of my favorite tricks is what Edward could do with a condom: He could put it on a cock without using his hands. He showed this trick many times on a ripe banana that we'd later use for banana splits, but I didn't think he could do it with a real cock. For weeks I teased him about actually trying it with me, but he felt a bit self-conscious. Plus, he knew the longer I had to wait, the better I'd like it. He was right.

One night, when I least expected it, Edward mentioned "forgetting something in the kitchen," ran out, and then came back with his hands behind his back. After playing a quick round of Twenty Questions, which I forced to get shortened to a brief nine by petting the back of his thighs, he showed me the almost-ripe banana that he wanted to demonstrate with before trying his trick on the real thing. I couldn't help but laugh out loud, because he looked so cute (and hot) as he knelt with the banana brushing against his erect cock.

Seeing Edward lick the side of the banana with his tongue ranks as one of the most erotic moments I‚ve ever had. I remember his dark, seemingly pure black eyes and how they never left mine, as he started to take the banana into his mouth. I had since stopped laughing, because I found myself drunk from him. Everything became a blur, then jogged back into reality, then went out of focus again. It seemed that time, too, had stopped, and then just as quickly returned back to normal. Because the next moment I remember, I was feeling his tongue and mouth as they stroked the condom into position. I felt the gentle touch of his lips envelop me, teasing like he had with the vegetarian rolls, lovingly like he had with the soup, and carnally like he had with the main course. Everything came together, and what was thought to have been out of place found its place and what was still out of place became irrelevant. The meal, so far, was excellent.

Now I remember mentioning something about Edward helping to redefine my idea of the ideal five-course dinner. So, what usually happened in the fifth and final course? The last course was the one Edward liked most. I have no doubt about it. It was my course, the one I always started gradually, and then ended with a few tricks of my own.