IONA Magazine

My mother often threatened us with scientifically improbable things . . .

When my cousin Janel and I were young, we used to practice cursing at each other. Like learning French or Ebonics, daily practice was the key to being a successful linguist. It was a harmless pastime, designed to emulate how our parents communicated with each other. We’d secretly meet at the playground in the back of Pimlico Elementary School to hone our filthy verbal skills. Hanging from the monkey bars, I’d test out a phrase or two. “You fucking bitch!” Janel, lazily floating on a swing countered with, “Oh, Goddamit. Go fuck yourself, you little whore.” We giggled a lot when practicing these dirty words. It was fun and forbidden, and put to an abrupt end when my mother caught us and chimed in with, “You little bastards. Keep that up and I’ll slap the taste out of your mouths!”

My mother often threatened us with scientifically improbable things. But that night at dinner, I was hoping that science would bend to her will, and she’d be able to make good on her earlier threat. Violence was my least favorite form of punishment, but the thought of not being able to taste anything appealed to me, especially when presented with Okra as a side dish. I hate Okra. I appeased my mother by tasting it, but I vowed never to swallow. It didn’t matter how it was cooked--over or under--Okra is a slimy vile weed of a vegetable. “Yuck, mommy”, I exclaimed. “This is nasty. I can’t think of a more disgusting thing to put in my mouth.” My mother, with her infinite wisdom, simply said, “Wanna bet?”

Sometime in the 1990’s, I met Armando while I was working the ticket booth at the Pier Six Concert Pavilion, in Baltimore. At that time, he was a concert promoter for a popular girl group called En Vogue. He was a dark skinned foreigner with shiny black hair and a charming accent. I tried to guess where he was from. Maybe one of those tragic countries, a chunk of land cursed by hurricanes and snakes? The diamonds in his teeth told me otherwise. He was Panamanian; not the normal kind, living in shacks, but the kind who got rich by betting on racehorses. Armando looked and smelled like an all expenses paid vacation to a tropical island, and there he was, inviting me to be his girlfriend. One night, after a concert, he’d taken me on a tour of his stately home. His world was like an episode of The Planet of the Apes. One where the evolutionary chain was turned upside down. There were floor to ceiling tropical fish tanks, exotic rugs, a wine cellar and a white maid, who worked for three dollars a day.

Overcome with his charm and class, I decided to let him make love to me. We were in one of his seven tastefully appointed bedrooms, when his maid appeared with strawberries and champagne, delicately perched on a real silver platter. I thought, “Gosh, what a gentleman!” He’s gone through all this trouble for a perfect seduction, Sex has got to be good.” He doled out gentle kisses, soft embraces, and a freakishly large penis that was obviously not going to fit inside my vagina. He smiled, as if to say, “There are other ways to pleasure me.” Taking his cue, I began to stroke his penis and gently kiss it. When things began to heat up, he winced and cooed and then . . . he grabbed the back of my head and forced me to keep my mouth on his cock. I felt the nectar of his wanker hit the back of my throat, and I began to gag. The taste of his cum was vile and slimy, like Okra. I let his nasty jizz escape from the corners of my mouth and then proceeded to erase the flavor with the entire bottle of champagne.

This was an occasion where I wished my mother were present, so she could slap the taste out of my mouth. As usual, my mother was right, and I’m glad I didn’t take her up on that bet. There are nastier things than Okra one could put in one’s mouth. I vowed, as I did with the nasty vegetable; taste, but never swallow.


Tell me your dating story, great, good or bad, I want to hear your thoughts.

Until Next Time!

~Gwendolyn~



About Gwendolyn:
Eight years ago, Gwendolyn Barney gave up a fabulous apartment in Baltimore, Maryland, (filled with some very nice furniture and electronic toys) and a successful career as a multi-media producer in order to experience Europe, live out of a suitcase and have some adventures. She is currently a web 2.0 Designer and writer, living in Portland, Oregon.