credit: sara remington
after reading an advance copy of Vegan Soul Kitchen back in 2007, my friend and creative collaborator Mike Molina started writing short stories inspired by recipes in the book. we recently decided to share them on this blog. please visit Mike’s website to see what this brilliant brother is up to. and please go here (at the bottom of the page) to send feedback about the first story. . .
(Maple Yam) Ginger Pie
by Michael Otieno Molina
It was just… right. The space between us was warm water to wade into.
It was healthy: citrus greens steamed in good energy. We left room for pie and any possibility. She cooed when I slid a second slice on her plate. It was late when we got to the subject of friends with benefits.
“There would have to be some guarantees,” she said looking down at the pie.
“What does that mean? Only thing I could guarantee is that I’d spend as much time working this friend as I did making this pie you tripping on. Other than that, what is that they say in church? You got to taste and see.” She laughed. I didn’t.
“No, I mean I would have to know it would stay in that moment. How it happened, why it happened, when it happened. Just a sweet little memory for me and this friend to share.” She clarified.
“Oh. That’s doable.”
“And exactly how much time did you spend on this pie anway?” She asked with soft smile.
“Let’s see, I had to warm the outer crust while I was bringing the water to a rolling boil, pop the yams in, roll the dough and press it into place. That’s like 58 minutes of foreplay right there.”
“Hmm, a hard working man, right?”
“When something this moist comes out of it, oh yes.”
She dug her spoon into the pie and pushed it, bottom up, onto her tongue. A pang rang through my body. She moaned a sigh and closed her eyes. “Oh that’s good as fuck.”
“Yes it is.” I replied. Our eyes locked.
“Come here,” she said. We dug in.
The silky salve on her tongue washed my mind clear. It was warm, sweet and soft. I tasted the maple I had poured in the pie. We kissed and the moment did not move. We kept going and the moment stood still.
It wasn’t slow. Paced, but not slow. It wasn’t anxious. At times forceful, wild, ravenous, but anxious it wasn’t. It was like… finally. Our bodies clapped in gratitude.
She hummed on my chest. I inhaled her breath. She raised her body up to a straddle and looked down at my belly, then at me, and smiled in satiation. I was sure she felt that… satisfied. But was she done?
In the morning we pawed each other’s egos. We touched skins shyly. She went home.
And now the places where she sat and laid and looked back at me… the counter, the carpet, the couch are all lit with what we did.
Hey, U kno I got a whole other ginger pie in the fridge. Want some? I probably shouldn’t have texted so soon.
I’ll be there in 15 minutes. She replied.
