my favorite way to spend a friday afternoon: old oakland housewives' farmers' market

the perky cute young brunette stands behind 3 ironing boards in primary colors, red, yellow, blue, upon which are stacked cookies and scones. i ask her about them, but really i don't care, i just want to chat her up. she describes the scones so well that i buy some just to keep her talking. i tell her the ironing boards remind me of my grandmother who used to iron her line dried cotton sheets and pillow cases. she throws in some cookies with the scones.

i wander over to the cheese stall and bug the same guy i bugged last week for a free taste of his "sharpest cheddar." it's clear he loves to talk about the cheese; he works for a small dairy and brings his cheese to market each week, just like dairy farmers have been doing for centuries. i'm lured into buying his colby jack, though i'd have rather had a tangier version, they were sold out. i'm lazy; i love to sleep in and i've missed both the savory quark and the sharper cheeses. but i haven't yet tried his lemon quark so i get some to go on the scones; i've had the vanilla bean and loved it.

i sit down by an office worker, a young asian american woman, who's gotten the afghani bread and roasted garlic eggplant topping for lunch; i often buy it and we chat about how good it is. the blues man sings and plays his guitar in the background; he has a semi-regular gig here and he's my favorite. usually his daughter comes and belts out a few numbers while tapping her four year old feet; but she's missing today.

the office worker moves on and another man comes to sit down. we bond over our love of fresh, slow food. the scones melt in my mouth, the quark is a wonderful mix of sour and sweet. we talk for half an hour about our college age kids and how we can only keep up with where they are by checking their myspace or facebook pages; his are on a band tour in middle america, mine in summer-abroad study programs .

the market is about to close so i gather up my lunch and walk up the closed off normally-busy downtown street to buy my vegetables and fruits for the week.

new red potatoes, thin wiry green beans, yellow crook neck squash, fuzzy okra which takes me back to the south. they will make a few fine suppers!

the organic stalls give me two for one since it's about closing time: bright shiny strawberries and raspberries so plump they make your mouth water. they press me to eat a tart plum while i stand there, juices dripping down my mouth.

this is contentment, this is peace. this is what i moved here for, this is love.

this is coming full circle: from the hot fields of my childhood, behind mama's house where i used to go pick the tomatoes and help her can them for winter, to my progressive sustainable bay area farmer's market.

i'm so happy. mama and papa, my mother's farmer parents, would be too, if they could see me now.

mr. lover

i put the whipped cream on his cock after licking several drops of it off his nipples.

and i smeared it on his balls. he loves that. i pushed through the cream and placed my hand firmly on his shaft and worked my magic on him, using the cream as lube to transport him away from his workday worries. it turned into liquid on his warm cock as i rubbed up and down, playing with him. he was moaning and writhing in pleasure. i love how he thrashes his head around and bucks in bed when he's about to come and how he whimpers at my touch.

he'd already made me come.

i wasn't really in the mood for sex but he's so damn fine and sexy that i pretty much can get in the mood fast. as i told him, he takes me from 0-60 in no time. i love that about him.

last night we talked and cuddled and sighed and giggled in bed - we chatted about politics, (obama's telling support for FISA, allowing those criminals, AT&T and other telecom companies, off the hook for spying on americans illegally), about his amazing stories of his and his family's migration from iran, through spain and italy, ending in canada.



he went to college for two years in tehran, then applied for med school in italy. most of the students study for a year to learn all the technical terms and to pass the entry test. he had a week to study and pass the test or lose his student visa and be shipped back to iran. and he was learning it in italian, not his native language. there were 900 questions in his study guide. he memorized all of the answers. his sister was so scared for him; she'd chosen to study architecture since there was no entry exam. she was worried sick he'd never pass. his brother-in-law, a doctor, helped him study. they prepared for a goodbye party in case he was to be deported.

but he passed with flying colors! in fact, he made the highest grade of all the foreign students and tied with an italian, only one other student, who made the same high grade.

he's so fucking brilliant and colorful, my persian. i'm so happy i had him all to myself for the last 2 weeks. we've had so much fun! going to countless Burning WoMan parties, eating out at delicious restaurants, cuddling and making love late into the night. his wife's on some buddhist retreat with her friends so he comes to sleep with me each night. (we're polyamorous, not cheaters.) i love that when we're just about tired of each other, she comes home and he leaves.

we had a staycation while he was here. we stayed in town but treated each night and weekend like we were on holiday. we ate delicious foods, fresh from the farmer's market outside my door. peaches, apricots, plums, cherries, blueberries, blackberries, raspberries are all in season, so i bought plenty and fed him in bed, luscious bowlsful of stone fruits and berries covered in whipped cream. and we love our breads of india restaurant, just downstairs from my urban loft. they serve us as regulars now, always bringing our garlic naan and mango lassis to start, then chicken tikka masala to fill us up, and finally galub jaman for dessert. they use free range chicken and fresh organic vegetables every day. we linger over dinner and hold hands and talk of everything and nothing.

he tells me that i am his honeymoon. we don't go without a few rough patches, especially when we're together for longer periods of time than our normal 2-3 dates a week. we have little disagreements or hurt feelings, but he's very mature. he can easily identify and talk about his feelings and ask for what he needs and wants. he's been through a lot for someone his age and he's traveled the world and seen many different ways of doing things so he's ever so much more evolved than american men. i love him.

i love the coffee color of his skin. i love the way his chest hair splays out in an hourglass shape on his ribs and abdomen. i love his thighs, they are perfectly sized and muscular and lift me up on to him when i'm riding him and he's thrusting into me. i love his shoulders. i love watching him when he's drinking my mango juice and eating my pussy. he dives down like a true olympian, arching his shoulders, and parting the waves of my thighs. he rests his head on my powerful legs and nibbles at me, his tongue like a little fish, darting in and out, in and out. last night and the night before, he made me come so powerfully, i had to bite my tongue and bury my mouth in the pillows to muffle my moans. i was afraid of waking the neighbors.

damn, he's good.




i'm off for the farmer's market for lunch. this is my new weekly ritual and it makes me so happy. i shop with my little red cart on wheels, just like the old chinese housewives i see all round me, and bustle from one booth to the next to compare prices on fresh organic cheese, curvy green vegetables, lanky beans, ripe cherries of all kinds - white, pink, red, burgundy.



i know to wait till the very end of the market to buy my flowers, then they are half price and so are my favorite tamales. i try to turn down the fattening kettle corn but usually the aroma of fat and salt and sugar is too much for me. i get pulled in on the tractor beam of transfats. damn, it's delicious! fresh popped, salty and sweet.

i'm emptying my vases today of last week's flowers, pink and white of round blooms in my bedroom has faded and it's time for new ones. the purplish blue of the tall thin stalks on my dining room table has not faded even though they are 2 weeks old. i empty the blossoms into the mulch around the green and yellow lemon tree at my front door. the bold petals make a perfect potpourri to greet my visitors.

life is very sweet.