Zucchini and the art of environmental maintenance


“Hey, Natasha,” the editor of Sydney’s trashier daily paper called across the newsroom, a smirk on his overweight face, “Are you eco-curious?”For me, an out and proud young journalist, this kind of banter was a tedious occupational hazard. But one I played along with so I would be accepted into the journalist team.“Past the curious stage boss,” I said, faking a one of the boys’ smile.“Bio-sexual, eco-femme or eco-butch?” he loudly asked, ensuring the interest of the whole newsroom.Only female dates-de-jour picked me up after work. And surely even an older straight guy would notice my fondness for alice McCALL dresses. But, although being able to answer his own question, he waited, fisherman like, hoping for a bite.I wasn’t nibbling. Who wants the world knowing she didn’t get what her boss meant by adding an eco-prefix?With me not biting on his hook and his audience losing interest, he broke the silence making his intentions clear, “I want a Sunday feature article on this new eco-sexual identity. A self-called eco-slut, Fleur Honeysuckle, is living the hippy lifestyle in the Blue Mountains and eager for publicity. How about you pay her a visit Natasha and ingratiate yourself. Something well written in our taking the piss style.”That gobsmacked me, my first Sunday feature was a major career milestone. As he knew that too, I expected a how-not-to-write for the Telegraph lecture was coming. And it was.“Not like this piece of shite,” he began, peering at the offending article, “The eco-sexual identity is a sensual eco-logic which deconstructs heteronormative assumptions, so, unrepressed, you participate in sensorial mutuality with the more-than-human environment.”On cue the newsroom’s Greek chorus tittered, but, as he was addressing me, I felt I needed to fight fire with fire.“The more-than-human environment,” I said, with a knowing smirk, “You mean tree rooters, boss?”“That’s my girl. Take the company’s four-wheel drive, you’ll need it in the backblocks.”That Friday, on Blackheath’s outskirts, I found the rutted dirt road that zig-zagged precipitously down to the valley floor. I was excited and nervous; this was my big chance to write something memorable and climb the greasy pole that is journalism today.A rougher dirt road took me along the valley floor, ending at a gate on which a sign, painted in green, read, ‘Privates. Discovering my E-spot.’Set in a large paddock beyond the gate were a small homestead and sheds. Remnants of native bush, interspersed with gum trees, flourished between the paddock and a typical Blue Mountains’ ochre cliff face. Hitching up my dress, I clambered over the gate, delighted to have worn flats.As I approached the house, a woman, presumably Fleur, rushed out. Naked, though she had kept her hat on; yet so not what I was expecting of an eco-slut. For a start, she was my age, around twenty-five, and totally gorgeous. Long auburn hair surrounded her pretty face, and her body, tanned, sculptured, and shaved, was a work of art.The sway of her firm breasts mesmerized and then delighted when they pressed against me. Her arms encircled me as she said, “I’m Fleur, welcome to my ecorogenous zone. You must be Natasha, as pretty as a flower and younger too. My greendar is pinging, I am sure you will get ecosexuality as we become friends.”She happened to be the most attractive woman I had interviewed, so I couldn’t deny that interest. But, as I reminded myself, being friends was a step to journalistic bias. Nevertheless, I needed to appear friendly to get my story, so I replied, “I am so Üsküdar Escort eager to learn from you. Can I take notes as we talk?”“Certainly, I use some unusual words. I so want you to understand the importance of environmental friskiness. Let’s start with clothes, we call ourselves advanced and yet put layers between us and nature.”Reaching out, she undid the top button on my dress. When I stepped back shocked, my dress gaping, Fleur’s face clouded with disappointment.“Natasha, clothes hinder your understanding of ecosexuality. Is it because you are menstruating?”“Um no,” I stuttered, “Next weekend actually.”“Oh,” Fleur replied, delightedly clapping her hands, “Same time as me. A shared gynecology is such a good omen.”I jotted gynecology in my notebook next to ecorogenous and greendar, wondering if my sub-editor, Cynthia, a language perfectionist, would allow them.Fleur continued, “My veggies nourish me. I love the ritual of returning my menses to the earth and nourishing them in return.”I nodded encouragingly, hoping for a little more detail.Fleur, however, took me literally and exclaimed, “We couldn’t biotop the ecopower of bleeding on the zucchini plants together next weekend.”I wasn’t going there, so nodding, hopefully politely, l changed the subject, “Is eco-sexuality a form of ecofeminism?”“Ecofeminism sometimes idealizes female characteristics. Saying earth mother, for instance, privileges the female although nature doesn’t. You should quote me on this; the ecosexual identity understands our Earth as a lover, not a mother.”Earth lover bought to mind my boss laughing with approval at my tree rooter comment. Knowing he would expect tree sex in my article, I asked Fleur what Earth lover meant.“At one end of the spectrum,” Fleur explained, “Ecosexuals start with environmentally friendly sex products, though many then have a more physical relationship with nature; skinny dipping, hiking naked, that kind of thing.”“The other end of the spectrum?”“Oh,” Fleur whispered conspiratorially, “Being sexually active with nature; masturbated by waterfalls, fucking trees, or rolling in grass clippings and vegetable peelings having a compostgasm.”“My boss joked about tree rooters.”“Ecosexuality can be the butt of jokes. I have a sense of humour, but that one I have heard a thousand times.”There had been no sign of Fleur’s sense of humour in what was tracking as my weirdest ever interview. But, reminding myself not to be distracted by the sway of her breasts, I paused waiting for more.“Let me show you my special places, then you will see beyond the cheap joke. Seriously, you will only understand ecosexuality if you experience it.”Fleur reached over and undid another button on my dress. While experience might actually help me write more convincingly, I was nervous, having kept nudity for the bedroom. So, I reached for another cheap joke, “You won’t sacrifice me to the nature Gods?”“You will be safe; I only sacrifice virgins.”Our eyes locked and we burst out laughing.“Okay, I am unsure what I am letting myself in for,” I said, undoing my dress which puddled at my feet, “And too focused on the usual journalistic shit. Quickly getting my story and moving onto the next mark.”“We can get addicted to the stresses of modern life when we step away from nature. Take your time, lose your bra and panties, experience nature and you will feel better and write better.”I slipped my bra and panties off as Fleur added, “Natasha is a textile name. Can I call you Nasturtium, a prettier natural name?”A Üsküdar Escort Bayan name change seemed even weirder but this was my first feature article so I nodded and Fleur added, “I will get a few things. Let’s talk while walking to the waterfall.”When Fleur returned, wicker basket in hand, we set off across the field towards the bush that spread from the bottom of the cliff.“It feels different without clothes at first,” Fleur said, supportively intertwining her fingers with mine, “Focus your senses; the sounds of the birds and insects, the feel of my hand in yours, the breeze tousling your hair and flowing across your skin, the sun warming your body particularly your breasts which, given those tan lines, rarely feel the sun.”To my surprise I did unwind a little as I concentrated on my senses. Near the bush, the grass became longer and tickled the insides of my thighs.“Feel the grass brushing your legs as it reaches for your sex, Nasturtium. Your clitoris exists for pleasure, so grass grazing your pussy is one of nature’s ways of stirring your sensuality.”The cynic in me almost argued, presuming this a lame chat-up line. But I bit my tongue, gambling on Fleur’s promise that this experience might improve what I wrote.Letting go of my hand, Fleur twirled ballerina-like across the grass, bending and sliding the longer blades across her sex as she spun. After scraping her pussy, the grasses straightened and glistened in the sun, smeared with a snail’s trail of her honey.She smiled encouragingly and I twirled, less elegantly, though the grass tips. Their flick against my pussy was more delicious than expected which resulted in my own glistening snail’s trail. And my first inkling that I might have underestimated nature’s sensuality.In the bush, Fleur hugged every blue gum tree, paying special attention to one growing around a burnt-out lightning strike in its trunk.“I will disappoint your editor,” Fleur confided, “As living things trees like being touched but I don’t root them. While I respect the stamens of this world, penis and trees included, they don’t give me rapture like other parts of nature.”“Female parts?”“I’m not pistil exclusive if you see what I mean. Rather my sexuality is fully engaged when nature’s design has a pussy focus.”Frankly, I didn’t get that, but, when I asked, she said, “Experience this Nasturtium. We can talk later about what isn’t clear.”“What about the term eco-slut?”“Oh, that just means I have a high ecolibido and am pollenamourous which can come across as an ecopolygamist. Just so you know, I identify as ecosexual and want an ecosexual life partner. But I am not a traditional slut, when I find the one who loves nature as much as me, I won’t be letting her go.”“I won’t use eco-slut in the article then, readers will get the wrong idea. What you said about monogamy, however, will resonate.”Fleur gently squeezed my hand, saying, “I just knew you would get me. You are so pretty and smart, I definitely trust you to write what is best. We’ve arrived, what do you think?”We stepped from the trees into a small ferny glen surrounding a clear blue pool from which a stream flowed. At the pool’s other end, a small waterfall cascaded down the cliff onto rocks, behind which there was a cave.“It’s beautiful and peaceful, Fleur.”“Isn’t it. Will you let me show you how I appreciate this special place?”“If it helps me understand eco-sexuality.”“Cool, nature’s sensuality is everywhere when you know how to look.”She seemed so genuine and, given how good the grass Escort Üsküdar felt against my pussy, I was willing to see if she really could make me feel and write better.“Come with me,” Fleur said, excitedly.“Simultaneously?” I asked, my giggle more flirtatious than I intended.“Maybe later,” she said smirking, taking my hand and disturbing some dragonflies as we walked towards the waterfall. There, beside the water, partly shaded by ferns, Fleur had me lie on my front on a flat single-bed sized slab of rock. As my body pressed into the warm rock, she coated her hands with oil from her basket.“I make this organic massage oil from eucalyptus and kunzea. The falling water and babbling creek are nature’s music, so close your eyes, listen, and enjoy the feel of my Renewal oil on your skin.”I could feel myself relax with the sounds and smells, coupled with the swirling pressure of her fingers and thumbs working the tension knots from my shoulders, then circling across my back with alternating soft and firm touches.Then at the rock’s other end, she massaged my legs from calves to thighs. As her fingers pressed firmly into my buttocks, a dribble of oil ran onto my arse hole.“Moment of truth?” Fleur asked, giggling, “I could chase that stray drop and massage it into your bum. A dilemma for you too, I imagine.”“I guess. A gorgeous woman fondling my arse has its attractions, but I am in journalist mode and have an article to write.”Fleur slapped my arse, “Okay, turn over.”Lying on my back, Fleur first massaged my scalp and neck which was delightfully relaxing. Then her hands ran firmly across my pectoral muscles which, given my constant computer use, was much less delightful.“I know it is painful,” she said, “But something nice will follow.”And it did, her hands running down my breastbone before sliding around the base of my breasts. Around and around her slippery fingers spiralled, ever inward until she was tracing her fingertips around my areolas.“Oh, fuck that feels nice. You trying to distract me from my article?”Fleur giggled, achingly softly pinching my nipples, and whispered, “No, I’m being nature’s fluffer.”Her oily fingers rolled then gently pulled my nipples, which firmed with her exquisite touch. The tingles that sent through my squirming body crashed like waves against my clit.Fleur’s fingers then grazed my inner thighs with butterfly touches and my legs instinctively spread.“Your pretty pussy petals are pouting and fragrantly dewy, Nasturtium. You are ready.”Every woman I had known would, having got me that wet, have fingered my sex. Not Fleur, pulling me to my feet, she led me across stepping stones to the waterfall.“Sit,” she said, pointing to a rock continually splashed by water. When I sat, the water rained onto my head, flowed across my shoulders and dripped off my breasts. The cold watery kisses hardened my nipples and pleasure pulses surged through my body.Fleur sat opposite me, another stream of water soaking her body. Then she leaned back so the water splashed into her lap. I copied her, immediately understanding what was in Fleur’s mind when splashes directly hit my aroused clit.“Oh fuck,” I whimpered, the words echoing back, seemingly louder, off the cliff.“What a potty mouth,” Fleur said, spreading her legs wider and pushing her clit into a continuously gushing stream of water, adding, “Copy me.”I moved my clit directly under a constant stream. It felt heavenly, my needy aching clit slapped by the falling water.“Let the waterfall make you cum Nasturtium,” I heard Fleur whisper, “I’m close too.”Captured by the delicious sensations of my rising orgasm, there was no way I was stopping. Pressing my hips higher to maximise the water’s contact on my pearl, I sucked in my breath and screamed when a powerful orgasm tore through me. Vaguely aware that Fleur had shouted out too.

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