I once knew a guy who was into fruit.
So to speak.
He’d bored a hole in one end of a watermelon, inserted his dingle, and let fly.
He apparently found the sensation interesting, and began experimenting. He found that slightly overripe melons were best as far as texture and sensation went, as the texture was apparently more “cottony”, as he put it. I can certainly see where they’d be moister, anyway. The real breakthrough, though, happened when he bored another hole in the other end … and slipped a vibrator in it.
He raved about it for days. I hadn’t heard anyone talk about sex in such… glowing… terms since high school, as we began, one by one, to lose our virginity. It was like he’d discovered a whole new third gender of people, with whom he was still a virgin… and he had begun to seek his one true love…
Things began to get a little strange. He really got into his experiments – he was going through six or seven melons a week, easily, and that was just what he’d admit to me. He acted like some horrible mutant psychological crossbreed of sex maniac, junkie, and quivering romantic.
I never had the courage to ask what he did with the watermelons afterwards. I almost did once, but I realized it might be a rather … personal… issue, at least with him.
He tried lots of different permutations – vibrator in the end, vibrator in top, two vibrators, one on each side, vibrators in both sides and one end… he spent a lot of money on vibrators and watermelons. At one point, I later found out that a girl we both knew demanded the immediate return of her toys when she found out what he’d been doing with them, which made us all wonder… she didn’t mind her vibrator being in another person, but it bothered her that it was in a fruit? (Uh, so to speak…)
He got obsessive. He drew diagrams. He experimented with different sizes of vibrator, set for different pulse rates. He even took the vibrators apart, to see if he could alter the way they worked. It really was a classic bit of mad science…
… which is how I got involved: he asked me to rig the vibrators so that they could all be turned off and on with one switch.
A week later, he came back to me with a problem: the perfect vibratory rate for this particular brand of vibrator was when the batteries were about half dead. Could this somehow be simulated? I wound up finally wiring the things together with old Christmas lights and a toy-train transformer, so he could vary the flow of juice, so to speak, to whatever suited his, um, fancy.
I took extra special care with the soldering and insulation. Everything was waterproof by the time I was done with it. I’d learned my lesson well when it came to penises and electricity, you see.
Finally, towards the end of that very odd summer, I recieved a very special invite on the answering machine. He’d apparently completed his experiments the previous day, and had mapped out the size and volume of the ideal melon, and the number and placement of vibrators to ensure maximum intensity.
The next day, he intended to have the …ultimate vegesexual experience. Would I like to come watch? There would be wine and cheese, and a hallucinogenics buffet. I wouldn’t be alone; he’d invited guests.
I kind of wanted to. I admit it. I thought about it. It was an extremely bizarre thing, and I did bizarre from time to time… but I had to work the next day… and somehow, the idea of skipping work to watch a guy fuck a fruit somehow just wasn’t something I could reconcile to myself. That… and if bestiality was illegal, what would they do to you for screwing a vegetable? I could just see the local cops bursting in to grab some high-profile headlines…
…and then, there were his friends. I knew some of them, and many of them were SERIOUS weirdies. Hm, I thought, would the chick with the pierced nipples who liked to go topless be there, I wondered? Pierced nipples were a lot less common then, and she and I had hit it off pretty well at our first meeting…
…but if this was a party, then his friend who claimed to be married to his dog would likely be there, too, and for some reason, this guy seemed to think I was his friend… last time we’d met, I’d learned more about dog plumbing than I ever wanted to know…
…I begged off.
Apparently, I missed quite an event. I heard about the happenings no less than five times the following week from assorted people who’d been there.
Our hero made quite the party out of it – open bar for guests, the promised buffet, complete with drugs and finger sandwiches, and he was answering the door in nothing but a pair of gold lame ballhuggers. In the kitchen, he’d duct-taped the melon to a large cutting board and braced it on the kitchen table.
When everyone was there… the festivities began, so to speak. He ditched the ballhuggers. Someone offered to “fluff” him, and he graciously agreed. Much arousal and amusement ensued, particularly since the fluffer was apparently a guy.
Finally… his manhood erect and ready… he approached the cutting board.
The openings had been drilled, the vibrators inserted, the wiring arranged. I never saw this particular melon, mind you, but I can imagine it easily enough – his later experiments were so full of parts and wires, I’d taken to thinking of them as the BorgMelons…
He lubricated himself thoroughly… and entered the fruit.
The crowd watched breathlessly.
He switched on the vibrators. The air filled with the hum of fruit come alive… and the smell of an excited watermelon.
He groaned.
The crowd gasped.
He began to slowly stroke in and out of the melon.
His eyes rolled back. Plainly, he was feeling no pain.
The crowd began to get into it.
He thrust into the fruit, harder, deeper.
The crowd began to chant, “Go! Go! Go!”
He began to lose control, furiously hammering the fruit.
A couple of the crowd ran forward, grabbed the table and board, stabilized it.Our hero slammed into the melon, harder, harder. The crowd moved closer, gathered around him. They held the table steady. Harder, harder, faster…
…and then… something WEIRD happened. Weirder, that is, than the tableau already before our eyes.
In truth, I guess it was my fault. I didn’t foresee it… but I should have. I’m the one who wired the vibrators to work in tandem, using Christmas lights for a model. I should have known that more than a dozen vibrators, all working off the same power source, might well fall into sync… and generate harmonic/sympathetic vibrations… which, in a semiliquid environment like the inside of an overripe watermelon… would generate positive feedback… increasing by the second. The guy’s dong whacking in and out wouldn’t help; in fact, it probably accelerated the end result.
The bottom line: just as our hero reached orgasm, the watermelon exploded, violently, showering our hero, the kitchen, and the less-than-innocent bystanders with… uh… “fruit salad”, so to speak. No one had noticed the increased throbbing vibrations due to Our Hero’s frantic thrusting.
The funny thing is, he didn’t consider it a failure. He said that it was the ultimate orgasm he’d had in his life up to that point.
I asked if he wanted me to rewire the vibrators so they wouldn’t do that again.
“No,” he said. He explained that he believed that the ever-increasing harmonics that had cause the melon to explode had also been the source of his ecstasy… and that he’d still been coming when the fruit detonated… and he was quite sure he could ravish a whole barnyard’s worth of watermelons without ever reaching that MegaNirvana again… because he knew he’d never again be able to get the TIMING just right…
(At this point… I wonder how many Dopers are going to burst out laughing when someone serves them up a slab of watermelon this happy Fourth of July…)
