Eat me.

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Yesterday I bought a bag of wine gums, it was family sized and I thought it would do me well for the week ahead, would act as a daily treat after lunch if you like. Unfortunately I am still not adult enough to stick to the ‘everything in moderation’ ideal and said confectionaries were all but gone by 11am. Needless to say a splitting headache ensued and I am sworn off sugar for life. Chewing away on a black port triangle I was reminded of a boyfriend I had many years ago, He was a decent enough chap, held down a steady job and had no distinguishing unsightly features. However there was an ‘issue’ shall we say, that bordered on compulsion. He was totally obsessed with foodstuffs being involved in our sex life and used to pride himself in coming up with new and original fruits and phallic legumes we could use in the bedroom.

It initially became apparent when we would eat out at restaurants. Eyes down on the sausage/lamb kofta/calzone he’d look up at me raise his eyebrows and lick his lips. Well you can imagine my confusion; I mean I like my grub as much as the next person but this guy was literally perving over his Bratwurst chipolata. Toad in the hole was soft porn on a plate. He wanted to eat me. Quite literally.

Despite popular belief, (and of course I can only speak from personal experience) the traditional dildo as such really does very little for a woman, the beauty of the world famous rampant rabbit is that it considers a variety of areas of a woman’s anatomy, (Men, a tip – a pretty hand way to remember the right from wrong when if comes to sex toys for your lady, if it doesn’t need a triple A stay away) So imagine if you will that if a sex toy fashioned exclusively for penetration is unpleasant what an organic cucumber must feel like. I am happy to accommodate many things; half of Inverness street market is not one of them.

Nevertheless I tried to get involved in the ‘games’ cream was squirted, raw vegetables inserted, and general condiments and sauces experimented with. Kim Basinger did a great job of making edible love accessories look appealing but trust we when I say washing lemon curd out of your pubic hair while considering if it possible to die of internal marshmallow poisoning isn’t any fun.

Food lovers defining moment came on a hot summers afternoon. He had nipped to the garage for some cigarettes and returned, face beaming, palms sweaty. Apparently standing in a queue with truckers paying for their diesel and parents on the school run the idea had struck him. Following the stroke of genius he had paid for and returned home, a lime green, ice cold, Calippo. Good-bye feet up in front of Eastenders, hello North Korean ice torture. I was assured it would be ‘fun’, a ‘laugh’. Hilarious.

Actually comparably it wasn’t so bad, 3 minutes in and my lady bits was so frozen you could have had half a third world country up there and I wouldn’t have known, fortunately too, and without meaning to draw assumptions I am guessing that Walls didn’t design said ice pop with penetration I mind, therefore not long after the games began we found ourselves not in the throws of wanton abandonment but in a sticky radio active green puddle of cold and messy E numbers. I was grateful it wasn’t a mint cornetto, but still really where, pray tell, is the fun.

It was then that my willingness to involve anything in the bedroom that can be bought at the Co-op came to an end. I was sticky for all the wrong reasons and he needed to go cold turkey not play with it. We went our separate ways but food lover won’t be forgotten, I can hardly step into Morrison’s without pelvic flooring and undeniably he left me with a warm fluffy feeling inside….. I never did manage to find that marshmallow.

katyEat me.

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