Sexy Food

I think about food and eating more than I think about sex. And I think about sex a lot. Come to think of it, I would love to have sex while eating. Guess I’d have to be on top for that, since any other position could pose a choking hazard. And it would have to be something not easily spilled. Soup would be a disaster. I guess you could put it in a sippy cup…but soup isn’t sex food. No. It would have to be chocolate – cake. But I need a fork and plate for cake. Brownies would work, but I’m not big on brownies. Too dense. I could just suck on little squares of dark chocolate – mmmm. Perfect. Could stash the bar under the pillow. Screw that – get the boyfriend to hold it for me. Since I’d be doing all the work, the least he could bloody well do is hold my Dagoba bar.

I think I’d be perfectly happy having sex in front of the fridge, as long as it was open and I could stare into it. Or a pantry. Sex at a grocery store would not do it for me – too sterile, and the floor would be too cold. But a bakery! Ahhh…where better to have wanton monkey lovin’ than in front of baskets overflowing with crusty Italian loaves and scones and croissant? And the smell would drive you WILD with lust. If I could rip into a hot buttered roll and a hot buttered lover at the same time…man, that would be one hell of an afternoon out. Anyway, that brings me to:

Food I think is sexy (either to taste or to look at or to feel up):

Honey. Preferably honey that comes in a glass jar. Not the kind in the squeeze-jar with the stupid bee on it. That bee is unsexy. Although I admit, I do find beekeepers kind of sexy. Their suit is so mysterious!

Eggplants. That deep, deep purple is so soothing and sensual, and the womanly curves are so nice to hold. Seriously – go to the supermarket and pick up an eggplant. Stroke it a little. Pat it on the hip. It just feels nice, and makes such a satisfying little ‘thup’ sound. I can’t pass an eggplant without giving it a little spank.

Strawberries. Obviously. While we’re at it, let’s clear up the other obvious fruits: peaches, nectarines, mangoes, papayas. You may be interested to note that, Freud’s entire body of work to the contrary, I do not find bananas sexy.

A very dark chocolate. Some may argue that all chocolate is sexy, but I vehemently disagree. Milk chocolate is far too sweet to exude sex. It has no edge, no hint of bitterness or cynicism or danger. Milk chocolate is Ben Affleck; dark chocolate is Jude Law. Milk chocolate is the prom with your high school sweetheart; dark chocolate is the broom closet with your best friends’ husband. Milk chocolate is your first real kiss; dark chocolate is your first real orgasm. And white chocolate? Doesn’t even register. If white chocolate were human, it would be a eunuch.

Pudding. Any kind. The only way to eat pudding is with your fingers: dip them in, swirl them around, pull them out, suck them off. I have found that this process, while a sensual delight, tends to make observers uncomfortable. This is NOT because you look ridiculous doing it – it is because they are totally repressed and shrunken inside. They are afraid of the joys of pudding. In this case, you may want to really freak them out by dipping your tongue directly into the pudding and swirling it around while going “mmmmmmmmm”. Lovely.

Eggs. Brown ones. Cool from the fridge in the palm of my hand. Smooth and round and lovely to look at and touch. Sexy in a calm, assured way. Eggs would talk you down from a ledge and then soothe you with a long aromatherapy massage. Plus eggs always remind me of my ovaries and make me feel all womanly. Not that I want to hold or, god forbid, dip buttered toast in my ovaries.

Cashews. I don’t know why. They have this hidden, untapped sensuality about them. Cashews are kinda like that guy you secretly fantasized about who sat in the back row of Chemistry class: if he fixed his hair and took off his glasses and didn’t wear shirts with little alligators on the breast, he’d be pretty hot.

Olives. Ahhhhh. Oh, they really do it for me. So briney and earthy. Almost sweaty. There’s something about stripping the flesh of an olive from its pit while it’s in my mouth that makes me feel primal, like a tigress stripping meat from a bone or Kali stripping meat from an unworthy worshippers’ skull. They fit perfectly in your mouth, so you can tease one around on your tongue awhile before consuming it. OH – and a dirty martini, with lots of brine and extra olives, IS sex in a glass. Tastes like having sex in the sea. Or like you blew a dolphin. Not that I’ve done so – I’m just saying.

Cinnabons. Cinnabons are a delicious extra-dietetic affair and totally worth the guilt you’ll feel later. Little known fact: when Madonna sang “Like a Virgin”, she was actually singing about Cinnabons. They really are like being touched for the very first time.

Freshly baked Italian or French bread. The warmth; the scent; the texture. So, so soft. I love my boyfriend, but if I could find an oven big enough I would bake a lifesized man out of bread and hug and smell and nibble him all day. If I could design my death, I would fall into an enormous bread machine and become enveloped in dough; as I baked in the oven, I would begin eating my way out (hopefully, I would have had the presence of mind to stash some butter in my pocket). I would not die from the intense heat of the oven; I would die from overeating. And my last thought, as the world began to fade around me, would be: ‘yum’.