It starts with dim lighting, the smell of sweetness coming from the kitchen, scent drifting, dancing from the seams of the door. Excitement is penetrated in tiny tingles and light footsteps, sneaking through; my body led by nose, to the door.
There stands an elegant chocolate cake. No need for a spoon. Devilish in its manner, gorgeous and glossy, I’m lured by the creamy, overly dark, mysterious frosting, just begging to be licked; after it touches my lips, I long to be kissed.
“Eat me,” it said.
“Maybe just a slither…” I murmur.
Reaching for a knife, slowly sinking it into the darkly delicious adornment of frosting. Go gently, I think, savour each moment. Pulling out, it is covered in a rich creamy frosting, a hint of crumb. Sliding underneath and lifting with ease, there, elevated, basking in the glory is a devil’s chocolate cake. It gets me thinking about the sheer pleasure and sensuality of food, its delights, its dangerous dance on your tongue.
Maybe you and your secret sexy food have a ritual? Do you dunk it into a hot mug of tea, or enjoy rolling the curve of the chocolate in your mouth, letting saliva and chocolate play a wicked game, never allowing yourself to bite? Find yourself lusting after a cappuccino? Do the two of you nestle in a cosy spot, longingly staring at the chosen partner with lusty eyes until it happens? The floodgates open.
My knees buckle at a moist cake. When it is cold and I want some warming inside, this is one of the cakes I turn to.