Carnal cookery

I think sex and cooking share something fundamental, some basic drive that engenders such passion about them both. Both begin with a hunger, I guess, and both serve to satisfy that need. Both are feasts, in their own way.

As this is less a recipe, and more a general comment on cooking (and its carnal comparison), I'll leave the rest off the main page and continue after the jump.

Both sex and cooking start with preparation- the chopping, dicing, peeling, and slicing before you can start cooking is a kind of gastronomic foreplay, if you will. In the same way, sex begins with the simplest touch- lovely on its own, and a delightful first step to something more. The culinary preliminaries then segue into more complex matters- oils, heat, boiling pots and simmering sauces. It's a kind of dance, and a sensational one at that. Literally, sensational: the sight of freshly opened avocado and cherry tomatoes; the sound of a boiling pot or sizzling meat. The smell of caramelised onions; the feel of crispy roast or creamy mash. And taste, to discern the delectable blends of spices and herbs that produce, together, a product far greater than the sum of its parts.

Sex too shares this need for the entire spectrum of sensation: that exquisite first touch of skin on skin, gentle or rough, smooth or coarse- all are glorious. The sight of her above you- back arched, arms stretched, eyes closed, breasts curved with the same beautiful symmetry that is echoed in the rest of her body (the small of her back, the flow of her hips, the arabesque of her neck). Her smell- the unique, spicy, musky tang, the taste of skin and sweat, the crescendo of sound, of mutual pleasure as, together, you cook up a storm.

This would be enough on its own, as would be the pleasures of cooking, but both deliver their ultimate reward. A meal (an edible orgasm, if you will), a moment of lascivious lucidity, the product of a thoroughly lovely labour.

And then you are done, ready to sleep and snuggle or dally and digest, wanting nothing more than to let yourself feel the last tingle of bodily pleasure as it sinks into your now-sated soul.

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