Either my inner scat queen or my inner fat kid is dying to come out

FRIENDS: The following conversation is quite sexually explicit. If you get easily offended or don't want to think of me in a sexual context, then please stop reading here.


I probably shouldn't hype it up with a warning because now you're going to be disappointed if I don't mention shoving a watermelon up my butt or something. Not that I wouldn't give it my best shot. It is 90% water after all. I guess if I broke it down into smaller bits and rounded off the edges... I don't know where I'm going with this. But actually the food sex intro leads very well into my purpose for writing.

The other night I was at a gym here in San Diego. At the time, I hadn't had an orgasm in over two weeks... first I was busy moving, and then I was just at mom's house and there are no orgasms to be had there. It occurred to me that I should try to knock one off before I went home, because if I waited much longer I would go ballistic and someone would have to die, so in a valliant effort to save humanity I tried to bust my nut in the shower.

The gym has three individual showers with curtains. I washed myself and was trying to get into it, but I could hear people at their lockers and I was getting distracted. I needed to get in the moment. I started to try and come up with a good fantasy I could stick with.

I started by trying to think about a man I was dating in New York recently, but he was just too out of context for this gym here in San Diego. There was one man at the gym that day who was significantly bigger than me and hot as hell. He looked like a big hot red-headed G.I. Joe. I started thinking about him coming into the locker room. Ok this is working, yep, I can make this one work... nope still distracted... I need something else...

Chocolate syrup. I don't know where it came from. But my fantasy took a big unexpected shift, and I was pooring chocolate syrup on his butt and lapping it up like a dog. It worked. The rest of the next 30 seconds shifted between G.I. Joe and my fantasy man in New York, with the one constant being the chocolate syrup dripping all over everything in my head. And then glory hallelujah no-one-has-to-die-today.

My first thought was relief. And then my second thought was a long, drawn-out, "Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat?" Holy crap (pun intended) what does that say about me that I want to spread chocolate syrup around someone's butt? Seriously, my fantasies are usually pretty vanilla.

I felt dirty for a moment, then immediately proud. I thought I was losing my kink in my old age, but maybe Marshall is right, maybe I am a natural contender for the Sex Olympics. Or maybe I have just deprived myself of sugar for so long that my sweet tooth has leapt past craving into bonafide fantasy.

I guess part of the suprise was that I tried food sex when I was about 25 and it just didn't work out. Good old Sal was a very hot 36yo Italian, and we had been dating for a couple months on Valentine's Day 2001. We had a great dinner and then went back to his place for "dessert". He suprised me with strawberries and whipped cream in the bedroom. Uncomfortable stickiness ensued, and in the end it was anything but hot. I think it actually killed the sex. So I gave up on food in bed. Until now I guess.

Either my inner scat queen or my inner fat kid is dying to come out. My gut says its the fat kid. I think I should go buy him a banana split. He can eat the chocolate, and I can put the vanilla back in my fantasies.