I have to confess to my guilty pleasure. I have to put it out there. I have to make it real. I have to make it known. In the process, will I purge the pleasure and exonerate the guilt?
If I have to put my guilty pleasure in Freudian terms, it is clearly oral in nature. It's all centered around lips that can lick kiss bite suck suckle push pull pout, around tongue that can circle triangulate lick suck twist caress moist dry harsh soft, around teeth that can bite tear stitch suckle clinch stroke... And then there's the cheek, the palate, the gum, the throat...
(No, this is not a post about blow jobs!)
It's been a few weeks now that my libido seems to have channeled itself into oral pleasures. As a consequence, all I've been doing is eating, eating and eating. I don't think it's got anything to do with giving up smoking, since this oral fixation started weeks ago while I was still a smoker.
So, I've been eating. Not just any kind of eating, but a lot of junk. And not just any junk. In one day, I can manage my normal breakfast lunch diner + two chocolate donuts + four Mars bars + a pack of 150 grams of Doritos + a 200 grams Marble cake. Don't ask me how much calories this comes up to in a day: I stop counting the moment it goes over a 1000 calories.
(Abashed! Abashed! Abashed!)
The pleasure is guilty in nature. I often lock myself up in my room with food and I indulge so that nobody can see me as I taste with the palate of an expert and emit orgasmic sounds. At other times, I simply hog in a barbaric way and I squeal like a fat pig.
And like this wasn't enough, instead of daydreaming of cute boys and erotic situations, in libraries, I now very regularly pine for food-orgies. I crave this Greek fantasy of a food-orgy, of eating, of filling myself up, emptying myself by vomiting and then filling myself up again. Aristotle believed that indulgence in eating pleasures (greed, satiation, immediate instinctive satisfaction etc.) was of as base a nature as sexual pleasure that sought immediate satisfaction. This doesn't make me a great human being, does it?
This being said, my sex life went dead over the past few months. You know how people say that "a vibrator can't replace a man?" Well a dear friend of mine often says that "a man can't replace a vibrator!" All I have to say is that a man can't replace food!
So here are two things before I end. I will first of all tag
Astreus,
Ferry Tales and
Feral Geographer in this post. Why don't you three tell us about your guilty pleasure (and then tag some other blogger?) Does tagging work in the blogosphere as well? Let's try and see...
And then, a poem by Mandy Coe. Mandy Coe is a British writer whom you may be familiar with if you listen to the BBC. (Here is the
link to her official website.) Mandy Coe wrote this delicious poem called:
Go to Bed With a Cheese and Pickle Sandwich.
Go to Bed With a Cheese and Pickle Sandwich
It is life enhancing.
It doesn't chat you up.
You have to make it.
A cheese and pickle sandwich
is never disappointing.
You don't lie there thinking:
Am I too fat?
Too fertile?
Too insecure?
Your thoughts are clear,
your choices simple:
to cut it in half
or not to cut it in half,
how thin to slice the cheese
and where you should place the pickle.
From a cheese and pickle sandwich
you do not expect flowers,
poems and acts of adoration.
You expect what you get:
cheese... and pickle.
You want, you eat,
and afterwards you have eaten.
No lying awake resentful,
listening to it snore.
Safe snacks.
It comes recommended.
I think we should make a new cult out of it. The Cult of Cute Grammar Nazis.[*] Who wants to join? And we can all get pins like the one in the picture and we'll begin by conquering schools and universities and then we'll tackle the written press and once our army is strong enough, we'll clean up our biggest challenge: the web!
