Refined Taste

I've never seen my delectable k in person, but I've seen pictures and seen her on the jerky pixellated webcam, each time making my heart pulse wildly. I've never heard her voice in person, but I've spoken to her over the phone untold time, and thrilled to her sultry dulcet enunciations. I love that the internet can help us bridge those gaps. But scent, touch, and taste don't email well, so a lot of my fantasizing about being with her (see the last post) involved those senses.

Today I want to talk about the sense of taste and the process of cooking and the whole way food and sex and conflated in my mind. When I say that I am hungry for k, it's a metaphor, sure. But it's also empirically true - I crave the taste of her. Not the same way I might crave coffee ice cream or cold raspberries or fresh basil, more the way I might feel my mouth watering when I read a recipe and imagine the blend of flavors there (but quite a lot stronger). I yearn for the time when I can lick, kiss, nibble at her flesh, and just learn the many tastes of her body.

There's something so deeply gratifying about that - some essence of each other than only lovers know. A wickedly intimate power comes from knowing how someone tastes. And of course the more private and hidden from daily view the morsel is, the more precious is the knowledge.

When we taste, we take. Molecules exciting receptors, causing enzymic reactions, information rushing along nerves to the brain. We own an "image" of that flavor in memory. I want that of my scrumptious k, to have the patterns of her tastes to carry in my mind and call up when I wish.

I'm posted her before about cooking for this incredible woman I own. I've done that a few times now, and it's hard to capture in words the melange (sorry, couldn't resist the metaphor) of emotions it brings up in me every time I do it. There's something ancient and ritualistic and deep about the process of cooking that I can tap into more profoundly when I do it for her. I work, somewhat creatively and somewhat by rote, to create something. That effort and patience and love are poured into a product that she then tastes and takes into her body. There's something very satisfying about that.

So this all was a funny roundabout way of getting to the fact that my scrumptious k and I have started trading recipes a lot lately. And sending text messages back and forth while we are cooking to share inspiration or solve problems. Somehow being part of the whole kitchen experience like that is very erotic. I've always wanted to cook a whole meal for her, and watch her eat it, and I've fantasized about the two of us working on preparing food together. But the other day, for the first time, I recognized a deep desire to have her cook for me.

I want to watch her scoot around the kitchen, putting things together, testing, making little mistakes, trying to be patient, adding her own special personality to the food and its preparation. I want to peek over her shoulder and enjoy the rhythm of the cooking process, and I want to know that she is doing it for me. I want to savor the creation and think about its relation to the creator. I want to look into her eyes and smile my appreciation. I want to devour the food with vigor and then smoothly segue into devouring her with one thousand times the lust, so that the cook herself becomes part of the meal she made.

mmmm dessert.