I appreciate strawberries and whipped cream as much as the next guy. They’re tasty, and can offer some convenient excuse to bring my lips and tongue to my wife. And hers to me, for that matter. And for the record, while tub whipped cream tends to taste much better than canned whipped cream, the can is the only practical way to go with this little adventure.
She’d be pretty chilly with breasts a la mode.
Many people might join me in expanding this concept to other foods beyond the classic strawberries and cream. Drizzles of chocolate syrup or honey are common enough. Perhaps even ice cream, though she’d be pretty chilly with breasts a la mode.
Perhaps a little heat barrier could help. A nice, thick slab of hot brownie under the ice cream could be fun. Sure, I’d have to use a fork for some of it (I doubt I’m talented enough to eat it without a utensil), but that could be fun on its own if I’m careful. And certainly her belly or breasts are infinitely more desirable than eating off the finest china.
And while we’re at it, if I’m at the point of needing a fork, why not take it a step further and serve some tasty morsel from Cheesecake Factory? Hey, we could get the strawberries and whipped cream back out, too.
I’m betting many readers are thinking that’s not too much of a stretch, though it might be a little unusual.
But I’ve often wondered if there was a viable option that wasn’t in the sugary sweet category. After all, I can only enjoy so much sugar before it’s too rich. I’ll have come to the end of my road on the food while still having an appetite for my wife.
I mean, a meat loaf doesn’t work logistically and leaves no room for eroticism, you know?
A salad dressing would have to be licked, but the salad itself would require way too much stabbing with a fork.
And spaghetti is just plain messy and slippery. I would end up eating very little of it off of her because most of it slid off.
Then it hit me… Nachos!
No, really! Think about it: it requires no fork, really; it has a steamy hot-wax-like effect with the cheese, and it’s the perfect kind of messy — the kind that could require a tongue to clean up more than a towel!
Sounds like a winner to me. Now, if only I can convince my wife.