Is there any way to eat a doughnut that isn’t totally filthy? A plump luscious sphere of deep-fried dough sits in front of me. Begging for my tongue, my lips, my teeth to penetrate the sugar-dusted skin and reveal the secret chamber oozing, yearning outward.
I bite; it’s an immersion, more than consumption. That glistening dark golden skin against my lips, around my mouth. A little more pressure and I have broken through; crème brûlée, so thick, velvety and laden with the sweet and the saline, spurts onto my tongue.
This cream, so generous, wilful, eager to escape the confines of that dark soft space; so irrepressible, it escapes even my greedy mouth. One, two, three fat blobs slide down my chin to find a resting place on my left breast. Lustrous pearls glisten on the pale skin, just shy of my silk shirt.
“Here, take this.” You - the reason why I chose this table, the reason why I chose to eat this doughnut with calculatedly indecent gluttony - you lean towards me from the neighbouring table, offering a paper napkin.
As luscious as the crème brûlée, you are: eyes of a pharaoh, skin of midnight velvet. This second, as your voice curls out and slides into my ear and brain, I want nothing more than your fingers stealing down my skin from throat to left breast, to scoop those trembling creamy pearls from my skin; your fingers extending towards my lips to offer me the precious mouthful, my lips closing around your fingers, sucking every molecule from your warm skin.
“Thank you.” I drag myself back from that dream: I take the white paper from your hand. The soft kiss of two-ply is no substitute for your fingertips travelling over my flesh. The merest graze of skin on skin as that scrap passes between us, that whisper of your skin on mine summons lust to my every cell, my every crevice. Inside, hidden, the cells awaken, alert to the prospect of a delicious invasion, preparing for the glorious reception with a creamy flood. Less hidden: dilated pupils. Dilated veins. Nipples hardening at the prospect of impatient lips. My body is issuing imperious commands to action.
Your eyes follow my fingers as I dab the cream, slowly, slower than any doughnut recovery operation ever made.