Delicious

Late lunch with Ophelia. Well, garlic pizza bread, topped with Rosemary and Mozzarella, a diet coke (Ophelia) and a Bloody Mary (who do you think?). So, it amounted to more of a nibble/conversation quickie. Always good. Talking and eating.

Food is where Ophelia and I merge into one. We adore it. Our tastebuds tend to work overtime all the time. Workaholics through and through. And, when we're together, food becomes all the more sophisticated. It's almost as though food gets an injection of suave whenever Ophelia and I step foot inside a restaurant. And she will fully support this I'm sure.

Another thing about being adamant in eating only the best food means that we know what's good and what really isn't. And this is precisely the reason why I asked Ophelia what she thought of the taste of the male phallus (spoken as though women might actually have one too).

And then we digressed. Whipped cream smothered penises, trimmed, clean, perfect penises.

I mean, I've yet to try one myself and rest assured that it is on my list of things to try before the night is out (the eternal night, you understand, which amounts to my life). But I have little desire to lose a few ribs in order to be able to taste my own. But I imagine it would taste sour. Slightly acidic, incredibly masculine and full or aroma. And I would imagine a clean phallus would be a beauty to suck on. Clean and tasty. Like food that's been well prepared, taken time over.

'I like the taste. It tastes like the underside of a battery. You should try it (the battery).'
'Perhaps I will...'

Desdemona on a previous occassion also admitted to enjoying the taste. Though she was rather unimagintive in her description. 'It tastes like flesh'. Then again, a fleshaholic might beg to differ. Flesh can make your mouth water more than anything else. It can bring out your carniverous tendancies at the drop of a hat (or trousers) and you could be forgiven for wanting to take a bite. But you must never never do that. Because, she who bites, gets dumped and receives a slap around the face. I'm only being honest. Only bite when you are sure the victim will gain pleasure from it.

For me, it has always been about the shape. The head like a pink bell hanging off a christmas tree. Filled with lust, bobbing up and down, fa la la la la la la la la. And a mushroom, a long stalked mushroom, ready to be plucked. It's just so much cleaner and prettier than the female flower. As much as i'd love to delve in and devour it, it reminds me of a swamp. Somewhere you might find the Lochness monster lurking. And the ones with a greater deal of hair can look, well, like something from the Aliens Quadrilogy. There's simply too much to it. You probably recall (and I most certainly do) that art teacher who kept harping on about your painting being 'too busy'. That there was too much going on, that it distracted her attention.

And, in all honesty, I suppose I too am afraid of the unknown. For the vagina can hide millions of secrets whereas the penis is out there in it's full glory, everything confessed. So many holes, so much depth. So much ambiguity, so many layers. I think it'll take some getting used to. That's all. It's not inviting...that's it! The Vagina is uninviting despite having many doors. And the cock, well it resembles a door handle. And we all want to know what's behind a closed door, don't we?