Today I made brownies. I'm betting you didn't see that declaration coming. But I did. I made brownies. From scratch. Honestly, that's not much of a surprise for me. I went to school to be a pastry chef (after some other educational forays into more heady areas).
My whole house was filled with the sensuous, rich smell of chocolate for hours. I could not keep my mind off of sex. I don't know what it is, but chocolate always does that to me. I absolutely loved my courses in chocolate, when I would be wearing gloves, wrist deep in warm chocolate and thinking—hard—about being buried in someone or other who I might have been crushing on at the time. (What can I say, chef's whites are hot.)
Chocolate does that to me.
But not eating it. I mean, I do eat it, but only in small amounts. I find that it's too intense, too overpowering.
Sometimes it's better as a fantasy.