Friday
Dec232005
Christmas Criminals

I scuttle to the copy machine, careful to take the long way around so I don't have to pass them, but it doesn't matter. I know they're there. Waiting for me.
I concede, I think about them nearly 55 minutes out of every hour. I know they want me. If I'm honest with myself, I admit I want them too. I daydream about them. Their smell, the way they feel. I fantasize that my tongue is licking them, tasting them. I imagine them inside my mouth and shiver with the sheer thrill of my hedonistic inclinations. What a naughty girl I am.
Sometimes I can hear them chattering with each other, strategizing their next move. Other times it's all I can do to block out their tiny shrieks for attention. My husband would shake his head if he knew I was cheating, but sometimes I succumb to their seductive advances. They are smart, make all the right moves, say all the right things.
"C'mon, it's the holidays, let loose a little"
"Just don't think about it now. Worry about it in the New Year."
They want me so bad, will make any excuse to gain access to my body. And it's inevitible. We both know it is. Eventually I saunter over to them in defeat, tacit acknowledgement of what we both know we want.
I linger lovingly near the soft gingerbread cookies, eye the perfect fudge squares, smell the fresh fruit exquisiteness of the strawberry tarts and finally select a beautiful brownie packed with walnuts, oozing thick fudge from it's cakey form.
I luxuriosly lick the luscious chocolate from the brownie's scrumptious edge, savoring every second. When I can take it no longer, can hold back no more, I delicately bite into a little piece of heaven.
"You complete me." I whisper lovingly. And we are both satiated. For this hour at least.
in
Food |
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Reader Comments (4)
Speaking of being inside me. I just ate a dried piece of chilli peeper off the kitchen floor. And a piece of tinsel.
Ugh.
Come home for the holidays, Ma.
m