death by chocolate
the domestic minx
6 Comments
For most of us Easter brings with it symbols of New Life;
Jesus, bunnies, chickens and lots and lots of chocolate eggs.
In the privacy of my home, however, in the sanctuary of my own bedroom, lurks the ghost of Easter past, an Easter so tainted with horror that the memory of it disturbs me even now in the retelling.
I don’t know why I bought it.
I have never been partial to the smearing of food products on my own luscious and saucy body. I don’t thrill to the thought of the inevitable souring of cream laying rancid on my warm breasts or the squelchy browning of banana pulp between my thighs. On a scale of one to ten the prospect of enjoying sweet sticky mango flesh on my bare buttocks is also dismissively low.
And yet here I was, Easter 2006, armed with a rather tastelessly decorated jar of Chocolate Flavoured Body Sauce with which to smear my own husband. He seemed rather taken with the gesture really and flattered that I wished to fashion him into my own Frankenstein’s Egg. No doubt the prospect of being meticulously moulded and lathered with chocolate and slowly licked clean was a delicious and enticing one.
Two minutes into the plastering and I knew I had bitten off more than I could chew, or lick, or remove in any oral fashion.
My husband is a big man. He is big and hairy. He is the sort of man that should carry a warning regarding the smearing of chocolate flavoured body sauce.
Initially the sauce had slid easily onto his muscular frame. Having pre-warmed it for maximum slippage and all round comfort, I painted it on easily with included brush onto his arms and neck. I had even painted a little on myself, like a delectable war paint, hoping to engage in a little hand to mouth combat when the scene had been set.
However, the scene was setting far quicker than I imagined. Halfway through the forest of chest hairs the brush became tangled, the chocolate hardening and separating into loose and silly bits that mocked my dreams of artistic brush strokes.
“I'll just zap it in the microwave,“ I winked,
“so I can paint those special body parts we haven’t got to yet.”
Zapping complete, I prepared to launch my satiny chocolate coated brush onto the pinnacle of God's creation. Bold and brave, it awaited a most delectable annointing.
The cries were bloodcurdling, sauce launched, spilling over the white bedsheets in a symbolic pool of chocolate as my husband lunged, scalded and mortified, from the room. In hot pursuit I followed, making feeble chocolate covered ministering gestures behind him, our smeared brown bodies lurching towards the sanctuary of the pool.
What one horrified neighbour deduced that day we will never really know, but the peace and gentility of Easter Sunday was shattered by the the earth rending cries of a man in the very worst kind of pain.
You will be relieved to know that it took longer to clean the pool, the bed and our chocolatey bodies than it took to recover physically from what had happened.
But the scars, the scars go much, much deeper.
Oh there is chocolate again this Easter. It will be eaten with joyful abandon.
But we speak no more of the vile sauce.
We no longer make a comfortable connection between food products, microwave ovens and tender body parts.
And perhaps we shouldn't either.
It is a culinary exercise fraught with danger and death by chocolate may not be as sweet as it sounds.
Happy Easter!!
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Reader Comments (6)
Ouch!!!
I am smarting just thinking about it!!
Its enough to put a man off chocolate for life!
A cautionary tale indeed...
Microwaves, body sauce and body parts are a dangerous combination...
Now that, cracked me up! HA!
It's funny how the best laid plans can go so horribly awry. The hairy chocolate imagery is particulary unpleasant. Eeew.
OUCH!
Perhaps, if you ever dare to attempt a chocolate smearing again in this lifetime, room temperature Hershey's syrup may be a better bet...it's just a thought.
xox,
M
M&M M,
I'd rather bypass all other area, erogenous or not, and head straight to the mouth!!
As for my pained and beleagured husband, the torment of our unfortunate episode will follow him, I'm sure, into subsequent lifetimes...
Even the suggestive room temperature Hershey's syrup will be poured straight onto the tongue!
Then again, after what I have recently consumed in the chocolate department, the thought of any more is simply...too much...
Chocolatey Claire
xox
just reminded me of something....never let your man touch you straight after chopping chillies...worst that first time horse riding...
OH MY GOD!!!
I don't think I can imagine anything more PAINFUL!!!
I accidently rubbed my eye after chopping chillies (and I had washed my hands - though obviously not well enough!!)
I thought I was going to die.
I cannot possibly imagine the HORROR of having chilli juice DOWN THERE!!
OUCH!!!
Don't let your man near the chillies again, Sylvie!!!
x