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Hi, It’s 2020, And I’m Addicted To Food Porn

Fountain of chocolate drenching a mountain of chocolate chip cookies. An oversized grill filled with chunky burger patties and toppings of blue cheese nuggets.

A heightened multicolored cake, oozing vanilla icing and the slo-mo of a silver fork piercing through its supremeness. Tacos made from scratch. The finished product is over-stuffed deliciousness that lights up the dark.

I’m not having sex. I haven’t for awhile, and I won’t get specific. Not that anyone cares. I don’t.

I’m fulfilled in ways that are unexpectedly comforting. This nightly ritual really hits the spot. And doing it alone doesn’t leave me lonely. I don’t crave the cuddle afterwards or the reassuring kiss before we both turnover.

Having sex is great. Feels good to accommodate the rush of adrenaline with the rise and fall. Being touched with urgency is the irreplaceable sign of aliveness.

But salivating for filmed bites of cheese-drenched nachos with clusters of guacamole and vibrant adornments, providing added viewing pleasure is a bedtime requirement that keeps my eyes open in the silence of fascinated excitement.

The calmness waves away the residue of outside debris.

It’s the wetness of being alert during unholy hours, as the nakedness of a bowl begins to fill up with orgasmic splashes of bodied ingredients. The delightful tremors awaken deadened senses. You follow the rhythmic dance of massaged brussel sprouts, dazzling with glaring creaminess, alongside roasted sweet potatoes with fresh scars as evidence of timed perfection.

I will fuck again soon.

Right now, it’s about the steaminess of seafood delight, with meaty carcasses of wide open crab legs, receiving the bonus thrusts of homegrown seasonings that slither with garlic and buttery appeal.

The irresistible audacity of beefiness. Chunks of it. Firm muscles that showcase the work it takes before slathering sauces that outline crevices. When the knife goes in for the kill, my soul matches the markings, with a swallow.

When I have sex again, we have to eat in bed.

Will he watch with me?

The seductiveness of peeled and sliced avocados, lining up platters of eye-popping greenery and the shades of brown, lush grains. The fullness of lightness with earthy symbols, gathered in simplicity.

Bright yellow explosion of eggs over-easy, overflowing into the embrace of toasted rye bread with pulses of scoops and goops in one setting.

Demonstrative entanglements of dripping pasta dishes. Sometimes we get to see partakers gleefully dominate.

That’s how I fall in love these days.

How do shaped mozzarella cheese and round tomatoes couple up so well with enlarged croutons and leafy garnishes?

I once described the science of escaping the grasp of midnight snacks with laser-sharp imagery of valleys of bite-sized pancakes soaked with organic blueberry syrup to a guy who liked me, and he didn’t text me back.

I wasn’t sad. I was fucking hungry!

A healthy beauty of chocolate cakes, righteously buried under messy mousse coverings, can be scrolled into the haven of bursting cinnamon rolls before they become the gooey solids that are stuck together like sweet glue.

Heavy eyelids have room for one more!

Intertwined ramen noodles with swirling heat hovering over the confection of all my crushes, simmering in unison.

I always wonder which one of them will ask me out later.

And I never, ever find out.

Written by

Juggling Wordsmith. I have a lot to say! https://medium.com/membership https://www.patreon.com/Ezziegirl

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