Cake and sex: there's always room for seconds

A word of warning: send the kids to bed for this one, dear friends, unless you want your child looking like this for the rest of his life after reading about the birds and the bees before the time is ripe:

Judearoo and otherwordlyone gave me two very different but extremely delightful tasks. The one involves cake. The other: sex. I even wrote a post on the combination of these two things. Let's just say things ended up with me sneaking out of the cake-baker's apartment but of course not without eating another quick slice. I'm all for quickies.

Judearoo was channelling Marie-Antoinette, but the cake came at a price: I need to tell her (and since you've tuned in you might as well read about it too) three things about myself that she couldn't tell from my style of writing or what I choose to write about and as I didn't want to use up all the space on her comment-area, I decided to do it back here.

I wish all cake was this cheap and easy to get. Or maybe not as I might just have to join the CA.

1. I still blush upon receiving a compliment. How bloody ridiculous is that. You'd think after 25 years I would be able to get those blood vessels under control, but they're about as stubborn as your eyes not wanting to open on a Monday morning.

2. I cry. A lot. Think the Pacific ocean. If the make-up companies ever really want to put their waterproof mascara to the test they should let me wear it while watch something like Gran Torino or even Marley and Me where the lab lies under the tree outside about to die. Just thinking about it makes my eyes itch of emotion.

3. I'm not funny in 'real life' or otherwise known as 'the life outside the blogasphere'. My friends never laugh at things I say or at my jokes (laughing at me and my relationship status doesn't count). Maybe because I keep forgetting the punch line? Whateva. Punch lines are overrated anyway. Like The Jonas Brothers.

Hee hee hee.

otherwordlyone recognised my closet-exhibitionism and called me out on it. I'm rehabilitated, really, and now I only expose sex stories. The terms are these: "Tell us 3 things about your sex life. You can make them whatever you want and it doesn't necessarily have to pertain your current partner (or a partner at all for that matter). You can talk about your likes and dislikes, your kinky fetishes or your secret desires. You can tell us a funny story about the time you were having sex in the woods with your old boyfriend and you both ended up with 1,000 tics. Whatever you want ... it's totally up to you!"

Only 3? Pity.

;)

1. Foreplay is a must. I don't spend my hard earned money on sexy, sink-your-teeth-into-this-you-naughty-boy-lingerie for only my own enjoyment. Sex is like a 5 course meal: you don't insult your host by immediately jumping to dessert. You savour every deliciously different dish and when that chocolaty piece of heaven finally lies there before you, you utter a grown of delight and roll every spoon full in your mouth teasing your taste buds until the next bite. Hmmm ...

2. Don't suck my ear. Don't nibble my ear. Whispering in my ear results in uncontrollable laughter for some reason. But the neck? Ah, that is a whole different story. Caressing the it with a touch as light as a butterfly and my heart is like a little lamb dashing from a wolf in my chest; a lingering kiss in the nape of the neck and I could easily be a member of the band Wet wet wet.

3. My sex-story happened during my last trip to the coast. A few friends and I went to my family's beach house over Easter weekend. That's where I met Cody, the Surfer. His name wasn't really Cody but one of the guys was infatuated with Surf's up and wouldn't stop calling him that. Don't feel bad for Cody because one look in the mirror and I'm sure he'd get over it because he was gorgeous. Think Baywatch meets Hung. He was indeed a sight for sore eyes. Let me just wipe the drool off my keyboard quickly.

One evening we went to the only restaurant in the complex our beach house is located in. It rained that day so everyone started drinking unusually early. You can only play so many games of 30 seconds in a sober state before you want to strangle your partner who didn't know Joan Jett originally sang I love rock and roll and not Britney Spears. Can you tell my friends are a bunch of jocks?

After a few hours of that torture we didn't feel like cooking and walked to the restaurant where we caught up with Cody who was sitting at the bar having a beer. His hair was still wet as he had just finished surfing, The perfect storm-waves and all. I think that's why I liked him so much; he had a fearlessness about him. Add an amazing set of teeth and you have a winning combination.

The bar had a limited selection of liquor (no JD or Vodka) with only one cocktail. You guessed it: sex on the beach. They replaced the vodka with coconut rum (ugh) but it was either that or beer. So we sexed it up. Big time.

The friends soon went home (cheaper booze) and Cody asked if I wanted to go for a walk on the beach. He was a true gentleman wrapping me in his waterproof jacket and during the walk his fingers comfortably slipped into mine like a hand finding its glove.

Cody talked about his life growing up at the coast, his ambitions of becoming a lawyer some day and his love for painting. He took me to his 'serious spot' as he called it which turned out to be a hidden piece of beach next to some rocks. For a while we just lied there on the sand listening to the crash of the waves when he leaned over and traced the outline of my lips when I parted them and welcomed his rather rough, salty index with my awaiting tongue.

Now, this may all sound very sexy and sensual and it was until the first sand crab stuck its curious clippers out to see what earthquake was waking the whole colony. The next one popped its head next to my arm and if these creepy fuckers weren't enough to ruin the mood, it started raining. Okay, raining might be an understatement cause I could handle a few drops and even imagine me being a mermaid being schooled in the way of the sea by the god Poseidon himself. But it poured down so hard that I thought we were going to drown on dry land.

I felt like this poor boy with my beach adventure coming to such an abrupt halt.

I ended up with pneumonia a few days later but not before Cody and I continued our "sex on the beach" armed with a blanket, umbrella and insect repellent. The moral of the story?

Just stick to the cocktail.