Monday, August 23, 2010

When the kitchen smells like love



How to Make Lobster Bisque

Awaken slowly, the sound of raindrops from a soft August storm thudding gently on the old porch boards. Inhale the warmth of your lover’s skin. Twist your tangled hair into a rope and pull it off of your face. Feel his breathing on the nape of your neck. Cherish it. Curl your toes into the soft sheets. Kiss before brushing. Run your fingers down the length of his arm, pause at his shoulder and knead the muscle firmly, tenderly. Exchange dreams. Laugh. Twist atop the cotton cloud that is the finest bed you’ve ever had, a cotton bed spun out of love. Sink into his fingertips. Reach for his cock. Slip your tongue between his teeth. Spread your legs a little wider. Moan. When you can’t take it anymore, place his hard cock in your mouth, then slide your excited morning pussy onto it enthusiastically, tossing your hair out of your face while you smile at this amazing friend, mate, lover, husband, who thinks about sex almost as much as you do (inside joke). Feel amazed by the intensity of your orgasms…one, two, three, four….they electrify your body just as they did that first night. The night you said, “Yes, please.” Suck him dry with your lips and tongue and fist and feel the house shake as he cums hard, then laughs hysterically, in the charming way he does. Fucking him is so much fun.

Roll into his spent body and melt for a moment, pleasure hormones surging through your bodies. Press your palm into his jaw and press softly, making small circular motions against the bone. Peace. Love. These moments have replaced all others. The other mornings. The flossing, brushing, washing mornings.

Scoop coffee grounds into the basket. In your bare feet in the kitchen, in the flannel pajama pants that keep you safe and warm in the dead of winter and the unseasonably cool of summer, press the “start" button. Slide back into bed and stroke his forehead. “Would you like some coffee?” Sit on the couch and watch the Sunday morning news. Laugh at the weather man’s tie. When your husband takes your foot into his hand, think about “that one night,” the night in the desert that was so intense, so incredible that for the rest of your lives all either of you have to say is “that one night” and you’ll go back there immediately, forever. Laugh at the news people some more. Laugh at this fucked-up world. It’ll keep you sane.


On the couch, cuddled up with hot coffee, think about the day. Imagine sitting across from him in that little restaurant downtown. Recall the menu on the window that you saw during the parade in July. The one that said, “Lobster Bisque” at the top in fancy script. Remember his reaction. “We should come here sometime! I love lobster bisque!” Think about the story he told about the bisque. The one about how, as a college student, he had a job in a restaurant. The lobster bisque left over from the night’s shift was too tempting to resist. He and another co-worker dipped into the pot and indulged ingloriously, scarfing down meaty bites of rich man’s soup like starving dogs. He’d been after some good lobster bisque ever since. Ask him if he’d like to have dinner out this evening, at the little place with lobster bisque. Smile when he says, “that sounds great!” Call the restaurant and complain when they announce there is no dinner tonight – booked for a private party – and there is no lobster bisque served at lunch. Pout a little. You wanted to see him light up when he spooned that bisque into his hungry mouth. You wanted to offer him another kind of pleasure.

Feel the love surge in your heart when he says, “let’s make it ourselves!” while already searching recipes on the computer. Feel the satisfaction in your soul while watching him chop the herbs and vegetables, lobster steam rising in the kitchen. Appreciate the way the kitchen smells like love. Write while it simmers. Sip white wine and listen to the rain. Wash the sheets.

Later, when the rain clouds blow over and the sky turns orange towards Monday, spoon the first bite into your mouth. Watch him do the same and listen to his moan of pleasure, which sounds just as you imagined it. Love the way the thick, silky cream, flavored by herbs and fish stock and rich meat floats on your tongue. Feel the contentment of knowing you will sleep good tonight, having accomplished your task, your goal, of offering him another kind of pleasure.

This is how you make lobster bisque. This is how you eat.


The recipe is here: Sexy Lobster Bisque

3 comments:

BadAssKona said...

And it even turned out pretty well! Too much tomato, for my liking, but yummy all the same. Best part was to stand in the kitchen in my undies, with a glass of white wine, listening to music, looking at my GinaGina, and creating something. Words, paint, food, emotion, love...always want to create!!

Gina Marie said...

We will always create....forever and ever. And it will always feel good, smell good, taste good & be goooood! You make my kitchen into something special.

BadAssKona said...

I like your "kitchen."