You talk about pastries, taking tiny nibbles of the pleasure that’s offered up on a plate. My pleasure is had in the making; stirring sloppy dough until it stiffens beneath my fingers, then leaning hard into the firm, resilient mass of it as my palms coax its springy body to life.
I coerce it, stroke by folding stroke, into obedience. I squeeze until it cannot resist, flattening it mercilessly, then turning and lifting it back into shape before crushing it again and again. With the pummelling comes strength, and form, and substance. The tender, wheaten form that emerges is a tribute to the hands that lovingly teased it into being; its glorious triumph lasting only as long as it bakes, when it becomes a glorious sacrifice.
Crisp, nutty crust and humid crumb part before the blade. Anointed with butter, it is devoured with a sigh; and so my soul is fed.
Submission for www.acuriousmuse.blogspot.co.uk Birthday Giveaway, with the theme “non-sexual erotica”.