“The Flour Duet”
I pushed aside the vintage Playboy magazine, cradled my cheek in my hand, and exhaled a puff of air to blow my floppy bangs from my forehead.
“This is silly,” I muttered under my breath. But I glanced over at the glossy pages once more. A doe-eyed blonde with the most gigantic rack I had ever seen stared back at me. Her gaze was accentuated by sky blue eyeshadow, and her peaches-and-cream complexion was framed in a perfectly-coiffed 60s hairdo. Yes, the model was striking, but what really caught my eye was the caption stamped above her head: “How to Please Your Man in the Kitchen.”
I scoured the layout for more information and learned that the centerfold’s name was Vivian. She had tips for us girls on how to seduce our men through kitchen witchery. Apparently, this involved baking goodies while mostly naked, as she was wearing only the tiniest of aprons. I wondered whether these strategies would work on my lover.
Turning from the fantasy instructions, I glanced down the hallway at the door to the master bedroom where Sarah was still sleeping. It was Sunday, we had just moved in together, and she was so tired from working long hours at her demanding new job. When I had awakened that morning, I wanted nothing more than to rouse her with sweet kisses and make passionate love to her, but I resisted knowing that she needed extra rest.
I recalled how I slid from the bed so as not to wake her, padded across the room to the bathroom, and snatched my red satin kimono. I wrapped it around me and secured the sash as I crept through the door and carefully pulled it shut behind me. I walked through the living room where sunlight filtered through the sheets we had to use as makeshift curtains because our blinds hadn’t arrived yet. I didn’t care that our temporary window treatments were mismatched and awkward—I was happy.
I went to the pantry I had stocked with food essentials yesterday and rummaged around. And there, tucked deep in a drawer where I hadn’t noticed it before was the Playboy. Of course, I took it in both hands and walked to the counter with it in awe that it was still in such good condition—it was from March of 1965! I located the naked baking article almost immediately, and consequently shrugged out of my robe and stepped out of my panties.
And THAT is how I ended up in my kitchen wearing only a little barista apron (saved from my college days and a boho stint in a coffeehouse) with a Betty Crocker cookbook and a 1965 girlie magazine splayed in front of me.
Returning my attention to the task at hand, I carefully measured the flour and emptied the cup into the large mixing bowl. Checking the cup, I tapped again and watched the remaining bit settle into a pillow-like cloud puff. I giggled out loud as I dipped my hands flat in the powder and then stamped a firm handprint on each ass cheek.
“Sarah’s gonna love my muffin,” I smiled to myself..
Dulce DeVine
I pushed aside the vintage Playboy magazine, cradled my cheek in my hand, and exhaled a puff of air to blow my floppy bangs from my forehead.
“This is silly,” I muttered under my breath. But I glanced over at the glossy pages once more. A doe-eyed blonde with the most gigantic rack I had ever seen stared back at me. Her gaze was accentuated by sky blue eyeshadow, and her peaches-and-cream complexion was framed in a perfectly-coiffed 60s hairdo. Yes, the model was striking, but what really caught my eye was the caption stamped above her head: “How to Please Your Man in the Kitchen.”
I scoured the layout for more information and learned that the centerfold’s name was Vivian. She had tips for us girls on how to seduce our men through kitchen witchery. Apparently, this involved baking goodies while mostly naked, as she was wearing only the tiniest of aprons. I wondered whether these strategies would work on my lover.
Turning from the fantasy instructions, I glanced down the hallway at the door to the master bedroom where Sarah was still sleeping. It was Sunday, we had just moved in together, and she was so tired from working long hours at her demanding new job. When I had awakened that morning, I wanted nothing more than to rouse her with sweet kisses and make passionate love to her, but I resisted knowing that she needed extra rest.
I recalled how I slid from the bed so as not to wake her, padded across the room to the bathroom, and snatched my red satin kimono. I wrapped it around me and secured the sash as I crept through the door and carefully pulled it shut behind me. I walked through the living room where sunlight filtered through the sheets we had to use as makeshift curtains because our blinds hadn’t arrived yet. I didn’t care that our temporary window treatments were mismatched and awkward—I was happy.
I went to the pantry I had stocked with food essentials yesterday and rummaged around. And there, tucked deep in a drawer where I hadn’t noticed it before was the Playboy. Of course, I took it in both hands and walked to the counter with it in awe that it was still in such good condition—it was from March of 1965! I located the naked baking article almost immediately, and consequently shrugged out of my robe and stepped out of my panties.
And THAT is how I ended up in my kitchen wearing only a little barista apron (saved from my college days and a boho stint in a coffeehouse) with a Betty Crocker cookbook and a 1965 girlie magazine splayed in front of me.
Returning my attention to the task at hand, I carefully measured the flour and emptied the cup into the large mixing bowl. Checking the cup, I tapped again and watched the remaining bit settle into a pillow-like cloud puff. I giggled out loud as I dipped my hands flat in the powder and then stamped a firm handprint on each ass cheek.
“Sarah’s gonna love my muffin,” I smiled to myself..
Dulce DeVine