My current ‘to do’ list rivals most normal person’s telephone directory. Updating the blog unfortunately sits somewhere at the bottom between sleep and hoovering the car, with sleep winning every time. I will endeavour to get better but in the meantime here’s a wee treat for you.
Unless you’ve been in a cake induced coma for the past month you could not have helped but notice all the fuss over the ‘Fifty Shades’ trilogy. Fortunately for me, a gifted and talented journalist friend of mine penned ‘Fifty Shades of Cake’ and sent it to me for a giggle. Here it is, I hope it makes you smile in the same way she makes smile in every humorous and witty act of kindness she performs.
She shall remain anonymous unless she chooses not to but I hope she knows she is loved, admired and appreciated by all my fifty plus cake inspired trucking shades.
My buzzer started to go off as Nigel’s fingers crept down my chest.
By now I was bent double, my jeans stretched over the rounded contours of my bottom, as I rummaged in the cupboard under the oven.
“Oh, you do it. I’m looking for my paddle attachment.”
And before I knew what was happening he’d forced my jaw open and thrust into it a great, solid chunk of brownie. I couldn’t speak. I was breathless, alarmed but excited. It was more brownie than I could handle. Or was it? I was alarmed, but excited, breathless. He turned me round and bent me over the kitchen table, pressing his hips into the twin globes of my bottom. A crumb of brownie had actually gone into my windpipe and I was trying to cough, but I think he thought I was panting with pleasure. Funny, this close up, I could see streak marks on the oilcloth, and that Bolognese stain from Friday. If I could think of a really good product for cleaning oilcloth I’d write to them about product placement.
“You want it, don’t you?” Nigel’s breath was hot in my ear as he struggled with the button on my jeans, and if I’m to come completely clean, it had been a bit of a struggle getting it done up in the first place, so good luck with that, I thought.
I bucked against him, but he had me easily pinned down under his powerful body. Nigel likes to take the lead. In fact, once he actually tied my hands behind my back with the dog’s lead, but he had to untie me because our dog has a terrible drooling problem and to be honest the lead was a bit manky and neither of us really fancied it.
“Rich, like me,” he pointed out, slowly licking a speck of brownie off his middle finger, “and moist, like – “
But I had an eye on the clock and was fixing the paddle attachment to my electric mixer.
Nigel seized me roughly round the waist. “I prefer the hand-held paddle myself. Or sometimes I find the whisk remarkably effective.”
“My orders won’t fill themselves,” I pointed out, pulling away and snapping the lid on the mixer.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, if they… filled themselves…?”
“I’m not sure, it just sounded dirty.”
I flicked my hair over my shoulder again, and unfortunately one gleaming lock whipped Nigel right across one contact lens.
“Jesus, watch it!” He felt gingerly for the lens, which seemed to be still in place. “That really fucking hurt.”
“You’re no fun today, anyway.”
I kissed his injured eye and as I pulled away I noticed how beautifully shaped his cheekbones were, how closely shaven his face. A subtle hint of Penhaligon’s Blenheim Bouquet rose from his warm skin. Suddenly, my insides felt like a lemon drizzle cake with slightly too much drizzle, and it was far from unpleasant.
“Sorry,” I said again. “Look – I still have to make the buttercream. Help me. You like buttercream, don’t you? So silky, so creamy. We have to beat it, you know. Whip it. Till it’s all mixed up, and creamier than ever. Then you can dip your finger into it, and taste how creamy it is. You can eat as much as you want.”
He brightened visibly. I kissed him again, on the lips this time. It’s always worth giving time to a really good kiss. We broke apart slowly.
“Tell me again how rich you are,” I suggested in a soft voice. “I mean, really break it down this time. Assets. Savings and current accounts. Credits, debits. In, out. In, out. In. Well, you get the gist. And while you’re talking I’ll let you operate the Kitchen Aid paddle attachment. There are variable speeds. Each gives a slightly different result.” I loosened the bow of my apron. “I think you know where the power button is.”