Forcemeat Stuffing

Forcemeat stuffing full of parsley, drops of bacon and pepper and salt. Tender, crisp shreds of skin flake off the chicken yet cradle it still. The knife pierces the yielding flesh and slices deep like a plough in a furrow, juices bubbling and slipping and dripping with unctuous gravy setting on stove. A finger dips, it slides and pops into your mouth as the eyes open more. Taste comes from all directions at once, pouring a smile into your face like a hot cup of soup or a hug and a kiss.

‘Yum’. Plum-bum and peach drops and cider. Your jumper is catching the mood of the night, with soft rolling ribs and a glorious colour. A curve for your hips and curve for your breasts. You dance to the table as I carve-up the chicken. You fill-up your plate with the roast roots and sprouts. ‘There’s a good stack of breast meat, a thigh and a wing. The rest will be salad for lunch, the carcass a risotto.’ ‘With peas?’ you ask, I nod and we kiss. Our glasses we charge as we celebrate this.

Roast chicken dinner with trimmings and Sauternes. A hot sticky embrace to follow, then maybe a movie. Roll with the times and hold on for savour and kiss me right now and bugger the pud.

You keep digging deeper with jokes of my reticence. You prod me and laugh and then question my intentions. You pour scorn with saucy conjecture and rumour. You stop short of asking but I’m on your trail. I take you right there by the flames of the fire. I take you right there with the grease on your chin. I taste you and breathe-in your satisfied humour. I enter you firmly and buck till you come.

We go once again and now this time it’s fuller. I’m swollen like sausages bursting with heat. You wrap me with tendrils so strong yet so fluid. Your legs round my back and your arms round my neck. We swing for ten minutes then change to the sofa. And over the back of that sweetly you bend. Your face in the cushions, the seat takes our jousting. My lance in the splitting squirts in you once more.

And still with our juices all mingled together, we finish our dinners and suck-up the rest. Your skin is now pink with the glow of good screwing, good eating, good times and now good for bed.