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So we all have our secrets.
Yes, this crazy little slut who’s made out with six brothers is a virgin.
A true-to-life, real deal virgin.
Hymen intact.
Everything up there in one piece.
But I don’t want to be. I liked the show I put on. I liked displaying my assets, making them groan and moan and spurt in their jeans. I loved having their hands and mouths on me. The feel of Matt’s talented tongue in my pussy was heavenly, Smith’s fingers brushing my sweet spot, the twins devouring my breasts. I want more, more and more. I want them inside me, on top of me. I want them in my mouth and in my …
My stomach growls unexpectedly then, almost making me giggle at this inopportune time.
Trust my gut to remind me of the important things in life.
Because when was the last time I ate? I’ve been so caught up with everyth
ing lately, that even eating’s gone by the wayside. And believe me, that doesn’t happen, not to Macy Jones.
Sighing, I dig up some clothes, a pair of jeans and a deep-V-neck sweater before wandering downstairs. My parents are gone as usual, so I throw myself into cooking. It clears my head when I’m busy at the stove. I don’t know, the creative process helps me feel more centered somehow. It works for me, always has.
And food can be sexy. It’s just that people have all these hang-ups these days, what with veganism, fruitarians, low salt, low calorie, low everything. They don’t let themselves savor and enjoy flavors anymore, the incredible feel of something melting on your tongue. Instead, folks are caught up in counting calories and figuring out fat and sodium content to the tenth of a milligram.
Me? Sometimes I just close my eyes and let the food barely touch the tip of my tongue. Sometimes I just let a morsel sit in my mouth, savoring the taste and texture. It’s a sensual thing, arousing almost.
I guess you could say that food has been my boyfriend this year.
Well, at least he’s been nice to me.
College, however?
Not so much.
If I’m being honest, I really hate the college experience. I hate my roommate, for one. Tara is ultra-feminist, and that’s fine, I respect folks who have strong beliefs. But I don’t agree with a lot of what she says. I mean, it’s okay to like domestic stuff. I’m not less of a person if I want to make dinner at night. I’m not dumb or insignificant for taking pleasure in small things like fancy silverware and pretty placemats. Right?
So, ugh. There are so many things about college that just don’t fit. My roommate. The other girls who party hard and never sleep. Plus, the career aspect of it all. We’re supposed to be pre-professional, getting ready for big careers in finance or banking or law. But I don’t want to be a tax expert or run someone’s lawsuit. I don’t want to go to graduate school, period.
And unfortunately, my parents won’t listen. Jim was an accountant, Marsha a commercial real estate agent. Of course, they’re retired now, but while they were working, they both made good money and lived normal, boring lives.
And that’s fine for them. After all, who am I to judge? I reaped the rewards, living a comfortable middle-class lifestyle as a result. But I don’t know. It’s not me. I don’t want to spend my life in a beige cubicle, boxed into a ten by ten square. I don’t want to have my vision deteriorate staring at a computer screen all day. I don’t want to be my parents, who spent decades as dutiful corporate drones.
But what do I want?
I want to cook and eat amazing food.
I want to get my hands dirty, burying myself in tastes and textures from all over the world.
I want to make something of my life that has nothing to do with books and computers.
So it’s confusing. Life is confusing. But here in the kitchen? This is where I feel happiest, most content. I’m just not good with equations and problem solving and making presentations. Heck, I can barely get a sentence together most days, particularly when I’m nervous or overwhelmed. My forte is making flavors work together, the smell and touch and taste guiding me.
Sigh. So what do I do about this college thing? My first year was rough for sure. I made a few friends, but overall, it was just overwhelming. I spent a lot of time in my dorm room, writing recipes and thinking about this cookbook. That was my first goal after coming home, to get right back into the kitchen, test my recipes, and get the book together. I plan to self-publish it and once I do, maybe my parents will listen and let me switch to culinary school. After all, if they’re spending loads of money, it should be for something that makes sense.
If only it were that easy.
If only Jim and Marsha would listen.
I have to try and make them listen.
