Edible panties are a Condiment if you're a cannibal...

Recently, I had the opportunity to attend a "Passion party." For those of you not in the know, these are parties where the offered goods are nipple creams, vibrators and the like. But, least you think I am a depraved woman whose child should be placed in a good, two-condiment home, know that it was to raise money for a friend who's doing a walk to raise money for breast cancer research.

I won't go into the lurid details except to say that it was great fun and everyone should buy a bottle of "Ultimate Enhancer." And to give a shout out to my friend who named herself "kind of kinky Karen" for the day.

So, I'm flipping through the product catalog and there are all kinds of tasty treats: lubricants flavored in strawberry, cherry and key lime. Plum passion lotion. Notice a connection? All the flavors are FRUIT flavors. I don't mind a bite or two of a lemon tart now and again, but what about those of us whose tastes run to the savory? What is there for us? Where is the fennel-cranberry body paste? The garlic aioli love cream? The shallot salt love sprinkles? Obviously, these are not for everybody, but why is there the assumption that fruit = sex?

Here's a scene from one of my books-in-progress "Condiment Grrl and the Quest for the Sizzling Chutney" (seriously, that is the title of a new work of mine):

Kirby rested her head on Gyan's still-panting chest. She tentatively stuck her tongue out and licked a bead of sweat that had formed in the depression right between his nipples. It was salty.

"I'm hungry," she whispered into his belly.

Gyan sighed and opened his eyes. "For chrissakes, Kirby, it's three-thirty in the morning and --"

"Not for you." Kirby lifted her head and reached into the nightstand for the jar she had lovingly placed there hours ago, anticipating this very moment.

"Oh. Thanks. But, you know --" He began stroking her hair, teasing its ends up.

Kirby unscrewed the lid of the jar and held it under his nose. "Well, kinda for you."

"What is that? That's not..."

"Maybe. You're the guinea pig." She reached her right hand in the jar and began smearing its contents onto his belly, stroking downwards.

Gyan laughed. "It's chutney. I should have known. I guess I should be grateful it's not mustard. Don't want to walk around all day tomorrow smelling like a hot dog."

Kirby scooped the final bit of chutney out of the jar and held it up over Gyan. "Yes, but not just any chutney. I think I did it. I think I found the right recipe." She put one finger in her mouth. "It definately sizzles in my mouth, but does it sizzle elsewhere?" She began lowering her hand, pushing past his belly.

"Oh God, no Kirby, not there." Gyan groaned, but did not roll away.

"Does it sizzle?"

Well, my goodness campers. It's time to wake Baby Balsamic up from her nap. Remember what I said the next time you feel the urge to be creative.

Condiment Grrl