Food, Sex and Poetry

A couple of weeks ago, I was at a meeting of my writers group and we had a couple of poets in to speak. They were lovely, talented people who managed to confirm that I just don’t ‘get’ poetry (if it isn’t Shel Silverstein or the clue to a treasure, it’s not for me).

Aside from that, they discussed an interesting concept: food as imagery for sex. Ostensibly this arose from the idea that any of the emotions and senses associated with the enjoyment of food can also be applied quite easily to sex. They were talking about food AS sex, in a metaphorical sense, while I, as an erotic romance author, immediately thoughts of food AND sex.

We’ve all read scenes or seen scenes in movies… strawberries stroked lovingly over skin, chocolate licked off various body parts… I’m pretty sure I’ve even read about a popsicle. Lovers clean up stray bits of salsa or sauce with a tongue, or eat with suggestive inclusions of fingers. I believe there’s a well-known scene in 9½ Weeks that’s supposed to be a prime example of the sexual power of food. I wasn’t able to watch it. Yuck.

Am I the only one who thinks bringing food to bed is… less than hot? I’m perfectly happy when skin tastes like skin and chocolate tastes like chocolate. I don’t need your skin in my peanut butter and I don’t need my peanut butter on your skin. Sex is fabulous (and messy) on its own -- it doesn’t require additional condiments. Toys, on the other hand... but that's another blog post!

I have read scenes involving food that were hot… such scenes certainly won’t affect my enjoyment of a book, or make me stop reading. And I haven’t entirely dismissed or avoided writing about sex and food together. After all, my characters aren’t ALL carbon copies of me ;) with my likes, dislikes and neuroses, but food in bed will be a topic I avoid when I can, simply because I don’t find the combination particularly sexy. Strangely enough, sex on the kitchen table or counters? Totally hot! But keep the fridge door closed, ‘k?

Anyone with me? Or am I all alone with my neurotic weirdness?

KC Burn