Sexy Sugar

I've been a good girl for two weeks.

Really.

NO sugar, not many carbs, I'm in ketosis and have had about 5 lbs fall off. Dear, sweet, Dr. Atkins. I'd kiss you if you hadn't died from a busted head. Tough luck, that.

But I went to a baby shower today.

Uh-huh.

And even though I ate salad with chicken, and bypassed the carby sandwiches and doritos and sorbet-laden-punch, I lost control when it came time for cake.

'Cause showers always have cake.
(MMM....if I could have cake in the shower whilst 'double-clicking', I don't think I'd ever stop cuming.)

The hostess had made the most delicious-looking carrot cake. DAMN.
And I wasn't gonna have any sugar, mind you, I've been a good girl.

But the cake called out to me, begging and pleading and flashing his lovely raisins and coconut coat.
Seductive little shit.
I cut the smallest piece I could, and he easily slid onto my plate.
And then into my mouth.
Oooh, baby...sugar...you are so good to me.
Here, let me roll you around on my tongue.
You like that?
How about this?
Oh yeah, that feels gooooooood.
More, you say?
Okay. If you say so.

I ate the entire piece, and would have licked the plate clean if I wasn't surrounded by highly impressionable preschoolers.

No surprise, I'm on a sugar buzz right now. That seems to be centralized in my cooter. Right in the center. Right...yeah...right there.

I think I need to find Sergei. I think I need sugar of a different kind.

NOW.