There’s something I haven’t been able to do recently, because I am currently so bloody busy.

It’s not being fucked hard from behind and getting my arse spanked.

Nor is it my sucking a cock and rubbing it between my tits.

Nor even, is it having my legs around a guy’s shoulders as he pummels me over and over again.

Though I wouldn’t say no to any of the above, given a spare moment in my schedule, there is another gap - besides the one between my legs - that needs filling.

And that gap is food: I miss cooking.

I love to cook. It’s right up there for me, with shagging, as one of my favourite pastimes. Give me some fresh ingredients, and some heat and I’ll get cooking.

There’s something seductive about food for me; it’s all linked to sex I reckon. Eating good food is like having a miniature orgasm in your mouth. And I love the fact that food – like sex – involves all the senses.

It even involves similar preparation:

• Pick the best ingredients that catch your eye
• Have a quick feel, to make sure they are ripe
• Handle delicately
• Put them on a slow heat
• Add spice
• Inhale their aroma
• Lift gently to ensure no breakage
• Display with care to ensure best presentation
• Place delicately in mouth and savour the flavour
• Devour enthusiastically
  

Is it any wonder that when people enjoy food, they groan with orgasmic delight?

I remember cooking for my friend K and her boyfriend H a few months ago. I had done a full-on meal: asparagus tips with chilli and lime butter; roast organic leg of lamb with rosemary and garlic; roasted vegetables with thyme and sea-salt; white chocolate cheesecake with a raspberry centre.

To say we were all stuffed, was an understatement. We sat there, barely able to move, but nicely tipsy from all the Rioja wine.

Eventually H got up to go to the loo and K and I reminisced about our childhoods. We talked for ages and I suddenly realised that H was still absent. K was a bit drunk, so I went to see if he was ok.

Instead of being in the loo, he was – red-facedly – picking at the joint of meat leftover in the kitchen.

‘Oh god!’ he said, groaning, his hands and mouth full of flesh. ‘I’m so sorry; it’s just that… fuck… this is SO good’. He carried on chewing and grinned at me, sheepishly.

I laughed at him and handed him a carving knife and told him to help himself. As he attacked the meat some more and I walked back to K, I momentarily beamed with pride: I loved that he wanted more of my food.

It is with much regret that my stupid hours at work are currently preventing me cooking; I miss having my friends over to eat. But there is no possibility of a social life for me at the moment – let alone being able to entertain others by cooking up a big spread.

I really miss having someone eager to eat my food – and enjoying it – it is such a compliment; it’s right up there with being told I give the best blow jobs (it might be a lie, but every woman wants to hear it).

I just adore cooking for others; I get off on their pleasure – just as I do during sex. Making a guy groan with delight, by putting something in his mouth gives me satisfaction; it gets me off.

Show me a man that makes happy sex noises when he eats my food; and that then makes happy food noises when he eats my sex, and I'll be a happy woman.

Especially if - after rogering me good and proper - he then wanted to clean the dishes.