I was a really excited about the prompt this week. I am all about magic. As much as I am still fighting it, I was raised a Disney girl. Realism sucks. Realism is when you roll over on the wet spot after sex. Magic is waking up on beautifully clean satin sheets. Realism is the nightly fight to get the kids to bed. Magic is when they are both passed out by 8pm without loosing an eardrum (it has happened once).
So I was overwhelmed with fantasy aspects of sex and kink that I couldn’t narrow it down to one clear thought. And then @sexblogofsorts asked an interesting question on twitter. She was, I believe, looking toward her own post and was talking about love and the places that connect with it. I think she was considering specifically a love of a person. I read peoples’ responses to her about romanic stories of wide open spaces and lovers’ trysts. And out of the blue some synapses in my brain fired and it hit me. Where I go for wide open spaces and my secret tryst.
And that, dear reader, is Scotland and the magical and beautiful bacon bap.* There is something so decadent about a sandwich that is just meat (sometimes with butter, sometimes with HP sauce). It is something that, as gluttonous as the United States is, we just haven’t figured out yet. And, as much as I enjoy a crispy piece of bacon, the way it is made in the U.S., rasher bacon is really something special. This sandwich is exactly what I need, any time of the day. First thing in the morning it will give me energy for the day. It’s a wonderful afternoon snack with some tea or coffee to warm up after a walk around any one of the beautiful small Scottish towns. In fact, I’m not sure I would appreciate it here in my house in the states as much as I do there (realism vs. magic again).
Every trip to Scotland that I take doesn’t really start until I have sat down with a cup of coffee and several slices of pork inside a crusty roll. Flights across the Atlantic usually land in the U.K. relatively early in the morning, so this warm hug of a sandwich is the perfect welcome (I’ve even had good ones in airports). I looked through my photos to find it (no luck), but my my mother takes pictures of me eating my first sandwich when we get there as she thinks my faces are hilarious. I am scared to tell her that they are my mini-orgasm faces. Maybe it’s better that I couldn’t find the photo after all (I probably deleted it on purpose so I did not embarrass myself in this moment).
It’s about that sensual memory. Like something that makes you think of your first kiss, or your first love. Scotland was my first real adventure. Something that my mother and I shared and it holds a lot of loving memories for me. My time shared with my mom, my study abroad semester, Sir proposed to me Scotland. And every bite of that magical sandwich brings all those memories out at once. Maybe it’s good that I didn’t fulfill my dream of moving there; I would weight three hundred pounds (21.5 stone).
To see other, more kinky magic this week, click the icon to read other Wicked Wednesday offerings.