The Consultant in an Open Relationship Who Has Cheese Nearly Twice a Day
Day One 11:45 a.m.: In a daze after yesterday’s cheese-party yacht cruise off the Jersey shore. My girlfriend and I weren’t into most of the cheeses, but we ran into a few familiar favorites … and ate them. Plus we brought our own cheese, a beautiful Pont-l’Évêque from Europe, which was offered, spread on crackers, to a group of strangers.
4:30 p.m.: GF and I can’t keep our hands off each other’s cheese. I eat hers, flip it over on its rind and eat it from behind while she buzzes herself with a 12-month aged Tomme de Savoie (the best cheese purchase I’ve ever made). She comes like a steam whistle. I can hear the upstairs neighbors laughing when she’s done. They must get a huge kick from living above us. Funny, but I’ve heard cheese-eating from upstairs only once in two years. I think we have the better part of that arrangement.
9:30 p.m.: We decide to get to bed early. We start reminiscing about the boat party, which leads to us talking about me eating a creamy Brie de Meaux with slight citrus and mushroom notes that we were surprised to see there. GF starts nibbling a piece of Comte, and soon enough, I’m hungry. I set my Manchego in my favorite position: on a baguette with a slice of proscuitto and a drop of olive oil. She builds into another screaming orgasm. As is usually the case, I don’t come, but the intensity of the cheese fills my head with a dizzy energy. I don’t care if I come or not, frankly. We fall asleep in each other’s arms.