“My dick only goes up for curvy Australian women.”

Honestly, a writer could never come up with a piece of dialogue like that. Chocolate Man was like his namesake, smooth, delicious and addictive. His worship of my body was what I needed to remember how to be a goddess. Something I was forgetting without realising. Ageing is hard. My body aches somewhere most of the time, my memory and grasp of words seem to be slipping, and when I look in the mirror, it is getting harder and harder to see the goddess who looks back at me.

But, for a weekend at least, Kenyan Chocolate, by Gen Z large dick man, by mid-thirties talented tongue man, a farmer with talented hands, and of course Mr Jones reminded me that I am still a goddess to be worshipped.

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