The booty call

Madame Weebles —  November 23, 2012 — 176 Comments

I didn’t know what would happen when he showed up.  I was nervous.  I hoped I would be able to control myself.  But he looked more fantastic than I remembered.  Dear God, why did he have to come back into my life just when I thought I was over him?  And why was I letting him come back??

So I begged him to leave.  We can’t do this, I said.  Please, just go.  You know how badly I want you, but I just can’t.  He was completely indifferent to my pleas.  He just sat there and watched me.  He knew he always made me weak in the knees and he was enjoying this.  I hated him for it.  I loved him for it.

Who was I kidding, I knew I’d submit to him.  More than once.  I always did.  And he knew it.

And ohh, it was soooooooo good.  I was shocked by my raw animal passion for him.  Before I knew what was happening my eyes were rolling back in my head and my toes were curling.  Primitive grunts escaped my throat.  Every cell in my body ached for him.  He rocked my world.  I couldn’t speak but in my mind I screamed “YES YES YESSSSSSSSSSSSSS” over and over.  He satisfied me utterly and completely.  He fulfilled primal needs I didn’t even realize I had.

I would have done anything for him.

I felt like I was in a fugue; I was intensely aware of the sensation of us coming together but it also seemed otherworldly, like an out-of-body experience.  Sublime.  And so right.

For a while I basked in the afterglow.  This is how it should always be, I thought.  What was I so afraid of?

And then, slowly, the glow faded.  I looked over at him and realized that these encounters of ours could never amount to anything more.  I loved him desperately.  But our relationship was obsessive—so intense, so all-consuming, it would destroy both of us if we stayed together.  With us it was all or nothing.  A healthy long-term relationship would be impossible for us.

With tears in my eyes I pushed him away.  I’m so sorry.  I wish I were stronger.

As I turned to leave, I looked at him one last time.  I snapped a quick photo of him so I would have a memento of this special evening.

Goodbye, my darling mashed potatoes.  My beloved spuds.  My delicious, buttery master.  You are absolutely wonderful, but I can’t be with you.  I lose control whenever you’re near me.  I’m afraid you can never be anything more than an occasional booty call.

176 responses to The booty call

  1. 

    you and mashed potatoes, me and my Hostess cupcakes, which may be no more

  2. 

    I understand. Did you at least use protection? I drowned mine in gravy as you can never be too sure. (I have no idea what that means, I’m still hungover from yesterday’s feast)

    • 

      At first I insisted on protection, but as I got really into it I threw caution to the wind. I know it was stupid, but I couldn’t help myself. And today I’m paying the price with an outbreak of fat and bloat.

  3. 

    PMSL oh Weebles you do make me laugh! xx

  4. 

    Tragic and so true…And during the sacred holiday of Thanksgiving, no less!

  5. 

    It could only be better if he could whisper sweet nothings in your ear with a thick sexy Russian accent….

  6. 

    50 shades of tuber. So funny!

  7. 

    Don’t we all have that love/hate relationship with carbs? Thanks for capturing it so eloquently. I’ll never eat mashed potatoes the same way again. (Actually, I won’t because I made them in the Kitchen-Aid yesterday—my new toy— and they were so f’ing good. So f’ing good that I may have to return the Kitchen-Aid or resolve myself to gaining 15 pounds!)

    • 

      I have a KitchenAid too, but I’ve never made my mashed potatoes with it. I do mine with the old-school potato masher. Frankly, I’ve never met a potato I won’t eat. That love-hate relationship with the carbs—it’s a story for the ages, java. Sigh…

  8. 

    My God, the passion! The intensity! I wept…

    But I may just be oversensitive because I’m still recovering from my recent torrid affair with Coquilles St. Jacques and a glass of truly exquisite Sauvignon Blanc. *sigh*

  9. 

    mmmm…home-made and creamy with lots of butter….mmmm….

  10. 

    I get it. I have an obsession with his brother, Chip. I wish I knew how to quit him.

  11. 

    You’ve given new meaning to the term ‘food porn’ :)

  12. 

    Your mash looks like it’s done properly. I wince when I see Ina turn hers into what resembles a soup from whisking it to death, goign along with the theme I suppose that is an S & M fetish?

    It reminds me when I broke my jaw and my mum used to put mash in the blender so I could eat it, at least alochol has never been a solid, I got through it.

    • 

      My mash has some minor lumps in it, as it should. I don’t understand people who make basically a potato puree and called it mashed potatoes. But you know Ina, she’s out of touch with the real people. And thank goodness you didn’t have to worry about getting your alcohol needs met with a broken jaw. For medicinal purposes, of course.

  13. 

    My wife has the same lover as you. Careful, that lothario might ask you to take part in a tuber three-way.

    As for me, I have inappropriate relations with Stove Top stuffing.

    DON’T JUDGE ME!

    • 

      See, that won’t happen, Mike, because I’m selfish. I don’t share. I’m sure your wife feels the same way about her tubers. As for the Stove Top, hey, there’s a fetish for everyone. No judgments here.

  14. 

    Madame Weebles,

    Too Lumpy? Too Garlicy?

    Just tell him what you need…….he’ll change (probably).

    RR

  15. 

    Potato sexy times. I like the French fries the best, obviously. But really, any bucket of mashed spud, or pillowcase full of crispy patates will fill my undying need.
    I get around. xo

  16. 

    p.s. have you tried mashed potatoes made with cream cheese?
    better than metchcrackorgasms

  17. 

    You will be so very jealous, Weebs. I am on a special diet for my GI system. I am supposed to eat spuds. The Irish girl in me rejoices two to three times a week as I listen to my nutritionist. Yum… (It almost makes up for all the things I can’t have.)

  18. 

    Oh yes, the potato. Not as humble as people would think, but definitely versatile! I hope your strength stays with you.

  19. 

    Those spuds. They’ve always got their eyes on you.

  20. 

    Do you whip them, Weebs? It’s ok, you can admit it.
    I have a secret relationship with stuffing. I feel like this is a safe place to talk about that

    • 

      You’re safe and among friends here, RG. Your relationship with stuffing is nothing to be ashamed of, and I applaud you for being brave enough to mention it.

      I tried whipping once, but to be honest, I didn’t like it. Not because it was too harsh, mind you. It just didn’t leave enough lumps, if you know what I mean.

  21. 

    Potato made the rounds to a lot of homes, last night. Potato doesn’t respect you, me, nobody. And I’m forced to only use the name Mr. Potato. No first names, no familiarity. It’s so very wrong. But, oh so right. I feel you, Weebs (well, not literally. Clarify that for Mr. Weebs)

    • 

      I knew it. I KNEW IT. I knew he got around. He never mentioned how many other people he had been with but I knew it had to be a lot. I know what you mean about the anonymity factor—it took me a long time not to feel utter shame. I’m glad you feel me. You know, not literally.

  22. 

    *Starch-ica-bow-wow*
    (This was SO clever, Madame… I had no idea what was happening. Well, I mean… I did… kind of… but… well… you know…)

  23. 

    I can always count on you for a good chuckle. I love that you make me laugh and I appreciate your wit.

  24. 

    Oh, yes. Oh, yes, Oh, yes. With real cream and butter melting, melting, melting. Just once more. :)

  25. 

    I envy your dilemma! There are so many foods I can no longer eat and tht includes dairy-rich mashed potatoes. There were plenty of spuds whee I was but I limited myself to a small serving of candied yams and saved my lactaid pill so I could savor a thumbnail sized piece of pumpkin pie.

  26. 

    Since triple by-pass in ’06 I have had to divest myself of 3 lovers:sausage, pepperoni and vodka. But Miss Chocolate Ice Cream I will never dessert(no pun intended).

  27. 

    You certainly put a new meaning into a passion for food!

  28. 

    Some academic reading I’m engaged in suggests that one only abuses that which has a cachet of exoticism to it (Spain, he declares with the confidence only a late 18th century moral philosopher can bring to bear, has very few who go on wine binges). He may have a point here; were you beset with a profusion of ‘tater, were you constantly tripping over Yukon Gold while making a late-night washroom run, were you pushing importunate Russets aside while searching for car keys, the magic would likely drain from the relationship.

    …not, of course, that the initial week or two would be anything other than a mad romp that might even see Salzkartoffeln running about the place, frightening the neighbours.

    • 

      It’s true. The familiarity would make our encounters less passionate, less meaningful, I’m afraid. But you’re right, ravensmarch, in that if there were Yukon Golds (which were featured in last night’s booty call, by the way), Russets, or some other potatoes constantly around me, the first few weeks would involve a passionate yet sickening frenzy the likes of which no man or woman has ever seen before. And now that you’ve mentioned Salzkartoffeln, I want some. Thanks a lot.

  29. 

    I’m a sucker for all things potato (which sounds dirty, but what the hell…). Mashed potatoes, french fries, potato chips, roasted potatoes, etc., etc., etc…..

  30. 

    You got me! Do you like them mashed or whipped better. I prefer whipped potatoes, so light so fluffy!

  31. 

    I didn’t realize mashed potatoes were so good because they were bad. You taught me something.

  32. 

    Potato money shot! (I love the “erotica” tag btw)

  33. 

    You almost made me wet for fucking mashed potatoes? That’s low Weebly….really low. ;-) Happy Thanksgiving, my friend. xo

  34. 

    Oh, Madame, you had me so fooled! That was intense. I guess it’s a good thing Thanksgiving comes only once a year. I don’t want you to sell your kidney. Whatever you do…

  35. 

    I am utterly mashed after that torid read! Plass the gravy please?

  36. 

    booTAY!!!! I love that guy too. He gets around. (the house!!!) seriously though…this was food porn.

  37. 

    Hey, you know, whatever floats your boat, kid. I don’t judge…

    You’ll be happy to know I ate plenty of mashed potatoes for the two of us this weekend. Gobble, gobble.

  38. 

    While I love the post, my boy loves his mash potatoes, and that nearly gave me a weird image until I blanked it from my head. Well he did enjoy it this thursday also.

    • 

      I can see how the dual images don’t really work well together. I’m glad he enjoyed his mashed potatoes, but here’s hoping he doesn’t understand the more adult nature of the relationship until he’s much older.

  39. 

    I’m writing this reply in a Valium-induced haze. I’ve had my whole world turned upside down with your reply, Clown. I had to breathe into a paper bag just to keep from passing out. But now that the initial shock of your revelation has worn off, I have a few comments:

    a) What the FUCK??? Who the fuck hates mashed potatoes???
    b) You have no soul.
    c) Oh yeah?? Well, mashed potatoes hate you too.
    d) What the FUCK?? What kind of freak hates mashed potatoes? Were you injured by mashed potatoes as a child? Because that’s the only reasonable and acceptable explanation.

    I have to re-evaluate my entire world view now. I’m going to drop some stuff to make sure gravity really exists.

  40. 

    there is nothing like a good tater.. nothing. I share this love affair passionately and devishly as well

  41. 

    I have the same problem with crisps(think you call them potato chips?)

  42. 

    Potatoes, in any form (mashed, stuffed, baked, twice-baked, hashed, chipified, fried, scalloped, latke-ied, boiled, grilled, smashed, roasted) are the greatest things. Ever!

  43. 

    I could literally eat five pounds of mashed potatoes in a sitting. Of course, I won’t be able to take a shit for a week, but it’s worth it.

  44. 

    Might as well spread the mashed potatoes on my thighs. They are going to end up there anyway.

  45. 

    I thought about responding about the once were some spuds from Nantucket, but then again …. kudos for the great disguise! Hope you had a good Thanksgiving.

  46. 

    It has to be said that this was one of Raleigh’s better finds. Certainly better than bringing back the burning leaf cancer sticks :)

    I’m a carb-aholic, so I love them.

    Cheers!

    • 

      Very true, Nigel. It makes me wonder what the reaction was in England when the first potatoes were planted there. As far as I’m concerned, potatoes are right up there with the wheel, fire, and the steam engine, among the best things ever to happen to mankind.

  47. 

    I have that reaction to mashed potatoes too. But, it has to be my mom’s with her gravy.

  48. 

    To quote a famous blogger, “The heart wants what the heart wants.”
    … and the stomach, too.

  49. 

    That’s the trouble. One moment you’re having his fritters, the next you’re spud-bashing…

  50. 

    Wanton slattern! Yeah, I know this post is really about smooshed taters, but I don’t get to call people ‘wanton slatterns’ ever, really.

  51. 

    There is something fundamentally wrong with you.
    In the best possible way.

  52. 

    Mashed potatoes are good for you – high in potassium and a good source of fibre. Don’t blame the potatoes really it isn’t their fault…it is his cute creamy side-kicks of butter and sour-cream. Damn their creamy seductive goodness! Now I am craving an afternoon rendezvous with sour cream…mmm just one little quick chip-dip with maybe a little double-dipping when no-one is looking!

    • 

      I’m not going to lie to you, Merlin–potatoes and butter are a combo I can’t resist. I had a midnight tryst with them last night, in fact. If loving it is wrong, I don’t want to be right.

      • 

        For me the best is thin sliced potatoes drizzled with olive oil and gently tossed with salt and pepper for a little spicy fling…then eagerly spread flat on a baking sheet.
        Get your oven all hot and toasty and pop those little devils in for some roasting delight. (450 for 15-20 minutes until lightly browned…oh heaven. I am drooling on my keyboard…)

  53. 

    Tried falling in love with celery sticks and apples. No such luck. I’m only wooed by things covered in butter and calories.

  54. 

    Don’t we all have that ONE booty call. Mouthgasms are hard to reject. I always end up calling on some really nasty ones around 1 am after one too many beers.

  55. 

    That was a bloody fabulous piece of writing!

  56. 

    French Onion Dip (sour cream) and potato chips!!! I’m drooling just thinking about the creamy, oniony, salty pleasure of it all. O-h-h-h-h-h…. You wicked bitch! (not really) Nikki

  57. 

    I’m like this with cupcakes. I had to start sharing otherwise I’d eat all 24 myself if I could.

  58. 

    Oh my god Weebs I love you for posting this!!! Too good.

  59. 

    Oh, Madame Weebles. It was all over for me as I read “My delicious, buttery master”.
    I had to read your post twice. Then I just sat back and breathed deeply until my fingers stopped quivering. And now, all I can think of is having my own mouth-wateringly, creamy revelation. But I have to be patient for others to come home and help me prepare it. And that hours away! No fair … I want mine NoW!!!

    Maybe I’ll just keep re-reading to pass the time. And live vicariously through you.*sigh*

    • 

      Hello, mightwar!! Welcome!! Thank you so much for your comment—the potatoes, they are seductive. I’m still dreaming about my mashed potato orgy. It was so bad, and so good.

      • 

        OK now you’re just torturing me. The wife has been delayed at work due to a crisis, so I now have to wait until tomorrow to fulfill my mashed potato fantasy. This week shall see us united. One way or another, that bowl of buttery goodness shall be mine!

  60. 

    LOL! I thoroughly enjoyed you “making sexy-time” with the mash!
    I’m sure Its Nice. ;)

  61. 

    Genius. Just genius. I clicked with the expectation of sex. But stayed for the potatoes.
    Jen & Tonic recommended I check you out and boy am I glad she did. I can see why you made the daily post panel.

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  1. A tryptophan-induced coma leads to Three-Layered Oreo Fudge « vyvacious - November 27, 2012

    [...] in all sorts of sinful food comas after devouring these little babies.  In fact, it reminded me on Madame Weeble’s healthy indulgence with an occasional booty call (of mashed [...]

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