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.
Fear No Weebles 
you and mashed potatoes, me and my Hostess cupcakes, which may be no more
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Oh, LouAnn, I know the pain you must be in with the potential demise of the Hostess cupcakes. These days I have a reasonably healthy relationship with Hostess cupcakes, but only after a tempestuous on-again, off-again for many, many years. Stay strong, my friend.
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I am in great pain – my son called me from college last week and told me to stock up
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Make your own! If you’re up for the challenge! I hope to post a fairly easy recipe in the future! 🙂
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good for you – I will be lookikng for it
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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)
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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.
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PMSL oh Weebles you do make me laugh! xx
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😀 I can laugh about it now, but last night, well, it was just so intense, you know what I mean??
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Oh I know…like me and crisps…it’s just too much for the senses to handle sometimes!
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Tragic and so true…And during the sacred holiday of Thanksgiving, no less!
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I know, Cathy. I had higher hopes for myself, but it didn’t happen.
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It could only be better if he could whisper sweet nothings in your ear with a thick sexy Russian accent….
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My personal kryptonite is the Irish accent—if those potatoes whispered to me with an Irish lilt, I’d constantly have my mouth open and become a full-blown potato whore.
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Most accents are very sexy in general…. Irish – definitely
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50 shades of tuber. So funny!
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You laugh, Red, but you might sing a different tune if you were to have seen how he treated me. He buttered me up to get me to trust him, and then and he whipped me into a frenzy.
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I’m surprised you can even type today!
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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!)
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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…
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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*
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You TRAMP.
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But it was French… I couldn’t help myself…
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I understand. We all have our Achilles heels, our kryptonite. It’s part of the human condition, Diane.
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mmmm…home-made and creamy with lots of butter….mmmm….
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You know it, Chica B. I was ready to roll around naked in those potatoes. So bad, and so good….
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I get it. I have an obsession with his brother, Chip. I wish I knew how to quit him.
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I’ve had some one-night stands with Chip too. He knows how good he is, too. That smug little bastard. No wonder you can’t quit him.
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You’ve given new meaning to the term ‘food porn’ 🙂
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And I feel so dirty now, sybaritica. So very, very, wonderfully dirty.
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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.
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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.
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it was alcohol that caused the broken jaw so it was only .
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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!
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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.
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Madame Weebles,
Too Lumpy? Too Garlicy?
Just tell him what you need…….he’ll change (probably).
RR
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RR, trust me, he has no flaws—quite the contrary. Hence my powerlessness against him. It’s just too dangerous for me to be around him, I lose control of all my faculties, what can I say.
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Perhaps we could kill him together……….it would cement our bond.
Scratch that – I’m strangling him now……..Madame microWavesees just dinged!
RR
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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
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I’m a cheap slut for any sort of potato. I’ll open my mouth wide for whatever tuber crosses my path. Anytime, anywhere.
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p.s. have you tried mashed potatoes made with cream cheese?
better than metchcrackorgasms
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Okay, here’s my deep dark reveal: I don’t like cream cheese.
I’ll shut up now.
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I don’t even know you right now.
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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.)
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You lucky, lucky soul. You HAVE to eat potatoes? Damn, that’s about the best medical treatment I can think of.
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Yup. It’s taken 40 years but there is something good for me to eat!
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Oh yes, the potato. Not as humble as people would think, but definitely versatile! I hope your strength stays with you.
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Not humble at all, faith—he struts his stuff and I can’t resist! 😉
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You’re not the only one… We have spuds on an almost daily basis around here, but some days are better than others. Roasted on a Sunday, oh my…!
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Have just shown this post to another Sister who fully appreciates the potato. She didn’t say “spudtacular” but did chuckle!!
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Those spuds. They’ve always got their eyes on you.
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AAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
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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
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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.
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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)
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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.
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*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…)
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Funny, that’s exactly how I felt last night with the potatoes, Sig.
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I can always count on you for a good chuckle. I love that you make me laugh and I appreciate your wit.
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Thanks Laurel/Lolly (which do you prefer?)—the potato orgy was totally worth the shame, in order to be able to share my story…
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Oh, yes. Oh, yes, Oh, yes. With real cream and butter melting, melting, melting. Just once more. 🙂
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Your comment has aroused my tastebuds, JM. It makes me want the potatoes again. Again and again and again.
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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.
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That’s heartbreaking. It truly is. I feel for you—abstinence may be the best solution, but it still sucks.
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It sucks out loud.
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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).
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You’re only human, Carl. Chocolate Ice Cream is a tough mistress to leave.
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You certainly put a new meaning into a passion for food!
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A white-hot passion, Lotta. I love me my potatoes…
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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.
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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.
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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…..
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Oooh, baby, I love it when you talk dirty.
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I know you do…. 😛
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You got me! Do you like them mashed or whipped better. I prefer whipped potatoes, so light so fluffy!
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I have to say I’m a mashed girl. I like it rough. 😉
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You probably would have loved my mother-in-law’s mashed potatoes. She used whipping cream instead of milk – they were so rich it was almost like eating dessert.
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I didn’t realize mashed potatoes were so good because they were bad. You taught me something.
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They’re the ultimate guilty pleasure, WWB.
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Potato money shot! (I love the “erotica” tag btw)
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You are the first/only person to notice that tag, Adam! You win the much-coveted Golden Spud award for that.
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SCORE
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You almost made me wet for fucking mashed potatoes? That’s low Weebly….really low. 😉 Happy Thanksgiving, my friend. xo
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Thank you, Mistress—what can I say, I don’t have quite the mad erotica skillz that you do. 😉
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Well Weebly…you were getting me going so it wasn’t that bad…;-)
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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…
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It WAS intense, Bumble. I’m still reeling, even 2 days later. And you get a Golden Spud for noticing the tags.
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I am utterly mashed after that torid read! Plass the gravy please?
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A man after my own heart, you are.
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Oh I just read it again…Plass lol. damn IPad!
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booTAY!!!! I love that guy too. He gets around. (the house!!!) seriously though…this was food porn.
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It sure was—erotic, dirty, sensual, beautiful, sleazy, and really, really fattening. So HOT.
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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.
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And how do you feel? Do you feel supremely, delightfully dirty, the way I do?
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Oh, you know it. Only I’m more the quiet type in my moments of ecstasy.
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I try to be quiet but I can’t help myself. I’m a loud moaner. TMI?
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From you? Never.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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You suck, Clown.
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Force feed him boiled-til-their-flavour’s-gone parsnips. He’ll get over his dislike of pototoes…
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there is nothing like a good tater.. nothing. I share this love affair passionately and devishly as well
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Those potatoes—they’re such sluts. They really get around.
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I have the same problem with crisps(think you call them potato chips?)
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Yup, crisps are our potato chips. I have the same problem with them too—that co-dependent, all-or-nothing relationship. It’s brutal, isn’t it??
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I can’t break free. Simply can’t…
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You’re just flesh and blood, Kate. Nobody can possibly judge you. You’re among friends here.
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Potatoes, in any form (mashed, stuffed, baked, twice-baked, hashed, chipified, fried, scalloped, latke-ied, boiled, grilled, smashed, roasted) are the greatest things. Ever!
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You KNOW it, girl!
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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.
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But you have Irina now. What more do you need?
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Better yet, I’ll eat the potatoes WHILE I’m with her. In and out.
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Perfect. That’s one-stop shopping at its finest.
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Might as well spread the mashed potatoes on my thighs. They are going to end up there anyway.
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Right? That’s how I feel too.
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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.
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Thanks, Frank—you too! I had a lovely 2009 Cab, btw.
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Wonderful! The brand?
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It was a Beaulieu Vineyards Coastal Estates Cabernet. A very nice, very reasonably priced wine. Jammier than some other cabs, not too tannic, very nice body.
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Many thanks … given your description, it seems one for me to try.
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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!
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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.
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You have to try english “chips” (like steak fires over here) with salt and vinegar in a sandwich. Butter the bread. It’s called a chip butty. Awesome.
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I LOVE English chips with vinegar. Love them. I’ve never had them in a sandwich, but I’m sure I’d love a chip butty too. I love bacon butties so I can’t see why chip butties would be any different.
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I have that reaction to mashed potatoes too. But, it has to be my mom’s with her gravy.
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Everyone has their own kink, Wanda. I totally get it. Your mom’s mashed potatoes and gravy must be spectacular.
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It is. I’ve told her that her grave stone will have the words “best mashed potoatoe and gravy maker” on it. She was not amused. Go figure.
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To quote a famous blogger, “The heart wants what the heart wants.”
… and the stomach, too.
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Hey, that sounds familiar! All of our organs want what they want, I guess….hearts, stomachs, the recreational organs….
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I have to add “recreational organs” to my list of favorite phrases.
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That’s the trouble. One moment you’re having his fritters, the next you’re spud-bashing…
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I can’t help it, Val, he makes me so crazy. First he arrives and butters me all up, and then afterwards he just sits there like a cold lump. The dizzying array of emotions…
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Well, obviously the chips are down…
Btw, I seem to have posted two comments by mistake yesterday – my ‘net connection died as I was posting one and I returned and something went wrong. I’m not sure what.
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Ha, the chips are down! Good one! I will delete one of the comments for you. WP gets wacky sometimes.
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Thanks. (Please delete the first ‘force feed’ one – that didn’t come out as planned!)
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Wanton slattern! Yeah, I know this post is really about smooshed taters, but I don’t get to call people ‘wanton slatterns’ ever, really.
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Sounds like you’re just not trying, Smak…
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I don’t often get called a wanton slattern, either (usually the language is a lot more coarse), so I’ll take it!
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There is something fundamentally wrong with you.
In the best possible way.
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You say the nicest things, Guap.
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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!
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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.
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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…)
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You dirty, dirty girl
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It’s true. I’m just a filthy, wanton tramp, covered in butter and globs of mashed potato. It hurts so good.
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Hot, steamy, buttery…
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You KNOW it, bro.
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Yes, I’m listening to Issac Hayes now, thankyouverymuch for the inspiration.
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What, no Barry White or Marvin Gaye?
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Neither of them had a record called Hot Buttered Soul (Stax, 1969).
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Good point.
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Tried falling in love with celery sticks and apples. No such luck. I’m only wooed by things covered in butter and calories.
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Hi Tori! Welcome! I feel your pain, I’ve tried to get into relationships with salads, apples, etc. It just doesn’t work. I like the bad boys too.
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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.
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“Mouthgasms”—I like this. Oh, yeah, I know the drunken nasty booty call. The beer goggles make all kinds of weird or nasty foods (or nasty food combinations) look good, don’t they?
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I don’t even want to think about some of the things I have put together.
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That was a bloody fabulous piece of writing!
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Many thanks! I’d also like to thank the mashed potatoes for being the Ultimate Muse…
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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
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You’re a gal after my own heart, Nikki—I’m a bitch for the chips & dip too. Go on, have some. You know you want to. 😉
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I’m like this with cupcakes. I had to start sharing otherwise I’d eat all 24 myself if I could.
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And now I’m headed over to your blog to check out what evil treat you’re offering today.
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Oh sweeeeeeet 😀
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Oh my god Weebs I love you for posting this!!! Too good.
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Are you like me, Mo? Do you share my weakness for the mashed potatoes?
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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*
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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.
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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!
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LOL! I thoroughly enjoyed you “making sexy-time” with the mash!
I’m sure Its Nice. 😉
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It’s SO NICE, 1Earth. Apologies for the delay in replying to this comment—I can only plead potato hangover/withdrawal…
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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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Well thank you, Mr. Smithson! Sorry about the tease. But that was sort of the point, wasn’t it. 😉
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Well played. You cock teasing mastermind!
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Why thank you, sir. Of course, this ain’t my first time to the rodeo.
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Yo Weebles! Just wanted to say thanks for that comment on my blog. You made my day.
Also – although my analysis has confirmed that this will lead to absolutely no new traffic for you – I have added a permanent link from my site to yours. My way of saying I love your work.
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