​The first lap dance I ever gave was to a man with no lap, while the bouncer coached me through it. And yes I got paid for this ludicrous arrangement, and even was tipped rather generously.

You heard me correctly. 

John* had volunteered to “take one for the team” as he said with a guffaw. He was ancient, having a good fifty years on my not even twenty-one year old baby stripper self. 

A gnome of a man, he was barely my height without my heels on (I’m a quarter inch shy of 5’4”) and waddled when he walked. His eyes were squinty looking under the layers of bloated fat resting on his face. And his belly protruded so greatly, that when he sat down, there was no place I could sit.

I looked at Walter*, the tall pony-tailed bouncer in horror. As I struggled not so gracefully into my lap dance shorts (there were rules about coverage at this club), I declared in the loudest stage whisper  “there’s nowhere for me to sit!”

​Chocolate. Aphrodisiac of the ages. Divine. Inviting. Deeply luxurious in all of its forms. At least, it used to be.

Like so much else in modern day culture, this timeless pleasure has been perverted from its most elegant, sensual of states, into something pedestrian - dare I say vulgar - in present day adulteration of its previous richness. Inflated ratios of sugar misguide the senses from indulgence into addictive craving. Generally eaten in a ravenous rush, chocolate no longer evokes the same  tantalizing “languish and enjoy me” mood as it did in the past.

Sounds a lot like the way many people approach bedroom matters nowadays. From first approach to consumption, chocolate is now less appreciated and more snatched at, much like the progression from dating to coupledom. We are forgetting the art of seduction whether in the kitchen or in the bedroom, and if not addressed now, will soon lose our ability to embrace true joie de vivre.