Love, Loss, and What to Wear?

Breaking off a passionate love affair.

by Lee Ann “Sunny” Brown 


I have fallen madly in love all over again. It’s all I can think about, as it always happens when you are in the throes of new love. I’m not sure if it is love or just lust, but it is the real thing. Although this isn’t my first time, it feels like the first time each time I surrender myself to pleasure; a stolen glimpse, the tingling sensation of anticipation as I ever so slowly remove all the outer layers that lie between me and my fulfillment. I know I shouldn’t be doing this, that it’s an unhealthy relationship, especially when I become obsessed and overindulge. I made promises to people I care about. I said I wouldn’t let this happen ever again, and now, in a moment of weakness, I gave in.

I really do feel bad that I am cheating. Cheating on myself most of all, sneaking around trying not to get caught, like a thief in the night. Creating all kinds of secret hiding places to sneak off and enjoy a quick nibble or even just to inhale a whiff of the intoxicating scent that brings a rush of excitement through my entire body. I know I am particularly weak and vulnerable for a late afternoon delight. I actually feel myself trembling with anticipation for the moment when I will finally be able to satiate my desire. There’s also the panic that sets in when I think I heard someone—there would be a wild attempt to try and hide my indiscretion and pretend everything was normal. I’d give a feeble attempt at pretending that I was just coming out of the kitchen, office, or bedroom looking for something, my face flushed, my breath giving me away, and my hands trembling with fear, shame, and embarrassment, trying to wipe away any tell-tale signs of my indiscretion. In reality, I know, and they know, and I know that they know that I know: I was really giving in to the dark side of myself.

I thought that I had become very clever with my hiding places all around the house, in my closet, in my car and my purse, anywhere I could have an undisturbed moment to myself. And then, that feeling of regret that sets in immediately afterwards. Well, not immediately. I do enjoy the aftertaste that lingers on the lips and breath for a few precious moments after such a pleasurable experience. But as I come crashing down from that sugar high, as I inevitably do, I must have it yet again, and I begin hungrily licking my fingers to see if there is any hint left, any taste of the decadence left behind. I am addicted to it like a lover, and I must have it! I can’t live without it, not even for one day.

I know myself, and I know that too often, I have a tendency to go all the way, to carry things too far, not knowing when to stop. Passion can be a scary emotion, making you feel things intensely, and I will tell you, I much prefer the intensity of the dark, of the sensuous sensation of warmth in my mouth sliding ever so slowly down my throat. It’s not for everyone, but I find it gives me the most pleasure.

Whatever some people might think of my other vices, I have always had good taste when it comes to this. Even my husband respects me for it. But, it costs you. This is not a cheap love affair. You get what you pay for, always. There is no faking it. I can’t get into cheap substitutions, tacky plastic wrapping, or waxy milk chocolate. Only the sinful decadence of very dark chocolate does it for me. And I am willing to pay an obscene amount for it. I am embarrassed by how much I am willing to hand over to enjoy myself.

Of course, there is always a price to be paid for one’s guilty pleasures. And that time has come for me. I must face what this fooling around has cost me—and it’s not pretty. It’s time to get tough with myself, to take an honest look at what my secret love has done to me. I see it when I look in the mirror, the extra weight I am carrying around from too many late night rendezvous. I lost my self control, and now it’s time to lose something else; it’s time to lose those extra pounds that my love of dark chocolate has put on me, to be held accountable for my actions, and to do something about it. It’s all so bittersweet.

But, first, I must figure out what to wear to rid myself of this problem lover. I need a new wardrobe to encourage myself to get on that treadmill. One cannot just throw on any old thing and head out the door. I need to go shopping, especially for shoes—the shoe is crucial in helping you accomplish your goals. It’s having the right shoe that will give you the motivation to go for that run, walk, dance, or ZUMBA!

All that pleasure and a new pair of shoes. Oh chocolate, you’re too good to me.

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