Chocolat

Whilst an abhorrent cliche it is none the less accurate and will therefore serve as illustration. I can long for, crave, desire, lust over chocolate, arguably to obscene proportions. A part of myself delights in the delicate torture of denial, but upon eventually succumbing I find it hollow and disappointing; its texture grates on my teeth, its mastication, be it carnal crunching or the sensual sucking results in an unpleasant film on my teeth and its aftertaste is simply vile. I wonder if this is how it is with sex?

Italian lace topped stockings with seams up the back, black satin bra, matching french knickers, black silk slip, red lips and abstinence.

There are times when giving something up focuses ones mind on it so absolutely that you'd believe it were forbidden, not free choice. Fascination with the forbidden goes all the way back to the garden and is completely understandable; for desires to remain longed for they have to be illusive, almost unobtainable, once one gets what they've desired it swiftly becomes mundane, and is subsequently cultivated or supplanted by a new 'want'. What eludes me is how this principle has applied itself so rigidly to a matter of choice, of self control?