Fresh food is healthy

I love dawn. The world shrouded in suspended mystery and the early morning breeze running cold fingers up my skin. I don’t get goose-bumps though. Slowly as the sun rises, the sky looks the colour of a young woman’s blushing cheeks. I do like young women with blushing cheeks.

A blush is caused by blood rushing to the face and neck. It’s also the reason dawn with its blushing sky makes me particularly hungry. Breakfast, after all, is the most important meal in a day. My breakfast is usually the previous night’s leftovers. I did mention yesterday that I needed to drink… and eat.

I find it extremely interesting that even in the fictional rendition of vampires, humans cannot help but juxtapose their morality on to us. Vampires drink blood but leave the human body intact and undefiled. Apparently an intact dead body means a human’s soul can rest in peace.

It’s ironic how humans’ soul concerns are only when they die. When alive, most humans will live soulless lives full of greed, deceit, rape and murder. Like Austrian Josef Fritzl who for 24 years, kept his daughter in a dungeon and raped her. Or the Australian man who raped his step-daughter… and took videos and photographs.

I’ve never hurt a child. Humans eat their own. And yet they call vampires vile?

I needed the warmth last night and went to this swanky restaurant for dinner. I was wearing a white tee shirt with Tim Burton’s Corpse Bride printed on it, the neckline reaching right between my breasts and low-waisted leather pants. I love leather, it is dead skin after all. The restaurant sits on the beach and looks out to the bay. The bay looked beautiful; like a bride in a black wedding gown with twinkling lights for embroidery. Each time the bride walked there was music as the waves crashed gently on the shore.
There was a couple kissing on the beach, the water lapping at their ankles. She had her eyes closed, her body moulded into his, her fingers entwined in his hair, pulling his head down, tasting life in his mouth. He was grabbing her arse and had a hard on. I can’t ‘hear’ thoughts like Edward Cullen, but I can bloody well read body language. She hoped for love, he wanted a lay.

I had ordered steak, rare, of course. I don’t enjoy the taste of cooked food but I do enjoy the aroma. I can smell a food and name all the ingredients that have gone into it. I had taken my ‘dinner’ out to the restaurant’s deck and was still looking at the kissing couple – he was squeezing her now, one hand on the arse the other on her left breast – when this dumb-wit decided to pick me up.

“Food is best when eaten hot luv,” he smiled at me. Five feet eight inches, steroid-pumped muscles rippling under a tee shirt too tight, sleeves rolled up (in a tee?) to show off the guns and skinny jeans. I am prejudiced against men in skinny jeans. If he hadn’t tried to hit on me, I would have thought he was gay. The most interesting feature though was his blood-flushed face.

“What do you suggest I do?” I asked.
“Go somewhere warmer? My place is close,” he suggested.
We drove to his place; a designer apartment pretending to be a ghetto. I still find it hard to empathise with rich people and their sensibilities.
He poured a glass of champagne for me – think it’s his modus operandi – and asked if I wanted to wear shorts or something.
“Do you want to wear something comfortable while we chill?”
“Chill? I thought food is best when eaten hot?” I smiled. He looked confused; I laughed and blamed it on the bubbly.
“You’re a funny girl. I do like your leather pants though. Leather makes me wicked; I could do things to you, you’d never even imagined,” he promised. I smiled.
“So can I,” I said and showed him. He didn’t survive the experience.

Last night I had thigh fillet for dinner. I’ve just finished breakfast; liver pâté.