I am making stuffed grape leaves tonight. The smell of the rice and lamb with mint and lemon takes me back to my mother's kitchen in Baghdad. It is a comfort... but sometimes the comfort feels lonely. Sometimes I wish I could share more than just the meal. I wish I were brave enough to invite someone over, to have them watch me cook, to let them taste my food from my fingers... to let them taste more. My body is soft and full, like the grape leaves, and I imagine a man's strong hands on my hips, pulling me against him while I work at the stove. I imagine his cock growing hard against my ass, his breath on my neck. I would let him lift my dress and take my wet pussy from behind, right there. To be filled like that, used like that, while doing something so simple and domestic... it is a powerful fantasy. But for now, it is just me, the food, and my thoughts. Alhamdulillah for the memories, at least.