The "Pancake-O-Meter" of good play

I was in my early teens before I discovered the joys of central heating. See, back on the farm I grew up on we only used a mammoth wood stove to heat our home. I must have been 12 or 13 before I discovered that other people had these funny little boxes on the wall that you turned the dial and it got warmer. Back in those days, when my grandfather would come to visit, he would always make a huge fire. Overloaded with freshly split hunks of pine, the great wrought iron beast would roar till the top was just shy of glowing. In protest, we would always have to open the front door of the house to let in some cold air, save we all wither from the heat… or spontaneously burst into flame. My granddad always laughed at this, calling the front door, “the only measure of a good fire that really mattered”. Meaning that in his mind, it just was not a really good fire till you had to open the front door.

What the hell does this have to do with pancakes? Good question. A top can throw a good scene and enjoy the response they get from their bottom. Sure, you can enjoy the effect of whatever devious delight you are subjecting them to, but the really good scenes are the ones that when it is all said and done, when they are starting at you with a sort of dazed expression and a slightly off kilter smile, and they announce “god damn do I want pancakes now!”

That, that dear reader is the mark of true success.

Diner booths make for some excellent post care, sipping coffee and enjoying the late night feast of food that you would never think of eating when the sun was up. That stack of pancakes with a side of hash browns so large it threatens to engulf most of plate, is the best damn tasting food in the world. Smirk if you will, but there is something really gratifying about watching someone you just played with devour a meal with gusto and genuine hunger. Reminds you that what we do is physically intense and when done right, the hours feel like minutes and you end up throwing your entire self into the play till you are near exhaustion.

Of course you could say that this is just the ramblings of an egotistical top, smug in the knowledge that they wore their partner out.

This could be the case, if I did not know the power of pancakes first hand. See, I do switch on occasion. Recently during a much-needed lost weekend with my lover, Matisse, I returned to the land of bottoming after what had been a long, long time. Why so long you ask? A million reasons, none of them worth going into, but suffice to say I really, really needed to get my ass full and righteously kicked, hard. And kick it she did.

In the pre-dawn hours as we wandered into her kitchen, I was more stumbling in a daze really while she waltzed about with a wickedly satisfied grin, in search of post play nourishment. Sure we could go out, find some all night diner, maybe even a late night pizza.
“Pancakes, dude I must have pancakes..” Was all I could say.
Rifling through the cupboards till we found all the required components, even peanut butter (yes I am weird like that). I set about to make breakfast.

Let me just say, dear reader, that those were the best-damned tasting pancakes I have ever eaten. If god himself were to come down on high with a golden spatula and used unicorn milk in the batter, they would not come close. Yes, pancakes the perfect post scene food and the mark of really good play. How good you ask?
Well no sooner were the plates cleared when I, looking a bit more like a human, said to my lover, “You know that one thing you did with the thing…”
“Oh yeah, that was fun!” She responds with a wicked laugh.
“Let’s do that again.”
“Sure lover, anytime”
“How about now?”
“Oh really?”, she says raising an eyebrow, “perhaps we should leave the pancake mix out for later… just in case.”

Behold the power of pancakes, the only measure of a good scene that really matters.