The Porno Equivalency

I looked at the screen.

I looked at d.

I looked at the screen again.

"Y'know the next time you're even a little bit horny?" I said. Her eyes bulged in surprise.
"I'm gonna run out and buy some porn and make you watch it, right to the very very end!"

"Ex-cuse me?!" she asked, not without reason.

"Payback!" I said. "For all the times we sit down hungry, and then watch food being lovingly, wondrously prepared...in high definition! By masters! By accomplished professionals in their art, no less!"

At the time, we were watching Iron Chef America. There were goat's cheese tarts and tortellini, there was lobster poached in butter, there was some frankly freakin' weird fish that stalks the bottom of ponds giving dirty looks to all the other pond life getting its comeuppance good and proper...and there were desserts that I would personally have hacked a hobo in two just to get my grubby little sugar-craving mitts on.

"Ah," she said, then had the good grace to laugh. "Hungry dear?" she asked, innocently.

"I'M NOT SODDING SURE ANYMORE!" I yelled, flumping on the couch and realising precisely why one should never flump after walking 15 miles if one wants to have hips in the morning.
"I have some biological impulse, but right at this precise moment, I'm not a hundred percent sure where it's located!" I explained. She was laughing at me openly now.

"I'm not entirely unconvinced I don't want to eat your food and fuck Jamie Oliver!"

"I'm sure you'll be very happy together," she smirked.

"Flash me!" I demanded, crazed with some bodily desire of which I wasn't entirely certain. "Flash me now, woman, for I am Man and I have spoken!"

She pursed her lips.

"How about I make you a bacon and egg sandwich instead?" she compromised.

"Close enough!" I said, and off she went, to unlock the Good Bacon the secret coded vault in which she hides it.