He’s made of Sugar and spice and all things nice. Tasty and hot, hard in all the right places, soft in the places you cling to and hold. Smells of warm cinnamon buns and wicked nights and looks like something you want to devour time and time again.

I’m addicted to him, the spice he adds to my life. I can’t get enough of his heat and his passion. He delights like an exotic curry on traditional British palate. It’s a little shocking, a little painful but you can’t help but go in for more. A revelation.

Adding zing to my life, hotting up the bedroom, bathroom—hell any room he’s in.  He is more precious to me than saffron, adding flavour to the blandness of my day, colour to my life. I love my spice man, with all my heart.