"Would you like me to do the pouring?" the waitress asked me before upending a small jug of white chocolate. Suddenly, I get a leap in the pit of my stomach.

I was at a restaurant with my family. Well, the local gastro pub. We were there for Sunday lunch. I'd just eaten a large plateful of roast chicken, pork and beef with stuffing, cauliflower cheese, roast spuds and a bottomless jug of gravy.

Everything is better with a bottomless jug of gravy, I'd opined. As always, I'm flirting with revealing my fantasies. They think that I'm talking about food, and I am. But I'm also talking about play. I'm texting a potential dom under the table, telling him about the gravy. Hoping that he's thinking what I'm thinking. Play is always better with gravy and I know that he likes to punish me with savoury food.

We get to pudding. I order a chocolate bomb. I hadn't thought this through. And now the waitress is pouring a jug of white chocolate over the hard chocolatey shell. I feel myself slipping away. I've been that chocolate bomb so many times: with a play partner pouring the substances on me that make me melt into a gooey pile and unveiling the soft substance within.

The chocolate from the chocolate bomb and the white chocolate from the pouring sauce are combining, running around the plate, and the bomb has finished melting. And I look up, trying to hide my awkwardness but with a profound sense that I've just been staring into the mirror to my kinky soul.