To Feed and Be Fed
originally published jan 23 2021
You answer my open mouth with generosity: a finger capped with a perfect raspberry, slipped delicately onto my tongue. As I greedily close my lips around it, I graze your finger, slow to withdraw. The sensation of skin and berry, seed and wet, is markedly more sensual than simply feeding myself raspberries (my favorite of the berry family). The act of giving, of taking, adds a layer of intimacy to the process, whereby eating is suddenly the most erotic of acts. All this, without even the gentle finger suckling some of us are so prone to, without the twinkling tightrope of spit gleaming between tongue and hand. Here, in the act of feeding, we are joined by a combined need for nourishment. The sour explosion on my tongue is all the more heightened by its delivery, which then triggers an involuntary moan, setting my eyes into sultry pockets that look at you with renewed hunger, which then stirs your appetite – both for food and for me, your face becoming an open plate, an endless possibility for feasting.
What other eroticisms can one experience via the process of feeding? Or to be fed? What intimacies exist? And what of love? Many of us are familiar with the love languages: words of affirmation, acts of service, receiving gifts, quality time, and physical touch. Most of us have a favorite, or a combination of favorites, and the way we like to receive love is not always the same as the way we like to give love. These categories are broad, and for good reason; most specific desires or interests can be compartmentalized into one of these options. Providing food for your loved one can probably be categorized as an act of service, or a gift, for the most part. But I am particularly interested in feeding or being fed as its own, specific love language, one that is both an act of service and something else: a caretaking rooted in deep intimacy and attention. I am deliberately not speaking of feeding as in a feeder fetish, which can be loosely defined as a fetish that revolves around one person feeding another for sexual arousal, and often specifically to make the “feedee” gain weight. I am speaking, rather, of an act born of love, and not tied to sexual arousal. Although feeding your lover fruit by hand can certainly be arousing, this is not the focus, and that arousal is a byproduct of the generosity given, not the food itself.
To Feed:
I have long found deep satisfaction in feeding my loved ones. This shows up in familial, friendship, and romantic relationships. This is one of my favorite acts of care, to the point that I can find it difficult to provide sustenance for myself alone when I don’t have anyone to share it with. The act of enjoying a meal is also amplified tenfold when done with good company. It is not often that I might invite a friend over to my home without offering a meal automatically. I wave off protestations of inconvenience swiftly; it is never inconvenient to make sure my people are fed. When there is no food to easily make, it is my pleasure to treat my friends and lovers to meals. I strive to live in a place of financial comfortability wherein I can make sure that I and the people around me can always be sure they will eat well.
For many of us who often find ourselves in caretaking roles anyway, this may be a given. But there is a special satisfaction in the act of providing sustenance. For others, acts of service or care may more often take the form of cleaning, errand-running, bathing, beautification, etc. It is not in my nature to be as forthcoming with these other offerings, though I am happy to help anyone around me with these things should I be asked. As a person whose life has revolved around food for many years, this is my most practiced love language. Growing up, I was blessed with a household fortunate enough to be able to feed me fresh, home cooked meals, with parents that both enjoyed and were skilled at cooking. I grew up in a culturally diverse place where I was exposed to many cuisines at a young age. I was able to expand my palate easily, and I did so eagerly. As I grew older, I began experimenting with my own cooking, and found joy in creating dishes with partners. Creating together was a form of reciprocal care and an expression of love. Not only did it build in time together to connect, but the resulting bounty was a shared product of that time, real-time evidence of our connectedness.
Despite my life-long love of food (and perhaps, in part, because of it), I have not always had a healthy relationship with it. It seems funny to talk about having an unhealthy relationship with something we need to live, but unfortunately, it’s not even uncommon. In fact, it’s almost tediously boring how common it is for people (especially women) to have complicated relationships with food and feeding ourselves. The act of cooking together, therefore, with a partner who also had a complicated relationship with feeding themself, was a way that we ensured that each other was taken care of. We could not avoid the need to feed ourselves if we were insistent on doing it together, for one another.
The way I often show this form of care is by cooking for others, though I am also prone to gifts: small treats I pick up along the way for my loved ones. Some of us may be familiar with this particular desire, to bring our favorite people little trinkets and gifts from our journeys (whether they be long travels or simply crossing town), not unlike a crow arriving at your doorstep with small bones, shiny coins, gnarled branches. I fall into the camp of bringing my favorite people gifts, but they are most often food-related. Croissants and donuts for my lover when I slip out to get us coffee; my roommate’s favorite candy when I happen to see it on my usual errand runs; fresh bakery bread for my non-sweet-toothed (note: unrelatable) family member. I delight in their faces when they discover a small surprise, a little love note in the form of a pastry. It is one of my favorite things to tell someone: You’re on my mind, even when you’re not around, and as proof, I brought you this.
To Be Fed:
Oh, but to be taken care of! Is there any such greater luxury? What more evidence could I want that someone loves me than by their display that they really, really want me to stay alive? Trinkets and clothing and money are all fine and well, but an offering of food brings me the deepest joy. When my lover buys us food without hesitating, without asking for my contribution, simply to make sure we are taken care of and nourished: this is my happy place. When a friend knows I am getting cranky and irritable and brings me a snack without me having to ask, this is love. To see me, to know me, to know my weak points and soft spots, and to address my needs like this shows a level of attentiveness that feels like an honor.
I am known for doing a little happy dance when I am presented with food while ravenous, but I am just as liable to do it in regular circumstances if the experience, plate, or company are particularly exquisite. I revel in tasting. It does not take much to please me – though I do have preferences. Meals must have multiple components, textures, and flavors. Meals, unless a novelty item, must have something green and/or nutritious. But I am happy to have a standard favorite as much as I am to try something new. The coconut steam of tom kha from my favorite Thai place brings a warm satisfaction, while the experimental mushroom dish at the modern vegetarian bistro that just opened allows me to expand my palate and senses. A torn hunk of fresh sourdough (toasted, butter, salt) lights me up as much as the most tender, creamy saffron risotto. I find the experience of eating, and being fed, incredible arousing in its own right.
The Act
The act of actually placing food into each other’s mouths, feeling the slip of fingers across lips, is obviously incredibly erotic when contextualized in this intimacy. For some, this type of playful interaction might be kind of gross or off-putting; eating chewed food out of someone’s mouth generally sounds weird and not super sexy. But then again… kissing with the taste of macerated berries on our tongues, feeling the sour and warm and sweet colliding… It’s not not sexy.
Even if someone is just lifting a fork to your mouth because they so eagerly want you to experience that bite is such a tender, generous act of love – especially if they’re offering the best bite: the center of the cinnamon roll, the bite that has every component on the plate, the pizza slice tip with the extra glob of cheese. Someone sacrificing this best bite for me brings so much joy I feel childish, but of course I do. How often are we fed by another outside of childhood? The feelings of care, responsibility, and nourishment are all triggered by this simple motion. My inner child feels safe when all I must do is open my mouth and receive a gift.
What might it feel like to share a meal with someone in which every bite is given by the other? Where each surrenders control in favor of trusting the other to provide, continuously? To chew slowly, savoring each exquisite moment at the hand of a loved one? The pacing of a meal like this might be excruciatingly slow, or frustrating if you have a particular way of eating. So many of us have habits about how we like our food to touch or not, perhaps which direction we eat on a plate, or what order we like to experience temperatures and textures. What would it feel like to place that trust in another, to feed us how we would feed ourselves, but without physical control? Of course, consent, vocal guidance, and preferences should still be discussed and taken into account. With all of that in mind, how might we surrender the lifting of our own hand, and let someone else care for our nourishment? What a gift this could be to each other and ourselves.
Coming Together
I have enjoyed many meals with clients; talking and savoring over something delicious has enabled us to bond via an activity that requires no touch. This doesn’t mean flirtation doesn’t appear, or intense concentration on each other’s lips, eyes, hands, resulting in kinetic anticipation that we act on later. However, I’ve yet to have an intentional date with one where we take the time to really feed each other, whether with our hands or our forks. I am a big fan of cheese and fruit plates, where everything can be consumed without the use of utensils, and have lately been fantasizing about a date where we take a full, luxurious hour to just play with our food. Feed me a grape while I feed you a slice of sharp cheddar, or a creamy dollop of brie on a cracker. Blindfold each other and chew slowly, trying to guess distinct ingredients and spicing, delighting in all the way the textures come alive when one of our senses is removed. Perhaps we take it a step further, leaving lickable edibles on various parts of our bodies,to be found and ravished thoughtfully by the other...the options are endless. If this sounds curious or appealing to you, please reach out and express your interest! I would be thrilled to talk more about this topic with like minded individuals.
Enjoyed this blog? Feel free to leave a tip via CashApp - $succubuns :)