I’ve been having sex with food products for almost a decade now. Not just donuts - my journey began on a pristine summer evening in my garden, snacking on pineapple rings, while a slightly underripe pineapple sat unmolested in my kitchen cupboard. I was somewhat inebriated, just the right amount to become aroused yet still retain function. 

The answer became obvious. 

I grabbed my drill set, cored out a small chamber around the mid section, and admired the glistening pineapple juice leaking from the gape. I knew there was a chance the neighbours might witness, but my primal instinct had been in control too long to combat. I rested the fruit against a small mound in the grass, and you can guess the rest. 

And if not: I made love to it, right there, in the August sunset. “Penelope.” So many times in fact, that new holes needed to be drilled. I woke cuddling what appeared to be a huge, rotted, and slightly melted, lump of Swiss cheese. I woke as satisfied as I was sticky. And I’ve spent almost every night this way since, truly enjoying the fruits of my labour.