As I normally do, I entered one of Janet Reid's 100 word contests, lost, and posted here on my blog for your amusement.
The five words to be included in the story:
The sweat caked with the powdered sugar against her leathery tanned skin, like white jelly spread thin over golden toast.
On the floor beside the bed lay a half-eaten swiss cake roll, smashed into the carpet, and a t-bone cooled on the nightstand which had proved useless.
As the carnal fever almost sated, I gazed with heavy lids down at the paper bag which hid her face. A stick-figured character drawn in red gel pen smiled up at me.
Our agreement was an echo in my mind.
“Food sex? With you? Okay, but on one condition…”