A Tale of Lust

I can resist everything except temptation.

oscar wilde

There you were, staring at me, naked invitation on your face. I innocently opened the freezer door, and you thrust yourself out in your full glory. You dared me to look away, knowing that I couldn’t, wouldn’t:

Oh, you seductress. You know me so well.

You are the most deadly sin for diabetics. You know how much I want you, how I long for your touch on my tongue, the taste of your sweet, sweet pleasure.

You’ve haunted my dreams for the last 25 days, you rich and creamy Jezebel. On January 4th, I gave you up—you and all your enticing friends with their own come-hither looks. I was done with you. I no longer wanted you in my life. I’m a diabetic cyclist, and you represent every evil thing to me. Not just a sugar spike, but weight gain. You promise nothing but empty calories and regret come morning.

Still, even though I know where the temptation will lead, I’m weak. A weak, pathetic man am I! Too often I succumb to your Siren’s call, you slinky Heath-en. My base instincts take over, and I wallow in your delights.

Afterwards, the regret I feel is real, yet it doesn’t stop me from failing the next time, like a boy who can’t keep his hand out of the cookie jar no matter how many times the ruler painfully whacks his knuckles.

Not this time!

This time, I’ll be strong. This time, I’ll consider the consequences before taking off your top.

I am strong. I am invincible.

I am cyclist.

I close the freezer door, walk out of the room. You call after me. Your words are muffled, but I hear them still, faint and clear: Come back to me. I miss you. Why are you ignoring me now… don’t you love me anymore?

The hurt in your voice stabs at me. You’ve been jilted, and I know who’s to blame. But I won’t let your aggrieved tone soften my resolve. I dare not fail again.

I pause between the kitchen and living room. A slight turn of the head. One little taste… what could the harm be?

I close my eyes, my resolve wavering. After all, I burn tons of calories every day on my bike. Don’t I deserve a little treat, a spoonful or two of paradise?

But even as I ponder the question, I know—know in my heart of hearts—that it won’t end there if I give in. And before you can say gran fondo, I’ll be back in your arms again, sending my heart and glucose soaring like eagles.

I walk away, once and for all. Your pleas fall on deaf ears. I’ve beaten you back, resisted your wiles, regained some self-respect.

I reach for a celery stalk. I’m at peace with myself.

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