Connections. That was the name of a show that I remember seeing a few years ago on the History Channel (or maybe Discovery, who knows). It was hosted by an English gentleman and dealt with the unexpected chains of events that lead to discoveries through the ages. One of the ones that I remember was a connection from frogs to the space shuttle. In any case, human history is littered with discoveries that came about in ways that wern't necessarily intended at the beginning. It is even the case that experiments that were deemed to be failures (because they didn't achieve the experimenter's initial objectives) were resurrected after the results were analyzed to see what they actually did end up with.
I guess that is an incredibly long way of saying that what we intend sometimes strays greatly from the end result. Often that is bad. More rarely, serendipity kicks in and the result ends up far better than ever intended. Such is the case with "The sandwich of insane greatness"
The sandwich started out very simply. I was on a business trip to England. Through some inexperience in international travel, and a bit of flying by the seat of my pants, I ended up spending a night in a "hotel" in Earls Court in London. The business portion, that occurred in another section of the country, was over, and we decided to spend a couple of days in London before we went home.
I don't remember how we ended up in Earls Court. I think we asked someone where might be a halfway inexpensive place to stay in London. We got of the Underground and wandered around until we found a street that appeared to have several houses that had been converted to lodging establishments.
My room happened to be in the house next door to the office. I was on the first floor, and I believe that I was lucky in that my room had both a private toilet and a shower. Otherwise, the room was barely big enough for the twin bed that occupied it. It served its purpose, however, as a safe and relatively inexpensive place to rest my head for the night or two that we were there.
The next morning, I returned my rented TV remote control to the office and went to find some breakfast. Outside of the underground station and across the street, there was a bakery. That is where I met the grandfather of "The sandwich of insane greatness". It was listed as a Bacon Bap, I believe.
For those of you unfamiliar with this creation, as I was, it is simplicity itself. It is pretty much just a pile of bacon on, in this case, a small baguette. It was devastatingly delicious.
The fact that I hadn't been exposed to such a creation before then really calls into question my upbringing. I blame my parents, the public school system, and the state of Iowa (where I grew up). You would think that the state that produces the most pork in the entire world would probably try to promote such a creation. It should be on the school lunch menu once a week, for God's sake. Surely one of them should have taken on the responsibility of applying bacon to bread product and feeding it to me.
I had certainly had bacon on sandwiches, but never a bacon sandwich on it's own merit. Please do not broach the subject of the ever-popular Bacon, Lettuce and Tomato sandwich. The fact that lettuce and tomato figure so prominently even in the name indicates that bacon is not the true focus of the sandwich. If you want proof of that, the next time you order one have them hold the lettuce and tomato and see if you don't get a funny look.
I brought the "recipe" back home with me and prepared one for my wife. She wasn't too impressed. I think part of it was the fact that American bacon and English bacon are entirely different things. They are cured differently, and the English bacon was a lot more like what I would call ham. More meatly, less fat. I was actually fortunate that the baguette had recently become reliably available at local groceries. Such exotic bread stuffs weren't available when I was a child (except maybe in that bakery in the snooty mall on the north side of town that we didn't go to)
I didn't let the fact that it wasn't quite the same slow me down. I consumed many of them of the next few years. I yearned to share the experience with my soul mate, however. So I started tinkering. What resulted, after two or three generations, was "The sandwich of insane greatness". It also started a chain of events that I would have found hard to believe that morning in London while I munched on my first Bacon Bap.
From time to time I would present the latest iteration to my wife. Each time the response was pretty much the same. "That's good." or something equally bland. Hmmmf. I would think about it some more and try again later.
Then it happened. She took a bite and her eyes popped open.
"Wow." she said with her mouth still full, "This is great!"
I had never seen my wife "snarf" a sandwich before, but that one had the stuffing snarfed out of it. It was a success. I had my masterpiece. I had made an end of my Sistine Chapel work. I had finished my "Big Dig". It was the seventh day. I rested.
As we were getting ready for bed that evening, my wife informed me that she would like to take some of that sandwich to work with her for their upcoming potluck. It wasn't a big deal to make, but I wanted to play hard to get, so to speak.
"What's in it for me?"
"Oh, I don't know. I'm sure I can come up with something."
At that she reached over and unzipped my fly, fished out my cock and dropped to her knees in front of me. She sucked my entire cock into her mouth. That would normally be pretty impressive, but my cock had no idea that he was going to get any action that evening, was totally unprepared. He was able to adapt to the situation quickly and soon began to harden.
I was probably at least as shocked as he was. I remember hearing Ray Romano doing a stand up routine once in which he was making light of how much sex he didn't get now that he had been married for a while. If I remember correctly, he said that if he and his wife had sex, he knew that the next day, he needed to go vote. If his wife performed oral sex on him, he needed to go renew his driver's license the next day. With me, it would be more like I would bowl a 300 game (I don't bowl more that once or twice a year), or I would find a stack of $100 bills in the gutter. Any of those three events are possible, but they are very unlikely to happen.
It didn't take me too long to recover and I received a thoroughly enjoyable blow job from my wife. I let her continue for a while, but I didn't want to force her into the decision of whether she wanted me to cum in her mouth or not, so after a while, I pulled her gently up and pulled her against me in a long deep kiss as I stared to undress her. We continued from that point pretty much as we would have normally. I kissed my way down her body and ate her pussy until she started to cum. Then I positioned my still hard cock at the entrance to her pussy and began to push in. I wanted to tease her a bit more, so I just pushed in about half way and stayed their for just a bit. She moaned and tried to pull me in deeper. In response, I pulled slowly out before diving back between her legs and eating her again.
I positioned myself at her entrance again and pushed halfway in. This time she growled and wrapped her legs around me. This time she succeeded in her endeavor and pulled me to full depth. She groaned in pleasure as I bottomed out.
She continued her orgasm that I had begun orally, and soon drove me to an intense orgasm of my own. I sent three or four spurts of my special sauce deep within her (sorry, I couldn't resist).
We then collapsed together into bed and slept the sleep of two long married people who had just had wonderfully exhausting sex.
I woke to puzzling, but pleasant memories of the previous evening and a gently snoring wife. I kissed her gently and she reflexively swatted me away from her face. I quietly slipped from the room to get ready for work.
I thought little of the events leading up to our unexpected night of passion as I readied the sandwiches for her potluck a few days later. She seemed almost excited as she bundled them up and took them with her. Must be my imagination.
She returned the next morning (she works overnight) with rave reviews of my sandwich. It was a hit. Just a tip, it never hurts to butter up your wife's coworkers. They don't really believe your wife when they have their nights of complaining about their husbands.
Two days later I received a call from one of my wife's coworkers. She asked me if I could make some sandwiches for her daughter's graduation party later that month. I didn't figure it would be a problem. She'd give me some money to buy the ingredients and I'd cook them at her house so I wouldn't even have to clean up. No big deal as far as I was concerned, so I said I would.
When I next saw my wife, I told her about Abby's (her coworker) request. Her eyes narrowed.
"She asked you to make sandwiches?" she asked.
"Yes. I'm off that weekend so I didn't figure it was a big deal." I replied.
"Let me think about it." she said as walked away.
I was again left in a somewhat puzzled state.
"Alright." she said later that evening.
"You can make sandwiches for Abby."
"Thank you m'lady" I responded with a mock bow. "I'll try not to embarrass Her Majesty and the realm"