Meat Man

Food or sex?

A hot and steamy hairy-chested Italian or a gorgeous plate of melt-in-your-mouth prosciutto?

'Tis is the question that plagues millions of women around the world.

Both can make your eyes roll back in your head, but let's face it, the prosciutto is more likely to give me an orgasm. The problem: prosciutto can't give me the post-coital cuddle.

Now imagine if you could have both.

Enter the best Italian deli/restaurant in all of Manhattan. Sure, I am biased. Their 24-month prosciutto is to-die-for. (So good it's only sold at 7 places in the United States.) And the guy at the meat counter... HOTTEST. MAN. ALIVE.

For those of you who have recently become a Meat Man follower, you know what I'm talkin bout. For those of you who haven't, let's just say I've gained some prosciutto pounds getting my flirt on.

I've made all kinds of excuses to drop by and order a half-pound of this, a half-pound of that. I've had dinner parties, packaged meat as gifts (don't act like you didn't like it), even taken aSixteenDate there. All to see the Meat Man.

And this week, after weeks of flirting and snickering about his mouth-watering sausage, I got the digits.

Which means I am one step closer to what is sure to be the most orgasmic experience of my life. (Picture hot steamy sex with prosciutto dangling from... or don't. Hate for you to lose your appetite.)

Anyway, it turns out Meat Man is a personal chef. Yeah, get jealous.

For the first time in my life, I'm thrilled that my kitchen is five feet from my bed.

Bring on the prosciutto.

P.S. This is likely to trump the time I lured the pizza guy into returning after his late-night shift to deliver a free pizza and some hot action. And no, that's not a porn but the start of one of my favorite college romances. Loves ya Mario!