It was a hot summer's day, in July of 1966, and Paula Deen was hosting her cooking show like she did every Saturday. Everything appeared to be normal from the outside, but little did the audience know that before the show, during breaks, and after the show, Paula had a salty secret.

As the lights shut off and Paula could hardly see her kitchen, she turned slowly on her heel and walked back to her dressing room. A long day of filming, being surrounded by butter made her shudder. No, I can control myself. I have my own butter, she told herself. Anticipation flooded her body. The heat radiated off of her. Quickly and loudly, she made her way down the halls and opened the familiar door. Paula needed to get to her fridge. She made the stretch of the tiny room to where the mini fridge sat. Opening the door slowly, she moaned softly and grabbed the salted butter from the top shelf. The salted butter had kick that non salted couldn't compare to.A few moments in the microwave later, the butter was the perfect tenderness. Her jeans and panties were off in no time. With shaky fingers, Paula unwrapped the paper that was keeping her from true pleasure.

The couch was her favorite place. It gave the right amount of comfort and propped her up in the fashion most suitable for this sort of job. Very little did she mind that this action would give her even more vaginal acne. She had grown used to this. Very interesting names were given to each one. But the immense passion she felt for butter surpassed the very reasons that told her not to do such immoral things.

She would sit there on the floor and caress the salty stick of butter, dying inside, waiting for the right moment to put it in. Carefully, she slid the stick of butter as high up as it would go into her privates. A very audible groan escaped her lips. Paula bit down on her lip. No one can discover her secret. She squeezed her eyes shut and parted her lips. She moved it in up and down motions, side to side, wash-machine style. The speed of the butter running throughout her increased and she wanted to scream, it made her feel so alive. Her insides were tearing! She tried to stay as silent as possible, but once she reached her climax, there was no hiding her pleasure filled soundsShe was throbbing and about ready to climax. One more in 'n out and Paula let out the loudest groan yet.

She made mental note to buy this brand of butter again. The pulse in her vagina was slowing down and Paula was finishing up. Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. The sound fluttered across the room and straight in her ears. Oh butter shitcakes, she thought. Paula scrambled to pull out the butter, but it as it slid out, there was a squelching noise and butter mixed with vaginal fluids splattered the walls. She looked in horror then her attention turned to her pants lying on the ground. Just as Paula lunged for them, her son Jamie waltzed through the door and got a complete shot of his mother's birthing hole.

"Mom- What? OH MY GOD!" Jamie yelled in terror and shielded his eyes.

"I'm so sorry, one sec-"

"No, no it's okay." He broke her off. She was speechless and confused. Jamie continued, "I like to masturbate with butter too…" Jamie confessed. Paula was speechless. "One night when I was little, after dad had left, I heard this awful suction noise coming from your room," Paula blushed, "I cracked open the door and saw your hand going up and down, and the butter wrapper…I decided to try it and became addicted." Paula was still sitting there pantsless, speechless, and proud. Proud that she had taught her son so well, without even knowing it.

"But what's that on the wall?" He walked over and dragged his index finger down the mysterious substance. Jamie stuck his finger in his mouth and considered. "Hmmm, butter and a hint of something else…. Someone's been having some fun."

He shed his clothes and the love affair continued, but as a double date.