The donuts you choose from the bakery are always from the top shelf; the man behind the counter, in the hairnet, obliges. You thank him. His slight grimace says None of this was worth it. Donuts are a dime a dozen, a flash in the pan, an orgasm. Too quick, not worth it.  Like a brief kiss.  The donut lands on the lips, goes threm them, into the mouth and beyond. The worst kiss ever.
You are left wanting more.