ONGTIME New York magazine restaurant critic Gael Greene has just as massive an appetite for sex with larger-than-life lovers as she does for gourmet delights.
In her upcoming memoir, "Insatiable: Tales From a Life of Delicious Excess," due out in April from Warner Books, the unrepentant hedonist describes steamy nights of passion with Clint Eastwood, porn star Jamie Gillis and Elvis Presley in between dishing on her favorite haute-cuisine meals. "For me, the two greatest discoveries of the 20th century were the Cuisinart and the clitoris," Greene writes.
Among the hotter hookups she details:
* Clint Eastwood: "He came to my room at the Beverly Wilshire. I opened the door, and my knees buckled at the impact of his Clint Eastwoodness . . . I was a puddle of Jell-O. I forget any questions I need to ask. I'm not sure we even spoke. It never occurred to me that what we had might go on beyond the Beverly Wilshire. It was wonderful sex in an era of wonderful possibilities."
* Jamie Gillis: After watching X-rated movies together in a coin-operated booth at a Times Square porn shop, they headed off to have sex. Greene writes, "He took off his belt and bound my wrists . . . pushed me down into the thick fur of the rug, ripped at my panties. He unzipped his jeans. He was naked, as always, underneath . . . He slapped me slightly with the end of the belt. I couldn't help it. I felt so silly. I started to laugh. After all, I'd begged for this. He slapped me again. I gave into the pleasure."
* Elvis Presley: "I think it was good. I don't remember the essential details. It was certainly good enough. I know the reality of it was thrilling beyond anything I might have imagined." After they finished, "He twitched a shoulder toward the phone. 'Would you mind calling and ordering me a fried egg sandwich?' The fried egg sandwich - that part I remember. I can't remember . . . how long the sex lasted, or even who was on top (probably me). But I have never forgotten the fried egg sandwich."
At the end of the book, Greene muses, "I miss the extravagant love notes, the demented poems, the endearingly worshipful boy toys, the unexpected breakfasts in bed, champagne and peanut butter sandwiches in the park. I miss dancing all night and not needing to diet. I miss falling in love, being obsessed with sex. I miss [bleeping] into oblivion and coming back."
