NASA Image of the Day

Friday, June 19, 2009

Mac Box set.

Here is a Mac box, which you present to me with a flourish.

"Your favourite", you say, simply, tearing open the box, grasping the plastic coated toffee, standing there in front of me, maddeningly, and warming the package between your hands.

Thinking the entire moment completely unfair, I stand still, saying nothing. My mouth is watering madly, and I remain rooted. A tiny bead of sweat has formed on my upper lip: tasting caramel, wanting caramel, needing caramel...and yet....I only stare, longingly, thinking you momentarily cruel.

The feeling is intensified, as, breathing softly, you shift the toffee parcel to one hand, bending it, slowly, slowly, slowly, and staring into my eyes, to show me how pliant it has become.

We stare at each other. I worry that a sheen has formed on my face, making me look amazingly like a plump girl, sweating in front of a really attractive man waving toffee in a kind of "you might get to be a fat girl again" moment...and after all those bloody salads. I wince, ..and say nothing, struggling.

I try valiantly to make my eyes look hooded, not really knowing what that means, exactly, except that it sounds very mysterious, and possibly the result of something illegal, watching the bendy movements in the toffee with a tormented, furtive glance. Raising my gaze, I am intercepted, and you smile - a trifle cruelly, I think to myself....I sigh. Oh, toffee, torturer...when, oh when, hast thou become tormentor to me! Ah...such........bent love, really.....

"Come here", you say, with a kind of gravel in your voice that has made my toes curl. There is, in fact, a newly formed cramp in one, even as we breathe.

I take one step forward, lurching slightly, due to the cramp. It ruins the drama, somewhat, but I manage to stamp, although I want get rid of the cramp. I control it, stupidly, and will pay for it, later, I know, with a huge throb in my arch.

Madly, you tear open the toffee, rip off a piece, stick it between your teeth, move towards me - and abruptly thrust my end between my lips. I close my eyes, as the caramel hits my tongue, and our lips meet.

"Mmmmmmmm." My God: we've even said it at the same time. Oh, ecstatic caramel passion, I embrace you. I would say something - but my lip is stuck to your moustache. Oh, happy sticky thrill! I feel wonderfully wicked, and wise....