The Hairy Yak Testicle
|March 15, 2011||Posted by Kelly K @ Writing w/ Chaos under Fiction, Writing Prompt|
“You have to try this,” he told her, a glint in his clear blue eyes. He gripped her hand, dragging her from the comfort of the overstuffed leather couch she’d just spent thirty minutes diligently contouring to her butt and into the newly remodeled gourmet kitchen.
It still reeked of Pine-sol.
He pulled a stainless steel bar stool out for her and she plopped into it – her bottom already protesting about the unforgiving metal.
She leaned her bare forearms against the cool black marble, admiring the form fitted jeans accenting his body as he bent over to grab the surprise out of a lower drawer.
Forget food. She wanted him.
He emerged from the cavernous refrigerator – the gleam back in his eye – and placed the single piece of food onto the counter with flourish.
“There is no way I’m eating that,” she said to him, disgust decorating her face. “It looks like a hairy yak testicle.”
He chuckled and walked to butcher block for a knife. “It’s good. You’ll like it.”
She eyed the brown fuzzy egg-shaped object on the wooden cutting board – wondering what idiot discovered it and thought, “You know, I’ve been looking for soft hairy yak ball to eat without having to castrate the yak.”
He burst into laughter as she shared this tidbit with him. “You have no idea what this is, do you?”
The sharp blade gleamed in the fluorescent lights in classic horror movie fashion. “You aren’t going to go Hannibal on me, are you?” she asked, avoiding the question. “I’d hate for you to eat my liver and a serve it with yak balls and a nice Chianti.”
“I’ve never been a fan of liver,” he said, smiling as he guided the oversized blade easily through the sphere, transforming it into small olive green colored circles sprinkled with tiny black seeds. He handed a thin slice to her. “Bon appétit.”
The piece in her hand was soft, a fruit of some sort – the fuzzy outer peel still attached. The slimy coating stuck to her finger as the sweet scent wafted to her wrinkled nose. “You first.”
He tilted his head, accepting her challenge, and easily popped a slice into his mouth – fuzzy shell and all. “Mmmm.. It’s a good one. You don’t know what you’re missing.”
His moan curled her toes and peaked her curiosity. “You’re right, I don’t. What is this?”
“A little slice of heaven,” he said, walking around the counter until he stood in next to her chair. “Close your eyes.”
She closed them obediently, intrigued. “This better be good.”
“Trust me,” he whispered into her ear, sending shivers down her spine. He guided her hand towards her face, stopping it just below her nose. “Breathe.”
She inhaled, the fruity sweetness exploding as darkness enhanced her senses – the hint of something familiar hiding beneath. “Why do I want a drink right now?”
His laughter tickled her hair. “We’re making progress.” He lowered her hand as something lightly traced over her lips: his finger. “Taste.”
Heart pounding, she flicked her tongue out, licking her lips, finding the tip of his finger as the sugary flavor and the taste of him burst in her mouth. “Mmmm.”
“I knew you’d see the light.” His other hand covered her sticky one, bringing it up towards her mouth again, this time inserting the piece of fruit into her mouth. “Eat.”
She took a bite, unprepared for the undiluted sweetness dancing on her tongue, the delicate fruit melting away at the slightest pressure. She eagerly opened her mouth again, placing the reminder inside – no aid required – as she savored the last bit. “That was heavenly. What was it?”
“Kiwi,” he whispered again, his breath warm on her cheek.
The shivers were back. “That’s the fruit in my favorite daiquiri?”
“It is.” He was closer now, directly in front of her. “Do you want some more?”
He enveloped her into his arms, his mouth devouring hers – the layered taste of kiwi still on his tongue.
She melted, knowing she would never view that fruit the same way again.
This is fiction, but it is partially inspired by my initial opinion of the kiwi and its unfortunate appearance, and partially inspired by a tweeting conversation with @The_BMG, @MadsBloggingMom, and @CrayonWrangler on Twitter.
Constructive criticism always welcomed.