Hazardous Materials [Based on true events….]
So rich and fluffy and tempting with its layers of mascarpone generously sprinkled with dark, robust cocoa grown in some exotic, Amazonian locale.
The sponge cake soaked in just the right amount of liquor to conjure visions of a nice after-dinner romp in the 400 thread counts with the hunk a’ burnin’ love across the table.
That little swirl of whipped cream lovingly applied with a pastry bag and a pair of expertly trained hands. Oh, yeah. The hands.
What culinary wonders might those hands create on the quivering flesh of a…
There’s something terribly wrong.
Your first spoonful of heaven has turned to a living hell before it even gets to your mouth.
You can’t breath.
You stare dumbfounded at your date who mistakes your wild goo-goo eyes as carnal lust on steroids rather than the unfortunate result of sucking in a lungful of loose cocoa.
You try to hold back the inevitable choke without turning blue. It is painful. Oh, so painful.
A single tear escapes and trickles down your cheek.
Your date is mesmerized by what he perceives to be passion…tears of pure passion. The cusp of a spontaneous orgasm, perhaps? Ah, yes. He’s heard of this. He just didn’t think they were real.
You muster the last bastions of energy from your oxygen-deprived body and….snatch up a glass of water. You gulp it down in an Oscar worthy I’m-so-hot-I-need-ice-water bit of acting. Your soon-to-be-lover is none the wiser as you push away the offending dessert. It crashes to the floor in a hail of splintering dishes. You spring from your seat, hungrily grab your date’s hand, drag him from the restaurant and into the back seat of your Toyota Prius.
Bravo! Standing O! A stunning performance, indeed.
[Warning: avoid deep inhales in the presence of thickly applied cocoa powder. You’ve been warned]