When I feel sexy, I imagine strawberries falling from the sky and hitting me in the face. Deep red and plump, I tingle at the thought of them raining on me. Some bounce off my forehead; others graze my nose or roll down my cheek. They're soft yet firm. If I could catch one in my mouth and bite down, it would burst with juices, which would cause the sweet nectar to dribble down my chin and give my moist tongue a job to do.
I'll tell you how to get turned on: a wet and wild cantaloupe. Wash that baby nice and good, then pat it dry with fresh white linen. Take a sharp blade and slice it down the middle, but don't completely sever the rind at the bottom; you want to leave a little intact, so you can force the whole thing to split. Get physical. With your hands, separate each side, and listen to the flesh open up—lust over the seed cavity, glistening.
A frugivore is an animal that mostly eats fruits. A kakapo, an orangutan, a toucan; they get it. They're not fruitsexual, but I bet when they get a berry in their mouth, they feel something real strong. Something like, "You've been a bad berry, you're going inside of me; right down in there, you bad, bad berry."
I was fired from my job today for groping the fruit platter. It was a summer fruit sampler, and the arrangement was something out of a dream. In the center, there were pineapple daisies in a neat row like dominos and a wall of sliced mangos pressed against them on both sides. Six strawberries, as big as babies' hands, intersected them in the middle. There were perfectly greened kiwis in the platter's top left and bottom right corners, and opposite them were watermelon balls. And, playfully scattered around the whole thing were flawless, plump blueberries. Dammit! I couldn't help myself.
Janet was the first one in line to get to the fruit platter, but I cut in front of her, and she said something to me that I didn't hear because I was fantasizing about the cold fruit in and on my body. I didn't care where; mouth, throat, stomach, thighs, chest, or inside my underwear. It didn't matter. I just didn't want her, or anyone else, to touch the arrangement. It was meant for me.
I took the platter from the little table in the office kitchen and carried it away. The coworkers waiting in line looked at me like I was stealing a stranger's baby. I felt like I was taking something that was begging me to take it.
"What the heck are you doing, Simon?" My boss shouted at me, "That's for everyone."
I didn't make eye contact.
The platter that held the fruit was molded black plastic, so the treasure all stayed in place, for the most part. I mean, I saw the fruits jiggle; watched them gyrate in place; the blueberries danced in and out of the gaps, teasing me. I was sweating, and the fruit sweat like it was hot too. Like it wanted me to touch it.
I stopped at Susan's desk, which was somewhat hidden from the kitchen, and started caressing the tops of all the fruit with the callouses of my right hand. I knew I shouldn't have acted this way, not at the office, but I was a bitch in heat. I fingered the tops of the strawberries and then popped a single watermelon ball into my mouth. It was a perfect sphere, so enticing it should have come with a warning label. I rolled it around my tongue before taking a soft bite and feeling it melt in my mouth like sweet ice. It deserved what it got; a slow swallow. I felt it go all the way down my throat, then pass behind my ribs.
Several seconds must have passed because soon Janet was by my side. She was like Charlie Brown's teacher, "Wah Wa Wa Wah Wa Wa" as I felt the ball's cold remains touch the floor of my belly.
I looked at her.
"Simon, you have to share that."
"I can't," I said, breathing heavily.
I leaned over the platter, blocking Janet from being able to see all of it.
"Leave," I asked, "Please leave."
"What's wrong with you?"
"Nothing," I shouted, "Leave!"
I had turned lunch into a freak show. I saw people in the kitchen on their tiptoes shoot glances at me like I was a monkey masturbating in its cage. I moved my eyes down to the fruit. A kiwi in the top row caught my eye; its white center surrounded by embedded black seeds and green flesh made my knees weaken. It was lust I needed to fulfill.
I'd known Janet for six months. We were good enough work friends, and I cared for her as much as I do anybody I worked with, but she was my enemy at that moment. We were in a tense standoff when she reached for the platter and said, "Just let me take it, and we can end all this right now."
"Never!" I shouted back. I picked up the platter and ran toward the hallway restrooms.
In the background, I heard her scream for my boss, "Jerry, he's making a break for it!"
I positioned myself on the handicap stall toilet with my pants around my ankles and the platter resting on my knees. The door was locked. I know sitting on the toilet might not seem sexy, but I didn't see the grimy bathroom floor or worry about the pee-stained toilet bowl; all I saw was the fruit in front of me; the nine-inch row of pineapple daisies, the wall of mangos, the big juicy strawberries, etc. The moment deserved foreplay. I wanted to tease myself, but, dammit, I also wanted it all so bad.
I curled my back and put my nose right next to the top of one of the pineapple daisies. It smelled cold and sweet. I licked my lips, then nibbled the inside of my cheek. I might have moaned. Then, with my eyes closed, I tongued the pineapple for several seconds. Finally, I squeezed my pointer and middle finger together and scooped the first daisy into my entryway, sucking on my fingers till they popped out of my mouth. The taste of the mango transported me to another place. I saw vibrant bursts of color behind my eyelids: yellow, orange, pink. The fruit had created fireworks within me.
I went back for more. This time I stuck my nose in the dozen of kiwis on the bottom right corner and deeply inhaled. There is no sweeter perfume. After I'd removed my face from the moist slices, I lengthened my tongue and began licking the juices off my nose. Then I lowered back down and grabbed a piece between my teeth, flung back my neck, so I was staring up at the bathroom ceiling and opened my mouth, so the kiwi dropped in there like it fell from the sky. I let the goodness sit on my tongue as I meditated on its flavor. My mind was lathered in its sweetness, and I could feel it start to melt away like it was chocolate. This was my heaven.
Then the door to the bathroom squeaked open, and I heard Jerry's voice, "Simon, are you in here?"
I swallowed the kiwi and tried not to be loud, but when I felt its cold near my sternum, I shuddered and deeply exhaled.
"Dangit, Simon, is that you?"
I was breathing heavily and was sure he would find me, so I threw caution to the wind and grabbed a handful of the watermelons balls. I smashed them against my inner thighs, yelping with pleasure.
"Simon, what's going on in there?"
I heard his footsteps walk up to, and then stop, just outside the handicap stall, which was one of those that had a gap between the front panel and the door that you could see through. I didn't look up, but I knew he could watch what I was doing. It didn't stop me.
I grabbed the kiwis and rubbed them all over my pelvic region. By this time, I was so aroused that my erection was strong enough to knock the platter clear off my knees.
I heard Jerry banging on the door, but I couldn't stop.
I grabbed a handful of the daises and some blueberries and shoveled them into my mouth.
I heard another bang.
I was in a state of euphoria. Before I even swallowed the mangos, I lifted my shirt, grabbed as many strawberries as I could, and smashed them onto my stomach.
That's when Jerry gave the door a final kick, and it swung open.
I was sitting there covered in bits of the fruit platter: mango juices ran down my mouth, kiwi sweat shined on my nose, and the fruit I'd smashed against my body all mixed and pooled around my fully aroused lap. I was in a crazed state as he surveyed me.
"What the fuck, Simon?"
So, as I said, I got fired today for groping the fruit platter. The building security guard had to see me out, and no one looked me in the eye when I left. I don't know what they're going to say about me tomorrow or in a weeks' time. Eventually, the story will probably just fade away. I mean, it was just a fruit platter.
On the walk back to my apartment, I passed a portable fruit stand. To me, fruit stands are like businesses in a red light district. There was sliced papaya on display. Despite what just happened in the office, I had the urge to scoop the seeds out from their reddish-orange skin and roll them all over my chest as I sucked and gnawed at the exotic fruit's soft flesh.
I don't know what my next job will be, but what is a job except a vehicle to buy more fruit? I purchased two papayas, six watermelons, and three avocados. I've had a rough day, and to cheer myself up, I'm going to fill my bathtub with chunks of watermelon, spill papaya seeds on my chest, and rub avocado all over my groin. I'll worry about a job tomorrow.