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My Baked Potato

Heat brings you to life and softens the firm flesh within your protective russet skin. You still have that smell of fresh from my garden. And when you expand and pulsate from baking, I steal you away in anticipation of tantalizing foreplay and rapture.

I slit and pry open your skin, releasing a burst of steam that rises in a rush toward the ceiling. I fold sweet butter and fresh ground pepper gently into your hot flesh and then quickly pour over it an equally hot cheese sauce thinned with beer. The cheese sauce quivers when I top it off with a heap of chilled sour cream and chopped chives.

I take a large tablespoon and run it down through the chives, the sour cream, and the cheese sauce. I run the tablespoon still deeper into your peppered and buttered flesh. Then without hesitation, I scoop up an enormous spoonful and maneuver it between my lips and into my mouth.

My cheeks bulge as my lips struggle for closure. As I chew, a bit of butter, cheese sauce, and sour cream oozes out over my lower lip and drools down my chin. My taste buds explode. My eyes fill with tears of elation. I am hopelessly lost in moments of orgasmic rapture that you, my decadent baked potato, so generously provide.



Copyright © 2019 Frank Zahn. Published in Meat for Tea: The Valley Review, - Passionfruit, Volume 14, Issue 2, September 2020, p. 85,

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