Sinfully Delicious

I was having a pretty good day until Neville killed me. He walked right up to me, shoved a gun in my chest and pulled the trigger. I guess I can't blame him. I have been pushing him away for the last eight months. It just so happens that, during that time, I developed a taste for women. I say that rather tongue in cheek, because I mean in the Jeffery Dahmer, Hannibal Lecter sense.

You see, somewhere along the line something hit me. An overwhelming curiosity washed over me. A culinary curiosity. I developed a taste for aureoles. Yes, that's right; nipples. It's quite a shame really. Rather like the Asian's fascination for shark fin soup; catch the shark, kill it, harvest the fins and throw the succulent flesh away. Or the Russians slaughtering Beluga whales merely for their eggs. They call them caviar. But you see, areola are like little drops of sunshine—human truffles.

Reflecting back on the events of the last eight months, I realize my little problem had been a long time in coming. You see, for several years now, those little urges that tug on the strings of curiosity have been pulling at my consciousness at an ever-increasing clip. I'm sure you know what I mean. Those 'I wonder what' thoughts that pop into your head at the strangest of moments.

I wonder what that woman would do if I walked up to her and kissed her on the lips?

I wonder what my boss would do if I cold-cocked him while he gives me my pathetic raise?

I wonder what it would feel like to step off the roof of a tall building?

I wonder what nipples taste like?