The cook chuckles. This makes you raise your brow which he can't see however due to your current position by the kettle.
'Are you trying to pull the good old “Don't let them eat me, I taste so awfully bad” trick on me?' He laughs.
When you realize the mistake made, you feel like laughing, too. Silly of you to accidentally mislead him like that. Oh, what a jolly misunderstanding. You hurry to set some light on the matter, still amused:
'No, no, no. I was being most sincere. I really WAS offended by my partner's demeaning comment on my flavor, that's all. It was unspeakably intactful of her to say that.'
'That is quite an intactful thing to say to anybody. Especially to a person whose breasts and bottom are about to be eaten.'
'That was exactly what I was thinking, too! Destroys the person's self-esteem all together.'
'Understandably so, yes. What sort of diet do you have, then?'
'What sort of what?'
'Your diet. What is it like? What do you eat on a regular basis?'
'Oh. Well nothing apart from the ordinary, I guess. Soy, peas, lenses. Mushrooms.'
'Nothing that would make you taste funky, then?'
'Well, there is this one thing I enjoy consuming considerable amounts a day. It's my guilty pleasure of sorts. But it's nothing, really. I don't have to mention it, do I? It's not relevant to the matter, is it?' You ask embarrassed, and the up-coming revelation you are about to make would cause your cheeks to blush if you weren't already turned so red by the heat.
'I don't know if it's relevant or not if you don't tell me.'
You swallow nervously.
'Well, I-ah... I eat lots and lots of pineapples. Every day. I can't help it. I'm absolutely head over heels with the fruit. And I assume it's the reason for me tasting so awfully bad, isn't it? Just say it. You can't hurt me with that. You're boiling my titties numb for crying out loud and it hurts like nobody's business, so go ahead. No reason to spare my feelings. I want to know! And why did you become so silent all of a sudden?'
Indeed, the cook remains silent for a good while. When he finally vocalizes himself, he's not pushing your back anymore and, to your surprise, he is laughing again. You think he's expressing amusement out of pure gleeful malice. You have never felt this ashamed in your life. A cook taunting you and making fun of your ill-advised decision to ruin your flavour with folly fruit. The thought hurts you more than boiling-hot oil. You feel like sprinkling some of it at him, but luckily he speaks to you first:
'You poor girl! You think pineapples make you taste bad. On the contrary: they make you taste marvellous!'
'What? They do?'
'Yes! Does your partner by any chance hate pineapples?'
'Now that you asked, actually, yes, she does,' you remember and suddenly everything makes perfect sense to you. 'I didn't even come to think of that!'
The cook smiles at you gently. You laugh with him. How ever so silly of you to jump into conclusions when, all this time, the solution practically stared at you right in the face. Silly, silly you. You feel ever so relieved. You don't taste objectively bad after all. On the contrary, you taste marvellous.
'Alright, missy, it's time to release these beauties out of their oily peril and put the grill on,' the cook says and fishes your pastry-covered tits out of the boiling grease.
'For the arse!' You cry knowingly in good spirits. You are so happy about the fact that you taste good that you hardly notice that the cook does the fishing by impaling your breasts with a fork. You don't feel a thing, and you're starting to like the idea of your titties being just a pair of soft, puffed pieces of meat. You assist the cook by putting the grill on although he didn't ask you personally to do such a thing. You feel like hugging the guy. You want to be as helpful and co-operative as you possibly can. You take a liberty to refill your glass and take a long-lasting sip. You sit down on the corner of the table and watch the man dreamily.
'For the arse,' confirms he. 'I had mixed plenty of herbs in the butter I rubbed on your bottom. They should go well with the pineapple.'
'Shucks, mr. cook, you shouldn't pamper me like this.' you say, wave your hand playfully and cross your legs.
'While we are at it, would you, by any chance, be interested in sacrificing your legs alongside with your foundaments?'
This interrupts your playful flirtation like you had hit a concrete wall.
'What? You want to cook my lower limbs, too?' you paraphrase. You have hard time believing you heard him correctly.
'That would be an honor. If that's not too much pampering, that is.'
'Um...'
'Will you let me do it, Pineapple?'
'Um...'
A) 'Sure. Why not. Heck! Let's do it! I'm game! Yip yip!' you say and fall off the table.
B) Maybe you should have chosen a pain killer instead of several gallons of wine. You feel like your judgment is not at its finest at the moment. What you know you should have said is 'No! Absolutely not! Take a hike, guy.' However, instead of that, you hear yourself saying 'Sure. Why not. Heck! Let's do it! I'm game! Yip Yip!' and barely realize you are lying half conscious at the man's feet there on his kitchen floor. You have spilled the contents of your glass all over you and glance at the man's strong, firm, slightly intimidating features as he looks back at you.
