On soft cotton sheets, fresh with spring air, Franny dropped her robe, edging herself onto the bed.
With her finger tips she placed warm bacon upon her inner thighs, letting juices dribble to the sheets, letting the grease adherer each slice to her skin. Using her salty fingers Franny massaged the bacon with ice cubes, turning it translucent white, like her skin. Laying back upon the crisp sheets, Franny enjoyed the mingling of odors, the touch of meat. Beckoning me, she softly commanded, “Be my Trojan Horse, make me sizzle, devour me.” I emerged breathless, from the dark corner.
