Tomatoes

I recently had an experience while chopping tomatoes that readers may find a little disturbing. However, in the interests of posterity, i'm recording this as a not-so-weird reminder on my life.

The scene: a kitchen. The players: Me, a knife and a tomato. The play: replete with erotic (sub)text.

I started chopping this tomato to put onto my bread. Everything seemed normal. I picked up the knife and began. There seemed nothing unusual about this; I should note however that the knife was serrated.

From the moment I started cutting, something happened. The way the knife plunged into the tomato was unmistakably arousing; the sound of that red flesh being gently sawn apart was electrifying. This was crazy.

My breathing slowed; the heart raced. The dawn huskiness crept into my voice. I deliberately slowed down cutting as to continue that soft, sibilant hiss of the knife slowing cutting that tomato apart.

And when I was finished cutting that first tomato, I did it all again for a second one.