Actually, here's a taste of "Shuck It" by Dusty Horn in my new book Going Down: Oral Sex Stories. The story opens with the line: "If I like food that I have to work for, it’s only because gluttony is my second favorite deadly sin."
Here's a bit from the middle:
Betty and I are armed with shucking knives, small narrow wrenches with curved tips and fat ivory-white handles.Keep in Going Down: Oral Sex Stories, also available as an ebook for Kindle or Nook.
We touch blades like enemies preparing to fence, then turn our weapons on our defenseless little victims.
The little teases don’t stand a chance.
Opening an oyster takes finesse. It doesn’t crack clean like an egg or pop straight into your mouth like a shrimp. Each fat little heart-shaped teardrop shell must be approached with a combination of delicate control and primal urgency. You have to want it, and you have to be willing to work to get it.
The curved end of the knife slides into the teardrop shell’s pointed opening. Then we must wiggle ourselves inside ever so slowly, searching for the muscles that stubbornly attach the meat to its home. Just the right combination of pressure and strength is required to pry off the flat-top, revealing our goal: a slick bowl of pale meat, a slimy sitting duck.
The final touch releases the meat from its last stubborn muscle, stirring it around in its own overflowing juices. Opened and prepared for consumption, our oysters are bursting cornucopias. Holding our liberated half shells aloft, my lady and I clink them together, gazing hungrily into each other’s eyes as if considering consuming each other instead. Salt water sloshes into each other’s shells and we raise them to our lips.
Something between drug and nourishment, an oyster requires a tip of its rough vessel, an open eager mouth, and a highly skilled tongue to guide the poor animal as it falls. We regress to our animal states as we slobber and slurp, touching defenseless flesh to our tongues and allowing it to pass whole into our throats.
Betty squeals in girlish delight.
“I feel so high!”
Normally a committed vegan raw foodie, Betty makes a guilty pleasure exception for her beloved oysters. So our shellfish feasts have both an exultant Bacchanalian ritual vibe and the conspiratorial hush of a shared secret.
I tease her about her weakness and tell her I only allow her to compromise her principals because a vegan woman with a weakness for oysters is so deliciously, appropriately gay.