Opening a jar of mayonnaise in a sexual manner

My finger caresses the Helmann’s label gently.

It beckons to me, and I dream of slapping it on thick betwixt my buns.

I insert my thumb around the rim and grip, my stomach moaning. Aeughh

The lid is greased, covered with a tangible moistness.

I lift my leg up onto the table and heave.

I want to fuck—I mean I want to eat this mayonnaise so hard right now—I mean so much right now.

Let its white, non-newtonian fluid enter my throat.

With all my might I attempt to screw it—I mean unscrew it.

Rotating my hands and clasping its supple… tits.

It’s my lewd lubricant

My condiment condom

I can’t catch up with ketchup

And I poop on grey poupon

I can’t put my dick on dijon,

Horseradish is only rad-ish,

Can’t muster the mustard,

Don’t relish any relish.

It’s not cinco de mayo, it’s on-the-brinko-de-mayo,

It’s not a metaphor, I just really like mayonnaise.

I twist the lid again and again, ever so slowly, and…

There’s the squirt! The release of the off-kilter white goodness.

I change my pants and continue trying to open the jar of mayonnaise.

It’s proving difficult, and I admit defeat, my sexual gratification once again unfulfilled.

I couldn’t get saucy.