Wednesday, January 12, 2011


Body shots on her breasts, but all we can see is their cake.

"That cake, baby, it's got be at least four feet high."
"So many tiers, we could sure make a mess with that bad boy."
"Perfection, incakearnate."

The bride shimmying to dubsteps, spreading out from her husbands hands. We told them that we were happy for their marriage and their twins, but what we really wanted was a slice cut fresh from a baker's dream.

This wasn't some love you long time cake, this cake was classy. Fondant was no where to be found, royal icing covering a plethora of flavors: white, yellow, chocolate, red velvet. We really weren't picky.

Sweat dripping from his naked body the groom pulls up wife in one hand and a knife in the other.

"Look at that blade. What. a. blade. As long as his torso as broad as her chest. That blade could cut a cake in twain. Hell it's a wonder that the two of them can even lift it."
"We could offer to help..."
"No, no we could never..."
"They would never know, look at them covered in each other's fluids, they can hardly tell where they are. They don't DESERVE to deflower that cake."

Mozying slowly closer we reached ever so slowly for the handle. The anticipation on our lips dripping down our chins. Though it was easily buried six inches into the hard wood of the floor, it released easily with the slightest tug. Our hands intertwined we hefted it's glinting shaft into the revolving lights of the dance floor.

And gently we cut the cake into pieces specifically designed to satisfy no one. Each cut exposing more of the perfectly baked interior. Unable to resist we plunged our fingers into the frosting, breaking the extremely thin and delicate outer crust. When our fingers were finally pulled from the cake's distant interior, we turned and left. Leaving as our only trace a mound of frosted waste, which only hinted at it's former glory.

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