Tonight was Hotdog Night. Beswinda chewed on her steaming rod of hog anus and regarded her husband. Typical fucking contented Brentan. Did he ever wish his life had amounted to more? Twenty years they had been married, and for the last sixteen years their week had followed the same predictable pattern. Potato salad with bits of ham on Mondays. Courgette fritters on Tuesdays. Garlic bread cut into triangles with a shot of gazpacho on Wednesdays. Frozen steamed vegetables served in a coconut half on Thursdays. Hotdog Night on Fridays. Battered lime wedges and edible flowers on Saturdays. On Sundays they did not eat, which was fine and their way of maintaining a healthy weight.
"Tomorrow is going to be different," thought Beswinda. "Tomorrow, we break the mold."
Brentan's hotdog splattered a bunch of onions and mustard down his grey checked shirt. He didn't really notice.
***
Saturday. Usually Beswinda spent the day gathering edible flowers from the local sensory garden, and Brentan went to the specific lime shop in town, taking the scenic route there and back, then formulating the batter and heating up the deep fat fryer. Every Saturday for sixteen years.
Brentan set off for the lime shop as usual, taking his bag that was in the shape of a lime and heading West. With him out of the picture, Beswinda was free to prepare. She headed East towards the sensory garden but went straight past it, to the allotments. This was where her neighbour Billiam grew his prize-winning vegetables. Billiam was not at the allotment on Saturdays as that was the day he went Christmas carolling (all year round). Beswinda ignored the cucumbers, carrots, leeks and other more traditionally phallic vegetables and made a beeline for the bell pepper plants. There was one that stood out as being particularly shiny, elongated and red. Red, she thought, like my inflamed sex. She snipped the pepper off the plant, leaving a little stem intact, and stuffed it down the front of her trousers hoping it didn't look too obviously like a pepper.
Back at home, Beswinda wanted to make a playlist of all songs with the word "pepper" in the title but she could only think of one, so the playlist was just that on a loop. It would have to do. She stripped off every scrap of clothing and laid on the bed, legs akimbo. Brentan had only ever fisted her once but that was fine so hopefully she would manage the task without too much difficulty. She poured a little olive oil on the pepper, not too much, just enough to make it slick. Beswinda placed the bottom of the pepper at the entrance to her vagina and slowly, ever so slowly, she eased it in. It was like giving birth backwards. And the burning pain was real. But once the entire pepper was swallowed up by her cavernous pussy, with a titillating bit of stalk hanging out, she had never felt so full and so alive.
***
