It was a hot day in June and I was at the local farmers market when I caught my first glimpse of her. We exchanged a few glances but I had to be careful because she was under the watchful eye of her headmaster. I approached the Angelic Beef™ tent to introduce myself. After a few minutes of mindless chit chat, she informed me that her headmaster was very strict – like a catholic school.

Hello Gorgeous

Earlier, I had a few cocktails so there was no shortage of mindless conversation and I have more game than Parker Brothers. Unexpectedly, she said, “Stop the bullshit. I see enough of that back home on the farm. When are you going to ask me about my skinny friends? That’s usually how it works.”

I was shocked but responded tactfully, “What? You mean Miss Chicken Head and Miss Fish Face? Hell no. And as for your friend Miss Veggie Pattie… she is so fake and nasty.”

I finally convince her to come over to my place the July 4th weekend. I told her to wear some Juicy Couture on her back side. Embarrassed she said, “I can’t do that. I am fat.” You’re not fat baby… just “thick!” Besides, just the right amount makes you juicy! If you have it, flaunt it girl.

Finally, she arrives Saturday afternoon and I want to make sure she isn’t chilly. It is important that she is comfortable at room temperature because I don’t want her cowering and shrinking when I turn up the heat. That would make her tough and I don’t want that.

I break out some red wine and fresh herbs. In protest, she says, “No herbs for me. My uncle Bill C. said you should never inhale herbs.” I tried to explain to her that they’re from earth but she still wouldn’t have any part of it.

Surprisingly, she was up for a little salty talk. I proceeded with a little “sea salt” – just a little, after all, she’s a nice country girl from Fauquier County Virginia. She said a little garlic would be fine too because she was Italian. Cool baby, I can dig that.

I lightly smack her back side and discover that she is nice and firm. I know she can handle this so I begin to turn up the heat – to around 500 degrees Fahrenheit. We “go at it” for about two minutes and then I gently turn her over; then we “go at it” for another two minutes. I think to myself for a big cow, she doesn’t sweat much. When I proceed to take her off of the stove top, she asks “That’s it? Where are we going?” Don’t worry baby, that was just foreplay.

I place her in the oven and surround her with heat — all around. We “go at it” for another five minutes and I pull her out. I place her back on the stove and I loosely cover her. Clearly, she is exhausted but she begins talk and talk.

She begins to ramble on: “My sorority sister, she’s from Norway, calls me “steik” when we party. She said it is an Old Norse word which means “roast” because when I party… well, I get roasted! Oh, I almost forgot, you have to meet my parents. We are Piemontese and are from the north-west part of Italy. And…”

For the love of God, would you please shut up! Finally, silence. But about ten minutes later, I hear what seems to be a low, angry sizzle. I ask her what’s wrong and she exclaims, “That’s it?!? Is that all you got!?! Just a few minutes!” As I pulled back the aluminum foil blanket, I said “Oh no girl, that’s not it.”

I gently pick her up and carry her into the living room. I pour another glass of wine, light some candles, and put on  Al Green.

We proceed to “go at it” nice and slow – simply enjoying ourselves. No promises made, no promises kept. Just moment by moment. We continue on, I devour her very being until we see fireworks later that evening.

When the evening is done, she is no more. I will never see her again. I know she has some juicy friends back at Angelic Beef. I have no shame and I am going back to “pick up” some of her friends.