Fire Down Below

It was Valentine's Day. We were broke, so we decided to stay in for a romantic meal followed by hours upon hours of typical mediocre, early-2os heterosex. (You know what kind I'm talking about.) Anyway, I decided that, given our mutual love of spicy food, grilled fish with mango-habanero salsa would be the way to go.

An aside for those who don't know: habanero peppers (known in some places as Scotch Bonnets) are the hottest peppers on the planet, registering at a blistering 360, 000 units on the Scoville scale, a standardized (but not terribly scientific) capsaicin-content system used to determine a pepper's heat potential. For reference, jalapenos, long the bane of bland food lovers, registers at about 7,000 units. So yeah... they're really fucking hot.

We settle into the kitchen, pour ourselves some wine, and start dinner preparations: he marinates the fish, and I start slicing mangoes and mincing habaneros. Being the tough girl that I am, I've never used gloves to chop hot peppers, and I had no intention of starting then. I did make sure to wash my hands well after I'd chopped them, though... just to make sure.

As the fish is happily sizzling away on the cheap-ass electric grill, he comes over and starts to nuzzle his lips on the back of my neck. Smiling, I reach behind and rub his tummy. We start to kiss, and I feel his cock coming alive between our pressed-together abdomens. I'm always amazed at how even something as barely stimulating as a slight breeze can make a guy in his early twenties rock-hard in seconds. Anyway, with a sly smile, I reach into the waistband of his jeans, past the elastic of his boxer shorts, and I start to softly fondle it. He closes his eyes, tilts his head back, and grins. I up the intensity.

"Ow."

I pause, confused. And then start stroking even harder.

"No... seriously... ow."

"What's wrong?"

"Let go! Letgoletgo!! Let... go!!!"

"What?!?" I withdraw my hand.

"Fuck! It burns!"

"Very funny."

"No, ouch ohmigodohmigod, my fucking dick is on fire!"

Shit! I thought I'd washed my hands alright.

"Stick it under the faucet!", I cried out. He immediately drops his pants and hoofs it to the sink, and pulls at the faucet lever. Which, unfortunately, is still on "hot".

"Holyfuckmotherfuckinggoddamnit! FUCK!!"

Poor guy. Capsaicin burn and now scalding hot water. "I'll get you some ice", I offer helpfully. As the fish burns, I race to the freezer and pull out a tray of ice cubes. I dump the contents into a kitchen towel, and wrap the whole thing around his now swollen, angry red member. He whimpers. There go his decision-making skills. "It's not helping... it still burns. And my balls are getting numb", he says through gritted teeth a minute later. Funny thing is, he's still hard. Wishful thinking, perhaps?

"There's only one thing else I can think of, sweetie."

"Do it. Doesn't matter what it is... just do it!"

"You have to stick it in milk."

"What? No. Okay..fine. Just hurry!"

I pull the milk carton out of the fridge, he grabs it out of my hand, and without pausing to pour the milk out, he rips the top of the carton open and proceeds to stick his entire cock into it. I giggle nervously. "Not funny", he snaps impatiently.

Sucks to be you, dude. And then I remembered that the milk wasn't mine. My roommate bought it. Ah, if only she knew now where that gallon disappeared to. My date continued to soak his penis in milk, and I sat across from him, gingerly fingering the icy towel and feeling badly about the incident, but also wondering silently if milk has the same effect on penises that it does on split chicken breasts. With that thought, I leap up to rescue the now-smoking fish. After a good ten minutes of uncomfortable silence, he withdraws his penis, and we inspect it. Wow. Looks ouchy. I head to the bathroom to scrub under my fingernails.

We still had sex that night, make no mistake. Priorities and all that. But thank the gynaecological gods we always had the sense to use a condom.