The Wrong Way to Use Chocolate Syrup

Well, Strawberry Syrup To Be Exact.


I, along with other members of “The Impact,” have taken creative writing: non-fiction this semester. One of our earliest in-class writing assignments was to write a funny story about a liquid.

My story had the class dying of laughter that my fellow “Impactians” suggest I turn my story into a whole column. Well to Jared, Valerie, Daniel, and Michael; here you go. As for the rest, let me know if my story was funny. Or not…

She looked so good I could have eaten her up like a snack. So I did.

Or should I say, tried.

I was still a sexual novice and like many teenage boys; I resorted to pornography to satisfy my newly found sexual curiosity. Hundreds, no thousands, of videos only a few clicks of a mouse away. As for the categories? They were overwhelming, but I will not get into that here. Seeing as I am already toeing the line with my content already.

I thought I was not searching for any video in particular. That is until after a quick scroll and I saw it; “Chocolate Syrup.”

The camera panned to the tattooed dark-skinned “actor” holding a generic store brand bottle of chocolate syrup. He made his way towards a porcelain bathtub in the middle of a fairly large, and clean, bathroom. There was no water in the tub, however.

No, instead there was a naked female.

As the caramel-skinned “actress” laid in the tub in her birthday suit, the actor drizzled the dark, thick, liquid. The syrup, which was moving as slow as molasses, fell down the actress body. Gliding past her bosoms, stomach, legs, and more. Much much more. That is when I knew what I wanted to do to her. That.

We met the very next day after my video discovery at our usual meet-up spot, the CVS Pharmacy. I called her to tell her I would be 10-15 minutes late. In reality, I was already at the pharmacy gaining the “tools” necessary to fulfill my lifelong fantasy since yesterday.

Strawberry syrup, they were out of chocolate, and condoms. No glove, no love kids. As for why they ran out of chocolate syrup, there are either a lot of diabetics in Yonkers or people trying to reenact the same fantasy as me.

The timing was impeccable as she was walking down the block as I made my way out through the sliding glass doors. We hugged and shared a quick kiss. A freshly lit joint accompanied us on our walk to her house.

It was a cool spring day. Cool enough I took my jean jacket; I haven’t worn one since. I put it around her shoulders to keep her warm. “Oh yeah, I am getting some later,” I confidently thought to myself.

I also remember her smell. Japanese Cherry Blossom from Bath and Body Works.

Her walls were a sky blue, just like her eyes, covered with posters of male artist and professional athletes of the time. Jesse McCartney, Chris Brown, even Tiger Woods all surrounded her room.

Their eyes felt as they were piercing through my soul as we undressed. We were now fully nude and I get on top of her as we engage in a passionate make-out session. I am talking about eyes closed sucking face kind of passion. I thought this would be the perfect time to spice things up. Without stopping, the make out “sesh” I reached for the syrup, popped the top, but nothing came out.

Silly me, I had forgotten to remove the cover on top.

“Uhmm, one second please,” as I hurried to her bathroom butt naked toting the strawberry syrup like a football. After removing the cover and splashing water on my face, I was now ready to go.

She had put music on and even lit a candle to set the mood. We re-engaged in our passionate “sesh” and the blood red syrup slowly began its descent to her body.

Upon contact, she let out a soft moan. Probably from the cold syrup, but the noise that followed by another iconic one.

“What the fuck Brian?!,” she said with a vicious roar. “On my bed too? My mom had just changed the sheets, you idiot.”

“I… I thought it would be hot.”

“You need to leave, right now!” she said as her finger pointed toward the door.

As I redressed myself and began my walk of shame, there was one more question I had to ask:

“Would this be a bad time to ask if I can make myself a glass of strawberry milk?”