Peached

Aye aye. What's this then?

I waved a hand at the counter behind which the Bear-Man lurked.

His grin glinted yellow-white through his big bushy beard. He flicked a hand out at the thing in question.

It was one of those distressed wooden crates that are designed to look years old but were actually made last week by someone with a lisp named Raymond.

You mean this?

He sounded proud, as if he had successfully convinced his wife that separate accounts on their windows machine was a good idea.

Yeah, you branching out?

I peered closer into the crate.

Within were a dozen or so peaches, nestling comfortably within some realistic looking straw.

Peaches.

Said theBear-Man.

I can see that.

I said drily.

The Bear-Man picked one up.

You ever noticed how a peach kind of looks like an ahhrse?

He asked with an odd glint in his eye.

Yes yes, we all know that one. Peaches look like arses. Got it.

I made to move past and see what delightful beers were on display but the Bear-Man stretched out his gargantuan peach holding hand and motioned me to stop.

What?

I asked, like an innocent little Lamb ambling toward a thick and horribly barbed penis.

The Bear-Man lifted one of the peaches and in a terrifyingly wet-mouthed way, bit into it.

Juice ran down his chin and he smiled whist making a slooloohk'ing noise, sucking it in from his beard hair.

Oooo, that were lovely.

He said in a way that left no doubt he was imaging biting into my very own sweet peach.

I twitched like a skittish colt for what seemed like the millionth time in his shop.

You fancy some?

The Bear-Man inclined his head in that universal would you like me to eat your arse kind of way.

Eh, I don't really think so. I'm not a big fan of...

He interrupted me by swiping a hand toward a small shell nearby.

It's a promo, see? Peach beers. Mental eh?

I looked where his hand pointed and then I looked at the sun outside.

It is mental... Count me in.