The sticky, gloopy conserve clings to her breasts glistening in the dimly lit room. Small globules of fruit hang off her nipples begging to licked before they dribble down her soft squishy globes.

I watched her squirm, debating how sticky I want my nakedness.

Should I just dip my tongue over her perfect sugary breasts, remaining unsoiled, teasing as I lick the jam from her flesh?

Or should I go all in? Covering her nakedness with mine. Smearing breasts over her coated stickiness. Nipples jelled together by chunks of orange.

The decision was easy. I hate the taste of marmalade.