Sluts like to show them, and we like to look.

Marketa: A fruit-filled pastry, not literally, but figuratively, but sort of literally, too

According to Hegre-Art’s website, “[Marketa] did things with cherries that will linger on the memory and make this lush summer fruit taste sweeter every time we slip one into our mouth.” With the pictures at hand, it’s hard to tell exactly what she did with the cherries that were so fanfuckingtastic, but if I had to make a wager, I bet she made everyone kolaches. Why kolaches, you ask. Simply because this Czech/Slovakian dish is apparently so damned good, they have festivals featuring it. To me it looks like what us Yanks call a “danish”, except poofier, but I’ve never heard of a festival dedicated to danishes so kolaches must be a bajillion times better.

Maybe it’s because I’m getting on in the years, but if a fetching lass like Marketa made me a delicious cherry-filled pastry that was a million times better than the best Entenmann’s danish I’ve ever had, I’d probably have very fond memories of the fruit as well. I would savor the memory of halcyon summer days when it was given; remembering the gentle warmth of the air, the delicate sweetness of a homemade kolach, and the kinder moments of life. All the little things that make life good would be bound together in one warm, sweet hazy memory of a simple act done by a sweet, charming girl that would stave off the harsh passing of time, and would be a burning coal in my winter years. I, too, would think of how sweet and good life can be whenever I put a cherry into my mouth.

These memories, these gentle memories, would be made all that much better, though, if she rubbed the cherries all over her naked body beforehand with the juices dripping down over and into her naughties, and the pulp clinging to her young, nubile flesh; it would be totally fucking H-A-W-T, hawwwt. These memories would be the hot-ass naked chick in the sack in the winter of my years, and who needs coals when you have that?