The Candle

The Candle

Red unwrapped his birthday present. He opened the box and held the black jar.

“What is it?”

“A candle,” I said.

“A candle?”

“Not just any candle,” I said. “Read it.”

“Can’t,” Red said. “Don’t have my glasses.”

“Well, it should say ‘smells like my vagina’,” I said.

Red looked at me perplexed.

“Whose pussy?” he asked.

“Gwyneth Paltrow,” I said.

I could tell Red was disappointed.

“Where’d you get this? The porno shop?” Red asked.

“Nah. That candle cost me a lot, man. It’s a fad. In case you don’t know, Elton John bought most of ’em up, so it cost me a pretty penny.”

“Why would Elton John want it? Wouldn’t he want a cock scented candle?”

“Yeah. I don’t get it. But I don’t think there’s a candle for Chris Hemsworth’s pole.”

“Well, thanks,” Red said.

I could tell I’d made a mistake with the candle.

“At least smell it,” I told Red. “I’m curious.”

Red took off the lid and whiffed.

“Smells like pussy,” he said.

“Are there any pubic hairs?”

Red said, “I told you, I don’t have my glasses.”

He passed the candle to me.

I examined it for any coarse Gwyneth Paltrow pubes. There were none, so I sniffed it too.

“Yup. Smells like pussy,” I said.

“Wonder what it tastes like,” Red said.

“I wouldn’t lick it,” I said. “And I’d advise against fucking it, Red. Don’t go trying to soften it up and fuck it.”

“Don’t worry,” Red said. “I never thought Gwyneth Paltrow was that hot.”

I gave the candle back to Red. He put it aside. I could tell he was still unhappy. I thought maybe it was his age.

“What’s the matter?” I asked. “You don’t like the candle?”

“You know I’m more of an ass man,” Red said.

“I don’t think she’s got a candle for that yet,” I said.