Bacon: A Story Of Forbidden Love

“Why…Mr. Weiss!” she cried, whirling to meet his amused eyes. His presence was unexpected. But not unwelcome, to say the least.

“Is that really how you think of me?” he asked, his voice low. “Call me Herman.”

She blushed.

“Herman, I—” she turned her flustered gaze to the pan of sizzling bacon. “This will burn…”

“We’ll burn,” he said fiercely. “But I don’t care! I crave it!”

“I never knew —” she began. “All these years, I’ve longed for you to try it…”

“I knew,” he said tenderly. “I always knew. Do you think it’s been easy for me, smelling the bacon from next door, knowing my religious principles prohibited it, but craving it, imagining —”

“It’s yours,” she said simply. “All my bacon is yours. Take it.”

“If my wife knew…” he began ruefully, glancing at the curtained window just visible across the lawn. “It would kill her, knowing I was eating it.”

“She’ll never know,” she said, her gaze very steady on his. “This is our secret…ours alone.” And she reached for a bottle of milk.

“Witch! Temptress!” he cried, and thrust the crispy strand into his mouth with a moan of pleasure.