Give Me Your Testicles

Melvin dreamed of Abigail. He'd been in love with her once. She'd meant everything to him, and he dreamed of her as she was in the past. She wore a white summer dress, and both of them sat on a checkered table cloth, paper plates and half-eaten food scattered, a wicker picnic basket nearby emptied of its contents. Her hair had been long then and dark, more black than brown; it flowed around her shoulders in an afternoon breeze.

In reality, they'd never had a picnic so perfect, and Abby had never smiled so brightly, her pearly white teeth gleaming as she uttered a loud laugh, but this was a dream. She'd lived in his mind like this for a long time, intelligent and beautiful and as in love with him as he was with her.

Melvin had only realized too late all of that was a naive dream as well.

In the dream, Abigail placed her hand on his wrist and looked deep into his eyes. Her own were an amber reflecting the golden rays of the sun. It was all too easy to fall in love with a woman with eyes like hers.

"Do you love me?" she said.

"Yes," Melvin said without hesitation.

"Do you want me?"

"Yes."

"Then give me your testicles," she said. Melvin's eyes widened.