Good Taste

Roger Jacobs had the best taste of any person in the world. He was not a particularly stylish dresser, nor was his sense of humor always appropriate. Rather, Roger tasted better than any other person the world had ever known.

He first became aware of his unique quality as a young boy. Relatives were compelled to kiss his cheeks over and over whenever they came to visit. Friends of the family likewise indulged themselves. At first, Roger chalked it up to the odd behavior that most adults exhibit when in the presence of a cute child. But something happened on his fourth birthday that caused him to question his hypothesis.

He had been playing outside and had taken a nasty fall, skinning his knee in the process. He ran into the house in tears, crying for his Mother. She picked the young boy up and kissed his boo-boo, and then licked his calf for an additional forty minutes. From that moment on, he knew that there was something different about him.

His condition forced him to live an extremely complicated and lonely life. He could never have a pet because once they licked Roger; they immediately shunned any variety of pet food that was placed before them. The more aggressive pets chased him around the home before knocking him to the ground and sitting on his chest, licking his exposed flesh until an adult dragged them away.

As an adult, Roger had found that his condition carried with it certain benefits. He had no trouble securing dates, as women loved to kiss him. While most teenage boys he knew were having trouble getting their girlfriends to French Kiss, Roger was having trouble getting girls to stop. He would finally have to tempt them to leave his mouth by offering them something more savory, and thus Roger found himself on the receiving end of countless enthusiastically delivered blow jobs.

Roger could never convince himself that the women in his life were interested in what lay beneath his skin, and so he chose to remain alone, giving up dating entirely. Instead he threw himself into his work, but soon he realized that his success was not due to any special talents he possessed, but rather to the fact that his superiors simply loved to shake his hands and then lick their palms in secret.

Every day of his existence was a horror. He could not bear to live a life without the comfort of others, but he could not trust anyone enough to open his heart to them. He carried on as expected, reporting to work daily because it was the only thing he knew to do. No one seemed to notice his despair, save for his secretary, Claire. She was a pretty girl, quiet and intelligent with a sense of humor that always lifted him out of the funk that filled his soul. Her laugh was music to his ears, and her smile never failed to warm his heart.

One day he happened to pass by her desk as she ate her lunch. She called out to him and he stopped, happy for another excuse to spend a moment speaking to her. "I'm sorry to bother you, Mr. Jacobs," she said. She extended a container of yogurt to him. "Could you taste this for me? I'm afraid it may be spoiled and I can't tell."

Roger chuckled. "How can I refuse a tempting offer like that?" he chuckled, and took the container, making sure to wait until she had placed it on the desk and moved her hands well clear of it. He took the small plastic spoon that he always carried in his breast pocket and dipped it into the yogurt. He made a face and sputtered. "Oh, yeah," he said. "This has definitely gone bad. I can't believe you couldn't taste that."

Claire looked down, flushing slightly with embarrassment. "I'm sorry," she said. "I wouldn't have asked you, but I have a medical condition and can't smell or taste anything."

A beatific smile crossed Rogers features as her words rang in his ears. In the space of an instant, his life took a new direction. He became obsessed with winning her heart, so much so that everything else in his life took a backseat to his efforts to woo her. He courted Claire aggressively and without mercy for the next few months, but she always rebuffed his advances.

Roger spent many hours mulling the problem over, trying to puzzle out the reason why. Suddenly it came to him. Claire would not date him because he was her boss. It was that simple, and the solution was even simpler. If she would not date him as long as she was in his employ, he would simply fire her. Then the barrier would be gone.

Roger was smart enough to know that the process would take subtlety. He couldn't simply waltz to her desk, fire her, and then ask her what time he should pick her up for dinner. So he decided to frame her, weaving a web of corporate malfeasance that was tightening around her neck while she remained blissfully unaware.

On the day that the armed security personnel escorted her from the building, he made sure to tell her how sorry he had been about the way things turned out. He told her how much he believed in her, but his hands were tied, and he had no choice but to comply with the wishes of upper management. Her tears made his heart ache, but he told himself that the tiny bit of pain she endured now would all be forgotten when compared to the lifetime of joy that awaited her as his bride.

Roger bided his time, waiting for the right moment to call on her. It was maddening, but he could be patient when he had to be. Finally, after six weeks, he picked up the phone and called her.

He made small talk, inquiring as to how she was doing, whether she had found work yet, and then he asked her out. There was a moment of silence on the other end, during which he felt the first stirrings of unease.

"You had me fired, didn't you?" she asked. The flat emotionless tone of her voice frightened him.

He tried to explain himself, how he knew she had been reluctant to date him because he was her boss, and how he had done it all for her so that she could find happiness with him. But she would not accept his justifications.

"You didn't do this for me," she said. "You did it for you. You never asked me why I wouldn't go out with you. If you had, I would have told you the reason. You are obsessed with yourself. You have no compassion for others. You never think about the consequences of your actions. You wanted me and so you did whatever you thought was necessary to win me, without ever thinking about what I may want or how what you did would affect me. You are a cold man, Mr. Jacobs, and you were not worthy of the friendship I offered you, let alone my love."

She hung up, the click echoing over and over in his mind. He knew that she was right. He was unworthy of love. He always had been. And so, nature had compensated by making his flesh irresistible to others so that he might have a chance at finding companionship. But the one woman he had truly desired was immune to this tiny charm.

He sighed heavily, and hung up the phone, having reached the only conclusion he could arrive at.

He stepped into the bathroom and filled the large Jacuzzi tub with hot water, then slipped into the bath. He poured handful after handful of the sleeping pills into his open palm and dry swallowed them all, grimacing at the sickly smooth texture of the capsules. As drowsiness overtook him and he slid beneath the surface of the steaming water, he wondered how long it would take before his body was discovered.

The neighbors broke the door down six hours later, drawn by the aroma of the most irresistible stew they had ever smelled.