Throwing caution to the winds I decided to try the fruit part, since boys require an enthusiasm I don't possess and a prison sentence I would not relish. One of love's many arts is improvisation, is it not, so since melons were out of season I chose the soft and tender papaya for my date. At first glance the Solo papaya seemed more suited to my intentions, being a little larger but I must profess a preference for the Strawberry variety. I find its redder flesh color much more attractive, so acting on a whim I bought two. Organic, of course.
        First I had to fashion a vaginal opening, so with a long thin paring knife I performed the delicate operation. I misjudged the diameter of my penis (a very common male error no doubt) but in my defense I will say I had to enlarge the hole. The yellow flesh of the fruit and its sticky juices flooded my hands, like the lubricating wetness of foreplay. At this moment, faced with the reality of what I was about to do, I hesitated. But surely, I thought to myself, the Wisemen of Byzantium knew what they were talking about. I pressed on.
        I had myself and the situation in hand and surprisingly it wasn't difficult, but thankfully it was hard, the novelty of the circumstances helping no doubt. I placed the tip of my penis into the opening I had created and leaned into it with a gentle push of my hips. But here was not the yielding flesh of a woman but the hard-edged skin of a fruit. I withdrew.
        With the knife I cut back the skin, a very Jewish procedure for such an Arabic affair, to form a channel of less resistance and resumed my attempts to enter this exotic fruit. Papaya juice is not slippery like a woman's secretions so the penetration was not easy. "My God," I thought, "I'm raping a fruit." But in the heat of desire such moral dilemmas are soon forgotten and I was eager to enjoy the fruit of my labors.
        Then suddenly a surprise - the head of my cock encountered resistance. My thrusting movements were rebuffed after the initial slide in. This was a virgin papaya no doubt. My heart melted but then I remembered the seeds inside. I withdrew once more, the top of my thighs sticky, a river of fruit pulp running down my legs to the floor. I went to the bathroom for a towel to stand on since this culinary deflowerment was happening in the kitchen. Sex is more exciting in unusual places.
        I tried to remove the seeds with a long spoon but in doing so I found that I had sculpted the papaya into a fit that upon re-entry was no longer satisfactory. No elasticity here. Disappointed I pulled out, coitus interruptus revisited.
        In a cold, heartless rejection I consigned papaya #1 to the compost bin and began shaping papaya #2 to my own design. My experience in fruit seduction paid off handsomely. I removed the seeds first from the rear, thinking momentarily of anal sex (but I was not ready for that) and soon I was ready to pleasure myself using the more traditional front entry.
        Yes. So different a feeling. I vaguely grasped what the Arabic tradition had discovered long ago. If I could only be patient, melons would be in season soon enough.

The Rubayaat of Omar Kayaam:
A woman for duty
A boy for love
A melon for ecstasy