A friend (read: sexual deviant) once spoke of the grapefruit as "ABSOLUTELY the most sexual fruit in the entire world". She then took a giant step backward, squeezed a wedge of ripe grapefruit over her light brown locks, shuddered violently, curled her toes, and let out an orgasmic wail, half-reminiscent of Meg Ryan and half humpback-in-heat. It was, in a word, magical.

But I can't say I completely disagree. The hue. The juiciness. The melon-ness of it all does sort of drip with eroticism. But in the land of fruit sexiness, the grapefruit is but a role player. Look at the facts. It's competing with bananas (the King Dong of all fruits), cherries (evocative of lips, balls AND virginity), kumquats (yeah), and of course, the vaginaberry. What? That last one is just something I made up to kinkify the world of produce? Fair enough. Moving on.

In this iteration of grapefruit, it's lining the top of a cheesecake. Nothing too titillating about that, right? But it's like the chef knew the cheesecake alone wouldn't be enough to stir the loins of his diners. "Sex it up," he says. "Give it a kick in the ol' passion parts." "Arouse the beast inside the stomachs and pleated khakis of our customers." So he chose grapefruit. Not peaches. Not apples. Not the vulgar little kumquat. Grapefruit. He had his balls laid out on the table, and to awaken the sleeping giant that is his man meat, he went with the grapefruit. The grapefruit! The fluffer at the produce aisle orgy. The waiter at the food cart's bootylicious bacchanalia. The extra in Foods that Fuck: The Untold Story. The motherfucking grapefruit.

But, you know what? If the grapefruit is good enough for a chef with his globes on the table, it's good enough for me. So I salute you, grapefruit. May you be forever linked with beautiful, unabashed coitus. Or, at the very least, an outside the pants handie.