I had a friend in grade 9 who loved apples...erotically. Each day he would lay his brief-case (yes, he had a brief-case) on the table. He would open the snaps, take out two apples and set them on the table. He would put his brief-case back on the floor and proceed to "make love" to his apples. With big slobbering bites he would devour them. The whole time he would make groaning noises and say: "this is a better-than-sex-apple"! I doubt he knew what he was talking about, but I certainly did believe that they were good apples. Perhaps even sinfully good. The apple is, after-all, portrayed as the forbidden fruit that Adam and Eve ate.
Personally, I feel that it was a mango that "opened their eyes". Apples are certainly more versatile and keep longer, but a mango is unadulterated pleasure. Opulence. Sex.
I bought a mango for twenty-five pesos from a fruit vendor who had set up along the side of Nunez. I carried it in my hand, feeling the weight of its buttery orange flesh (warmed by the sun) against my skin. I left it in my fruit bowl over night and put it in the fridge the next morning to eat cool after work.
I went for a run to work up my appetite, lit some incense I had bought in China-town and peeled the mango's redyellow skin with my pocket knife. The skin revealed the flesh, brilliant orange, darker at the bottom. This is where the sugar had settled as it ripened on the tree. I sliced the darkest nub off and placed it on my tongue. Waves of flavor and coolness coursed through me. Piece by piece I took the mango apart, until only the slimy sweetness around the pit was left. I picked it up and and sucked off the nectar. Covered in sweat and sweet I think it is time for a cigarette and a shower.