Oysters

Here we have another story I wrote some time ago. See what you think:

Oysters.
As she glanced across the shiny plate that had been dropped in front of her by self-
important hands, her nose wrinkled in dismay. There it sat, the oyster, bedded on
ruby-red leaves of whatever lettuce, and sparkled with fleur de sel diamonds. It was
inoffensive looking – really – glistening like a wobbly, dead tongue in its sapphire
shell.
She looked across at him, and thought much of the same.
Inoffensive was fine, that was what you wanted, and what you got used to. When
you swallowed the delicate, grey meat along with the fear, you were bound to love it
surely. That was how love worked, wasn’t it?
She smiled across at him, and he returned the favour with a sort of upward frown.
He looked good this evening, with his unkempt blonde hair, and dull green eyes. His
thin lips were nearly relaxed, as he rested his hand close to hers. It made her itch.
She looked down, and across at the oyster.
“Don’t you like it?” he said, and she thought she imagined a tinge of annoyance in his
voice.
“I do, but if you don’t we can go somewhere else after,” she said, suppressing the
definite tinge in her own.
“No, this is fine. Try it with some lemon,” he said, squeezing the fruit all over her
oyster, turning the glistening grey mass into a slimy abomination.
“I don’t like- thanks,” she said, staring at the atrocity in front of her. Was she being
too harsh? Perhaps she would like it. She was expected to, wasn’t she? This was
meant to happen.
She thought back to the time some weeks ago when she’d tried an oyster elsewhere.
This one hadn’t looked grey or slimy at all. It had been perched on a wooden board,
and smelled of sea, and sunshine. The shell had glittered green and blue in the
sunlight, and she’d smiled down at it with longing, before taking it into her fingers,
and slurping up its contents with a hunger she’d not felt in a long time. She’d nearly
shuddered with pleasure at the sensation, and the delicious taste that lingered long
after.
That oyster had been across from him though, from the one with the gentle, blue
eyes, and the soft hair. The one whose smile had melted her insides until she’d felt
like a warm, oceany breeze. She had watched his eyes glitter in the sun, and felt her
lips tingle in anticipation, until there was a constant, briliant buzzing under her skin.
His hand had been next to hers on the table, and it had taken all her strength not to
grab it. When he took hers, it wasn’t near close enough anyway, nothing was.

She blinked as the reality in front of her came into focus again.
“Are you going to eat your oyster or what?”
She shook her head, pushing out her chair delicately as she got up. “No, I don’t think
I should have that kind anymore.”