Mango

The first time Jenny had a mango, she was six. It was a strange fragrant orange and red oval, its smell emanating, a preamble to the impending flavor. When it was peeled and she bit into it, it was heaven in a bite. Bits of mango and mango juice dribbled down her chin. She ate voraciously and with gusto. When she got to the seed, she sucked on it for an hour until it was a husk.