A Taste of My Writings: Dark Chocolate
From time to time I will offer a taste of the workings of my imagination with the hope that you will pursue the rest of the story. I have written over 25 short works. Twelve are contained in Morning Wine and Other Stories, available through Amazon. Since moving to France I have not submitted any of my writings to publishers or literary magazines, therefore my published works remains at two stories, Morning Wine and At the Butcher Shop. By reading the opening paragraph or two of a story, you can get the flavor of what follows. Poe began The Cask of Amontillado “The thousand injuries of Fortunato I had borne as best I could, but when he ventured upon insult, I vowed revenge.” I have kept that as a guide and challenge myself to begin each story as he might have.
DARK CHOCOLATE
I lost my virginity to a chocolate bar. It wasn’t just the milk chocolate of my childhood. It wasn’t the soothing warm Nestlé’s quick stirred lovingly by my mother. It wasn’t the gooey wonder of Hersey’s kiss or the exotic crunch of a Snickers at Halloween. Nor was it the candy coated chocolate eggs at Easter. It wasn’t the melt in your mouth not in your hand of M and M’s before the Yule log. This was special, Special Dark to be exact. We shared it in the moonlight on the beach, the waves gently messaging the shore. But it wasn’t the shadowy moonlight, it wasn’t the cool pillow of sand, it wasn’t the rhythmic lullaby of the water. It was the decadent tart honey, the ambrosial aphrodisiac packaged in alluring shades of mystery. Worlds opened at the first taste. Unknown surges ran rampant. Eyes closed and visions played.
A tiny speck balanced surreptitiously at the corner of his mouth. Unsuspecting, he smiled. I could no longer resist. My lips sought the remnant, my tongue groped hungrily and soon I was greedily searching his tonsils for any surviving hint of the ecstasy. The rest is history. I wish I could say the experience was euphoric, that the sex was seismic, that the world stood still, that birds sang and symphonies played. Honestly, I don’t remember his face and his name would probably not ring a bell. But…but the awakening, the epiphany offered by the tangy sweetness vividly frolics even now in the recesses of my mind. Each memorable moment in my life has been marked not by people or places or things, but by a plunge deeper into the shadowy world of refined cocoa beans. Birthdays are not measured by gifts or gatherings. Holiday dinners are not judged by the turkey or roast or ham. Memories are not forged by sights or sounds or smells.