Vanessa Gebbie
Licking Chocolat

I am choco-vierge, but I've taken one ... sheer politesse.... my fingers are warm. My cheeks flushed. Champagne. Sancerre. A little-known rouge villages ... a secret. We are young, bright-eyed. Jeunes, flushed cheeks, warm hands ... the chocolate is molten. Over the starched linen, their faces melt away until only you and I are here.

Il faut que jeunesse se passe.

I hold the chocolate between my finger and thumb. It melts so slowly, turning in my fingers in a slow slide until I have no choice. Je suis perdue. I do not raise my fingers to my lips, but bend my head to take the smallest bite, like a kiss. Un baiser. I feel you watching me. Nibbling it, rolling it on my teeth, a dark bitter-sweet bursting, amere-douceur...a swathe of brown silk round my tongue. Soie. Joie.

Il faut que jeunesse se passe.

So gently, you hold my wrist. I have chocolate on my tongue. Lips parted, I breathe chocolate, souffle du chocolat... as you raise my finger and thumb to your mouth. Our eyes lock. Your tongue works slowly, round the tip of my index finger, over the ball of my thumb, until there is only a trace left, a gloss, nothing more.

Il faut que jeunesse se passe.

I bring my fingers to my mouth and taste chocolate, and you.