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One of the things that Colin had come to known of is, no matter it vexing or vapid, men will find all manner of ways to impress upon others their skills. And really, it can be anything.
Today on a day where the summer sun melted on the horizon, it was a spread of fruits, candied and coated in sugar cane. Ladies and gents dotted the garden, tents branching out to shade warmed women and panting men.
Colin, as well as a cohort of young men, had sifted out of the throng and huddled at a few high tables. Sat on the doily’s were a variety of drupes: sweet, tart and astringent little things, with soft plums, yellow-burnt apricots, and glossy cherries, as in crystal dishes.
The reason for being here was nothing but coincidence, at least for Colin, succumbing to ennui and hunger. He had stayed, catching competition in the suppressed rowdiness of the men gathered.
One man – the name escapes Colin, but he thinks the man a rake, considering his next words – is boasting of a ‘trick’ he’d been taught in the Dark Walk, some courtesan having taken him to her nest and having spent the night ‘twisting stems and tongues in twine’ which- Colin was no prude, his own pant button too loose to judge, but really.
Still, when the man popped a whole cherry in his mouth and, with prolonged chewing and the promise of a show, Colin found his interest peeked. With a minute or two, the man spat (rather crudely) the cherries pit, along with a stem perfectly twisted in a bow.
The others clapped, but Colin just blinked, bewildered. It wasn’t the strangest thing he’d seen, and far from the crudest, but it was something new. And Colin adored the new, the peculiar.
He couldn’t help it, joining the others in trying the trick out for himself. He’d eaten cherries before, to it was little issue to take the tart flesh, chew and swallow while leaving the stem and pit. The pit though was proving difficult, so he’d ever-so discreetly spat it out in his hand and brushed his pant leg, dropping it with the motion. From there, it was just his tongue and the stem, and Colin found the trick to be far more advanced than it ought to be.
Colin was no rake, but he did have a history with his tongue in other women’s mouth. He knew how to slot himself in, lips pressing in right enough, where to lick and lave his tongue flat or prodding. But that was a tongue, not a stem. Maybe if Colin was to twist a woman’s teat instead of some bendy body of a stem, he’d have better luck getting the result of a bent body, but alas.
Some men had managed it while Colin was still working towards the thread, and for as silly as the whole thing was, he felt humiliated. A flush had heated his face, so he turned away, as if he was above such things. Because he was, really. It was just a party trick, little if nothing else.
Then again, when the crowd had warped, Colin feed into the flow to disappear among them, mindlessly twisting the stem around in his cheek. For minutes on end, he just twisted and twirled it, before spitting it out when he thought it felt finished.
It was not; just a spit-slick stem sitting grossly in his palm.
“Gods forsaken,” Colin muttered to himself, biting his lip. He ended up tossing aside his own dignity and twisting the cherry stem, pinched between his fingers and threaded like he’d seen his sister’s thread in their needlework. Finally, it was done, but the victory was hollow.
For the next half hour, Colin would chew on cherries, because he was hungry. And, maybe, he spent some time twisting stems, confidence ebbing and waving with every attempt.
Until, finally-
“Yes!” A few heads turned his direction, and Colin shrunk in on himself, feeling like a foolish boy over his uncapped excitement. Still, it was hard not to fidget the finished stem hidden in his hand, prideful over his little achievement.
“Colin?” He turned at the soft call of his voice, looking down at the sweet face of his dearest lady friend- Penelope. Where Colin was in his usual dark shades, with his jacket set aside for the warmer season, Penelope was in her signature yellows, bright and blooming with floral patterns. Her ginger locks are gingerly laid out over one shoulder, downy with baby curls frizzed lightly with the humidity.
Like a dandelion, Colin thinks dazedly, the sort he’d watch weed the gardens, protective of their growth so he may wish to see them tuft out and blow wishes on.
“Colin,” she repeats, and he blinks, noting her a step closer, too close. He steps back, letting proper space come between them. She is his friend, his closest one, but she is still a respectable lady.
Penelope huffs, rolling her eyes, meadow-green and amused. “Are you even here, or are you in wherever your mind takes you?”
Colin nearly sputters, flushed at being caught dazing so openly. “I was not!” he lies, like a liar. “I was- I was practicing. For a party trick.”
Now he has Penelope’s attention, at least, the sharper, more curious sort. It makes him feel exposed, the way she sweeps her eyes over him like he’s hiding away all his secrets in the palm of his hand, and if she can just hold it, ease his fingers open, it’ll be her secret, too.
Then again, at least in this case, the analogy is very literal.
“A party trick,” she echoes back, and really, the slow drawl should not make his flush spread any more than it surely is. She grimaces, taking an unnecessary step back. “This isn’t that snuff stuff you tried with the boys before, is it? Because honestly, I’d rather not see you cough up your lungs on the lawn.”
Colin chuffs, offended. “No, Pen, it is not the ‘snuff stuff’ as you put it.” Though, he can understand her wariness. It hadn’t felt good at all the hack his lunch out in another hall as Penelope soothed his back, and he can’t imagine it looked any better than it felt. “This is a trick taught by a- um, woman of many strange talents.”
Penelope raises one brow, doubtful. And maybe a little hurt, saying tersely, “Was this one of the ones that made magic in your bed?”
Colin chokes, waving his hands and unsure what to do with them, besides holding the stem clutched. “No! It was- there was this other rake- man, other man, he was shown- never mind that. The point is, when you eat a cherry, you can spit the pit and twist the stem into-” he opens his palm, “this!”
Penelope steps up, tilting to see the bowed cherry stem in his palm. She bites her lip, thoughtful and a little flush. “…And you did that?” Colin nods. “With your tongue?”
“Yes,” he admits, oddly proud. “Do not be fooled by its simplicity, Pen. Twisting the stem is far more complex a task than most men could accomplish.” He would know, having spent an embarrassing amount of time and effort on it. Not that he’d even admit that to Penelope.
“And what of a woman?”
The question throws Colin for a loop, as long and as vexing to figure out as the stem had been. “Pardon?”
Penelope looks him in the eyes, a strange determination in her eyes, shining gems pitted against him. “May I give it a go?” At Colin’s prolonged silence, she straightens, arms crossed. “Unless I am not allowed?”
“No!” he hurries to soothe, then reworks the words right, not to sound defensive nor offensive. “I mean- it is not a very lady-like activity. But, if you wish to try,” he leans over, snatching a perfectly ripe and red cherry by its stem, holding it out for her, “then I will not fault you for it.”
Penelope smiles, a sweet yet cunning thing, and takes the cherry by the stem, their fingers brushing. He isn’t sure what to expect, as eating a cherry should be no different than any other food or drink. And yet, the way it dangles, stem pinched between pointer and thumb, the wobble of the red bulb coming close to plump, petal-peach painted lips, laid over the glossy skin and stinking in… it is. It is a lot. Of what, Colin cannot fathom.
She seems to take her time, or maybe Colin is seeing things too slowly, but when the cherry along with its stem vanish in her mouth, he sighs, suddenly drawn of breath. Penelope chews, humming enjoyment at the taste. Did she always like cherries? How is he only learning of this now?
She chews, and then there’s an awkward movement in her mouth, tongue poking out at the inside of her cheek, puffing out and sucking in. She works the stem around thoughtfully, eyes moving with the motion, as if that’d matter. It’s cute, Colin admits, to see her sole focus on a silly party trick. Like when she doodles on parchment in their shared seating, or when she’s given a puzzle to work on. He just hopes she isn’t too spoiled when she cannot manage it.
But as cute as the whole thing is, Colin finds it his duty as her friend to halt her before things become too much. “It’s alright, Pen,” he consoles, noting her knitted brows of focus. “It was plenty hard for the men who had tried, I wouldn’t expect you to get it on the first-”
Colin is cut off by a sharp, honey bee hum, a sound like victory. All at once, Penelope raises one hand to her mouth, and before Colin can emotionally prepare for it, she has two of her fingers plunged between her lips, just barely. In a second, she pulls them out, but the damage has already been done.
“Pen!” he whisper-yells, cheeks flushing. “That is- oh that’s…”
Penelope hums proudly at his reaction, holding out a tightly knotted cherry stem between those same fingers that- that had, oh dear. “That was neat,” she cheers, giggling at whatever face Colin is making in that moment. “I’ll admit, it was a tad difficult, but I think I’ve got it well enough.”
She looks over Colin, that oddly hopeful, pet-like look she gets, like she’s looking for a pat well done. She tilts her head, a touch concerned, and asks, “Are you well, Colin?”
But Colin is still reeling. He feels the heat of the summer season is no match for the heat pooling in his cheeks, coating his throat sticky like cherry syrup poured down it. The sight of his friends fingers sunken into her mouth – where anyone could have seen! – is already enough, but the implications of her completing the trick, and so fast at that, steadily sinks in. The thoughtful and cutely curious look on her face as she worked the stem in her mouth becomes loses its rose-tint to a much darker, libidinous shade of red, just as the cherries she’d taken in her mouth whole.
You know what her mouth tastes like, comes the very unwanted and deeply inappropriate thought, and Colin hides away behind his hand. He feels himself burning, shame and an unnamed, undesired desire trying to come out.
“Did you not like it?” Penelope asks him, as innocent as can be to her friend’s possession of his head, his heart, his very groin.
“Never do that trick in front of another man.”
“What?” But Colin does not answer her, turning and pacing away to hide his shame under a trees shade.
He fears the taste of cherries will not leave him for months, if not years.