Temptation.

Her fingers were restless, and nervously tapping. Tap, tap, tap. Slide. Tap, tap, tap. Scarlet nails, perfectly polished, moved with an undecided movement, jittery. She sighed, and licked her lips. Her brow was slightly furrowed. She was trim, pretty, and well put-together. Smartly dressed. Late twenties or early thirties. She licked her lips again, and looked around the diner. She stopped tapping and began twisting her wedding band around her ring finger. She moved it up and down, twisting. She sighed again and looked at the clock. Lit by the afternoon sun, it was 4:30.

The bell on the door jingled, and she turned. A man stood there, with slightly smoldering good looks. He saw her and smiled. She eyed him briefly and returned the smile. He gestured slightly, indicating some sort of question. She hesitated for a a moment, twisted her wedding band, then nodded slightly. He walked toward her and sat down at the counter next to her.

"Your first time?" He asked, kindly.

"Well..." she stammered. She blushed, then nodded.

"I see." He smiled at her. His teeth were very white and even. "Well, let me make this easier for you. Would you prefer..." She cut his sentence off.

"No. Not here." She whispered. The waitress eyed them with no small amount of interest. "Let's sit at a booth." She got up, he followed.

"You know, there's really no reason to be nervous, Ms...?" He smiled again, softly. "Smith," she blurted out, a moment too late. He smiled wider.

"Well Ms. Smith, I have a variety of services that could suit you." He winked. She blushed again. "You have your beginner's choice, your moderate package, and the deluxe treatment. All of which are priced accordingly."

She blushed again. "Money isn't an issue, for me. What about the ... quality of service?" She had to force the words out.

"Oh, trust me, Ms. Smith. Quality is what my business is all about. I can guarantee you will have the absolute best available quality."

She smiled. "I'd like the deluxe treatment, then."

"I see!" The white teeth again. "Are you sure about that?"

"Yes. Very." She folded her hands in front of her.

"Is there a place nearby where we might have more privacy? Or should we set up another meeting?" He leaned toward her.

"Yes, I have a place in mind. It's very close." She slipped him a small piece of paper and glanced at the clock. "Meet me here in 15 minutes. Do I need to pick anything up, or do you provide any... precautions?" Her face was still flushed but she seemed calm enough.

"I have everything we'll need. I'll see you in 15 minutes." He watched her put some money on the table, and then she left.

She had arranged for a room at a fairly nice hotel. He walked up to the door and knocked. She opened the door, looking expectant. He walked in, suitcase in hand.

"Did anyone see you?" She asked, breathlessly.

"Of course not," he said. "I'm very careful. Are you ready?" He asked, looking serious.

"Oh, yes." She smiled.

He sat down and opened the suitcase. In it were bars of sumptuous chocolate, marshmallow fluff, freshly pulled taffy, chocolate frosted brownies, white chocolate bark and golden caramels. Everything forbidden anyone could ever imagine. He indicated that she lie down on the bed. She complied, after taking off her shoes and placing them very carefully next to the bed. He arranged himself and his wares beside her. He tenderly took her into his arms, and began feeding her slowly.

Thirty minutes later, it was done. He reached within his suitcase and grabbed a tissue. Despite how careful he was, some crumbs remained on her face. He wiped them off, then handed her a bottle of water. She sighed, happily.

"My husband can never know," she said. He knew. He always knew. She looked at him, and he smiled to reassure her. None of these women could ever tell anyone. Not their parents, or their children and never their spouses. They would be judged, hated and feared. Chocoholics, they were called. Some kind of vestigial human trait that hadn't been weeded out somehow. Who knows? All he needed to know was that it hadn't gone away and these women were willing to pay exorbitant prices for things they could no longer buy or even be seen eating. He touched her hand gently. "It's ok," he said. She smiled at him again. She reached for her purse and he told her the price. Happily, she paid.

"Whenever you need this again, just let me know," he said. "But you don't want to do this often, because someone will find out for sure. Most of my customers try to limit this to once a month, or once every two months." She understood. He smiled again, packed up the rest of his items and left.

She fell back on the bed, a different women. Relaxed, carefree, with a hint of a glow in her face. She giggled to herself and hugged a pillow. She would contact him again. In a month, two at the most.