Dear Penthouse,

I'm a long-time reader of your letters column, but I never thought I'd be writing to you. I just can't believe this really happened to me. I'm a twenty-five year old guy that trades stocks, bikes ten miles a day and gets to the gym on a regular basis. I have dark hair and my eyes have been described as crystal blue. I love dogs and I'm no slouch in the sack either, but I never seemed to have those wild encounters like other readers described. At least not until yesterday.

It was Valentine's Day and I had just started dating this totally hot, near anorexic blond waitress/actress. Since she was a performer, I guess I expected her to be a little more, shall we say, avant-garde in bed, but it was pretty much the old in-out, in-out, man on top, accompanied by moans that sounded rehearsed. I have to say that I'm a considerate lover. I like to get down and do a little bush piloting, if you know what I mean, but she acted like she couldn't wait to get it over with and get back on her cell phone with her so-called agent. I kind a grokked her though, so I decided to make the effort and give her a totally romantic Valentine's Day and see if that turned her motor over.

So there I am outside this handmade chocolates store that a co-worker told me about. She said the candy was ridiculously expensive, but then she said it was worth every penny. The shop had a specialty that she recommended very highly for its aphrodisiac properties. That sure sounded like the ticket and I prepared myself for sticker shock as I opened the narrow, heavily carved door and stepped inside. I was determined that price would be no object as I strode to the marble-topped counter and looked around for an employee. It was only then that I noticed I was alone in the store.

Now, I haven't been in an old-fashioned candy store since… well, ever, to be perfectly honest. I'd only seen them in movies. You know what I'm talking about. The shelves to the ceiling filled with row after row of glass jars filled with a sweet rainbow. The glass fronted counter with trays of penny candies: glossy sour balls, striped peppermints and irregular floes of peanut brittle. The sights and smells made my mouth water more than ripe Brie, or a moist pussy. I thought I'd outgrown my sweet tooth, but it only took thirty seconds in Your Hidden Desire as the place was called, to convince me that it was just dormant. I was actually drooling as I spun on one heel to take in all the treats offered for sale. As I was about to put my hand in a container of shiny, multi-colored jellybeans, I heard a voice.

"May I help you?"

I turned and found myself ensnared by an intense stare. "I… I…" I stammered. "I'm looking for Chocolate Sex."

"No worries, mate," said a curly-haired man in a hippie-Gypsy outfit. "It's the specialty of the shop. Of course, tomorrow being Valentine's Day, we've sold out, but I'm making some more right now. I'm afraid you won't be able to take it with you, but I can take your order and you can pick it up in the morning."

Well, a trip back down to this neighborhood wasn't in my plans for manana, you know? I started to tell the guy that, but before I could say anything, he crooked his forefinger at me, smiled and winked, and went through the heavy velvet curtain behind him. Weird, right? But I really wanted that candy, so pulled the drape aside and followed the long-haired guy. Now that I got a closer look, he was dressed kind of like one of those Medieval Fair people with a belted tunic, leggings and boots in the kind of rich fabrics hardly anybody wears anymore. I noticed how well the get up suited his tall, lanky frame, especially the way the tights clung to his long legs.

And there it was again: my old problem. I'm not gay, but I just can't seem to keep my eyes off guys like the one in the candy store. There's just something mesmerizing about that shape, that color of hair and eyes, the way the bone structure lays like submerged rocks under a beckoning pool of still water, hidden danger for the unwary. And the lithe, graceful way of moving like a lion that has recently fed draws my eye like a naked supermodel should. Is this normal? I doubt it, and that's why I've never told anyone until now. But I digress…

I followed this guy's sublime ass into the back, expecting to see machines with conveyor belts coming out of them. I also kind of expected to see two women dressed in white aprons watching the bon-bons roll by, occasionally snatching imperfect ones out of the line and stuffing them in their mouths. For some reason, I imagined one of them to be a redhead. But there were no workers with red hair, or any other color hair. There were no workers at all. Instead of a factory, it was more of a storeroom with candy everywhere, stacked on shelves, hanging from hooks and heaped in great piles in the corners. It reminded me of the treasure chamber in Aladdin, only with candy instead of gold and gems. I was impressed, but I was also getting a little nervous. People disappear all the time, you know?

"Chocolate Sex is what sets us apart from other purveyors of quality sweets," my guide said, in a voice as rich and smooth as melted bittersweet chocolate. "I'm Heath. Allow me to acquaint you with some of our exquisite confections."

I told him that's what I was there for, refraining from remarking on the fact that he bore the name of one of my favorite candy bars. He'd probably heard it a million times anyway. Heath did some kind of sleight-of-hand move that probably knocked the socks off the kids and older ladies and produced a small golden box (from somewhere up his puffy sleeve no doubt). Actually, it was a pretty good trick, which I told him, as he held out the box to me. It was heavier than it looked, covered in gold foil and tied with a satin ribbon of deep red. I could feel the embossed design of heart-shaped bows and arrows under the pads of my fingers, like Braille for the lust-blind translated into heart-shaped asses and little penises. Did I mention that I was getting hard? Yeah, it's part of the whole reaction to guys like Heath. If I could figure out why they fascinate me so much, I could probably shake the obsession, but no luck so far. Maybe it's destined to remain a mystery.

"Open it," Heath invited.

I pulled the end of the bow, took the lid off the box and gazed on the four roughly spherical chocolates, their sheen dulled with a velvety dusting of cocoa powder, each embellished with dark chocolate shavings. I didn't see any reason to wait and popped one in my mouth. The most incredible taste in the world melted onto my tongue and I swallowed. I was sorry until I remembered that there were three more. I decided to have another one and to savor it this time. I picked up a bon-bon and admired its vaguely mushroom shape before putting it in my mouth. My eyes were rolling at the indescribably delicious taste, and I was making unabashed yummy noises.

"Good?" Heath asked unnecessarily. I agreed, wishing I had a glass of milk or something. "I'm afraid I don't have any milk," Heath smiled. "But this usually helps." Before I could stop him, he grabbed me and stuck his tongue in mouth, swirling it around like crazy. It's not like I've never been Frenched before, but this guy had a tongue like a trained eel. And when he let go of me, I had to admit that he'd taken care of my problem. Only now I had another one. You probably guessed it. Yeah, my half a hard on had been super-sized and was pretty hard to miss if you happened to look down. I'm no John Holmes, but from what I've seen in the locker room, I'm better than average, and I was throwin' wood like a lumberjack on crack. I don't know why that happens to me when a hot guy kisses me passionately, but it always does. Not that I get kissed by a lot of guys, but you know what I'm talkin' about.

Anyway, you won't believe what he does then. He grabs my cock. Yeah. Right there in the storeroom where anybody could walk in. I explained to him what a risky, and actionable thing he was doing and suggested he let go of my crank. Instead, he took a chocolate and put it in his mouth. Then he grabbed hold of my head and kissed me again. That amazing blend of flavors entered my mouth with his tongue and I moaned at the sheer lusciousness of it. He pulled me closer and I felt a swell at his crotch to match mine. Pretty wild, huh? I told him I wasn't gay and he said he didn't mind, which I thought was pretty funny. Actually, everything seemed kind of funny at that point. And warm. And squishy. I swayed and started to fall over, but Heath saved my ass by latching on to it and keeping me on my feet. Pulling my back to his front, he slotted the hard ridge of his erection between my cheeks, probably for better stability, and to save his boss a lawsuit. To make sure I didn't fall and sue, he put a hand down the front of my pants and got hold of the best handle he could find.

I asked him if there was something funny in the candy and he stopped tonguing my ear to say that depended a lot on what I meant by funny. Fair enough, I thought, though it was pretty hard to think by now. There was some kind of aphrodisiac in that bon-bon, love potion number nine, I shit you not. If I had the formula, Donald Trump would be driving my limo. I mean, what other explanation could there be for the way I pushed back against him, grinding my ass against his dick while he tried to settle me down by firmly stroking my quivering length. Unfortunately, his good intentions just got me more excited. I tried to warn him that he was about to have a handful of hot man gravy, not that I use that term for semen, but I've seen it in other letters and thought it added a certain crude vividness to my narrative. For the repetitive motion that Heath no doubt meant to be soothing brought me to the point of no return and I shot my load. It was probably the drug, but the way the candy man was rocking against me and nuzzling my neck made the climax even better. In fact, it was the best orgasm I've ever had. I didn't mind at all when Heath grasped my hips and humped my ass until he came. It seemed only fair and to be perfectly frank, I was limp as an old rag and he could have done anything he wanted with me. I'm almost helpless during afterglow. Such is my odd syndrome, but no odder than, say, narcolepsy, for example.

Heath lowered me gently to a mound of glistening red hots and collected my jizz in a glass jar he plucked out of thin air. He thanked me, which was really gracious, considering what a klutz I'd been in his store, and he offered me a larger sample box of chocolates to take with me while my order of Chocolate Sex was prepared. I thought that was a very nice gesture on his part and I was grateful that he was discreet enough not to mention my clumsiness and the ensuing slapstick that resulted from the symptoms of my condition. After considerately turning his back so I could straighten my clothes, he waited for me to stand and presented me with a red velvet heart-shaped box tied with golden cord. As he put it in my hands, he asked if I would be back. Good salesman. But of course I'm going back. I've got some Chocolate Sex waiting for me and I can't wait for another taste. Besides, I'm determined to find out just what that secret ingredient is that makes it so creamy.

I'll bet you guys never heard that one before.

Sincerely,
Jacob B. Gyllenhaal