Personal Demon

The smell of cologne returned, and a strawberry appeared before Father Blake’s nose. The deep red skin promised sweetness. At least they’d decided to not include apple slices on the fruit tray.

“Try one. They’re quite good.” Gianni inched the strawberry closer to Father Blake’s lips.

With just the coolness from the berry registering on his skin, Father Blake turned his head to face the pursuer he didn’t want to evade. “This isn’t wise, Gianni.”

“It’s just a berry, Blake.” Gianni turned his hand and bit off the tip of the strawberry. A mist of juice settled upon his lips. He chewed it exactly twice before swallowing. The tip of his tongue outlined the bite mark and dipped into the center of the fruit.

Father Blake’s knees nearly betrayed him.

“Just a,” Gianni whispered, returning the berry to Blake’s lips, “a berry. A sweet one.”

The edge of the bite mark traced Father Blake’s lips. The sweet aroma of the fruit filled his nostrils.

The tree had been planted in the garden for a reason, right? For the life of him, Father Blake couldn’t remember why. Liquid sweetness from the berry slicked across his lips. His tongue darted out, sought to taste the residue, and unintentionally tagged the side of the berry.

Gianni, apparently, wouldn’t let that slip by.

The wavering resolve of the priest fell to the needs of the man. The dimpled skin of the strawberry slid between Blake’s lips. Equal amounts of tart and sweet imbued his taste buds with a dizzying tang. Amidst solid eye-contact with Gianni, he pushed his tongue into the hollow of the berry, mashing the fruit’s flesh as he tasted it. Juice from the berry flooded his mouth and dribbled over his lips to his chin. The actual taste of the strawberry barely registered to his mind, but he knew this had to be the sweetest strawberry of his life.

Gianni’s fingers held the top of the fruit and pressed it against Blake’s lips. Drawing his tongue back, Blake took the berry deeply into his mouth. He crushed the pulp against the roof of his mouth, causing the bulk of the fruit’s flesh to split upon his tongue. Blake closed his eyes.

Twice in half as many days, the serpent bit him.

Tiny seeds crunched between Blake’s molars as he snatched Gianni’s wrist. Pulp slid on the back of his tongue when he kissed Gianni’s palm. The tip of his nose tucked between two fingers, and he swallowed what remained in his mouth. Before he realized what he was doing, he licked the center crease of Gianni’s palm. His tongue roamed and pushed as it tried to find more fruit. Opening his eyes, he found his vision flanked by Gianni’s fingers and filled with the light gleaming off the deacon’s cross lapel pin on the open black blazer.

He winced, pushed the hand away, and stared at the crucifix perched above the doorframe. Gianni’s commanding presence engulfed Father Blake and eroded what little willpower he could harvest. Why now?

Caught in a choke-hold by his burden, he sputtered, “Kiss me.”