Everyone loved the candy man.
His candy store stood at the end of the busiest street in the village. On Wednesdays, the street would be crowded with stalls selling fresh produce, from fruit and vegetables to meat and fish and large blocks of strong smelling cheese. During celebrations like Christmas or New Year's Day, the street would be a festoon of colourful baubles and lights that glowed in the night. The villagers would crowd the street, holding hands and singing. In the spring, the villagers would take out their lazy chairs and spread blankets underneath the trees that lined the street to enjoy the spring breeze and the new blossoms.
The candy store was always crowded, spring or winter, rain or shine.
The candy store was heaven.
The candy man was heaven.
The candy man was heaven.
Walk down the street, past the boring shops the colour of mud. One would instantly stare fixedly at the candy store. It stood out of the mundane rows of everyday life like a ludicrously cheerful pink thumb. Its walls were a cream pink flock with a matching pink and blue striped awning overhead. The store window- when not hidden behind a crowd of curly-headed cherubs, wistful noses pressed to the glass, was edged with crisp white, like freshly spun sugar. The bright yellow door was almost never shut. The children of the village kept the little brass bell that hung over the door in a constant merry tinkle.
The children loved the candy store.
Step inside the candy store. The first tinkle of the bell would be the last one would hear of the outside world, before being transported into the candy man's realm. Little shoes pattered and squeaked against the black and white floor tiles, like animated chess pieces upon a gigantic chess board. The sound of excited children jangling their week's pocket money filled the air. Then, all was silent- time would appear to freeze as one gaped at the array of sweet delicacies around him, enough to drown a child in sweet dreams for a thousand lifetimes.
It would take another thousand of lifetimes to describe everyone of the jewels in the candy store. Winking and grinning upon the shelves were jars of jellybeans, gum drops, and boiled sweets in every colour imaginable. Their cheeky grins were returned with smiles from the large glass plates of honey squares at the window. Mountains of gold cubes, nuts and peel suspended amongst tiny air bubbles, captured forever in the golden moment sat side by side dishes of banana nut clusters; chewy chunks of cinnamon-flavoured banana encased in a crunchy shell. To the left of that, wooden boxes containing crystallized happiness. Plums, pineapple, limes, quince. Garnets, sunshine, spring and chartreuse. Beside them were willow-patterned plates of china so fine they seemed to crack under a mere glance. Upon these plates sat a majestic array of jellied goodies. Peaches, apricots, cherries and oranges, steeped in boiling sugar and enveloped by a layer of glistening lemon-flavoured jelly that sparkled in the sun- and in the eyes of delighted children.
Little wooden tables the colour of the striped awning outside the store were always crowded around, little boys and girls jostling one another to get first pick of the sweet comforts that sat waiting in large bowls and dishes. Round minty bull’s-eyes, the same red and white of the wooden targets that the little boys shot at when they went to the seaside fair; soft and girly dolly mixtures in pink and yellow that the little princesses bought by the pound to play tea with their dolls in silk and cotton frocks; traffic-light-coloured lollipops that promised hours of cherry, lemon and apple flavoured sucks. Pale pink bags of sherbet lemons lined up like little soldiers on one table, standing at attention to leap into the hands of the eager children. They were sweet yellow shells without and shocking sour bangs within. On the neighbouring table were raised plates made of bumpy glass. These held carefully arranged piles of heavenly smelling Turkish Delight. Bite sized nuggets of rose pink, jelly-like to the fingers, studded with almonds and dusted with a fairy's sprinkling of icing sugar. Standing aloft in tall vases in the middle of each table were sticks of curly barley sugar and rock with lovely messages all the way through them, so that even when the eager mouths broke off chunks they would still read "I love you", "Have a good day", and "Smile always". All these and more were the priceless gems of childhood, the reason for the children's existence, a cunning bribe for the naughty ones, and a sweet treat to the good.
It would take another thousand of lifetimes to describe everyone of the jewels in the candy store. Winking and grinning upon the shelves were jars of jellybeans, gum drops, and boiled sweets in every colour imaginable. Their cheeky grins were returned with smiles from the large glass plates of honey squares at the window. Mountains of gold cubes, nuts and peel suspended amongst tiny air bubbles, captured forever in the golden moment sat side by side dishes of banana nut clusters; chewy chunks of cinnamon-flavoured banana encased in a crunchy shell. To the left of that, wooden boxes containing crystallized happiness. Plums, pineapple, limes, quince. Garnets, sunshine, spring and chartreuse. Beside them were willow-patterned plates of china so fine they seemed to crack under a mere glance. Upon these plates sat a majestic array of jellied goodies. Peaches, apricots, cherries and oranges, steeped in boiling sugar and enveloped by a layer of glistening lemon-flavoured jelly that sparkled in the sun- and in the eyes of delighted children.
Little wooden tables the colour of the striped awning outside the store were always crowded around, little boys and girls jostling one another to get first pick of the sweet comforts that sat waiting in large bowls and dishes. Round minty bull’s-eyes, the same red and white of the wooden targets that the little boys shot at when they went to the seaside fair; soft and girly dolly mixtures in pink and yellow that the little princesses bought by the pound to play tea with their dolls in silk and cotton frocks; traffic-light-coloured lollipops that promised hours of cherry, lemon and apple flavoured sucks. Pale pink bags of sherbet lemons lined up like little soldiers on one table, standing at attention to leap into the hands of the eager children. They were sweet yellow shells without and shocking sour bangs within. On the neighbouring table were raised plates made of bumpy glass. These held carefully arranged piles of heavenly smelling Turkish Delight. Bite sized nuggets of rose pink, jelly-like to the fingers, studded with almonds and dusted with a fairy's sprinkling of icing sugar. Standing aloft in tall vases in the middle of each table were sticks of curly barley sugar and rock with lovely messages all the way through them, so that even when the eager mouths broke off chunks they would still read "I love you", "Have a good day", and "Smile always". All these and more were the priceless gems of childhood, the reason for the children's existence, a cunning bribe for the naughty ones, and a sweet treat to the good.
Sweet, sour, sugared and creamed,
All belonged to a little one's sweet dream.
All belonged to a little one's sweet dream.
And the chocolate! Oh, the chocolate! One would reel at the very sight of them! Bars of creamy milk chocolate were piled on the counter. Baskets of chocolate truffle eggs lay nestled between curly paper ribbons and fluffy toy chicks so that the children could taste the joys of Easter even the frost-bitten autumns. For the more sophisticated- boxes of the most luxuriously crafted mouthfuls in a helpless variety: creamy white domes with sticky raspberry and rum centres, whole dark chocolate nubs with hazelnut toppings, cream coloured balls with a raised pink tip like a doll's breast, precision-cut karats of choice pralines, ribboned with bitter chocolate so that and explosion of different flavours erupted in the mouth.
For the young at heart- endless trays of peanut butter brittles, little chocolate drops in shiny paper packages, chocolate balls with gooey caramel insides. Long bars of crispy hokey pokey covered with a thick layer of the finest milk chocolate. Oh, anyone who stepped foot into this heaven would get lost inside it. They would want to be lost- immersed entirely in this vat of rainbow nectar, to gorge and feed on this candied ambrosia. The children loved it, and they couldn't get enough of it. That was why, day after day they would flock back, even if all their pocket money was gone, they continued to press their little noses on the glass and stare wistfully at the sweets. They loved the candy store.
For the young at heart- endless trays of peanut butter brittles, little chocolate drops in shiny paper packages, chocolate balls with gooey caramel insides. Long bars of crispy hokey pokey covered with a thick layer of the finest milk chocolate. Oh, anyone who stepped foot into this heaven would get lost inside it. They would want to be lost- immersed entirely in this vat of rainbow nectar, to gorge and feed on this candied ambrosia. The children loved it, and they couldn't get enough of it. That was why, day after day they would flock back, even if all their pocket money was gone, they continued to press their little noses on the glass and stare wistfully at the sweets. They loved the candy store.
They loved the candy man just as much.
The reason why he appealed so to them was because of the very feasibility of his existence. He wasn't an elusive storybook fairy that peeped from beneath the oak leaves but was never seen. He wasn't at all seasonal- popping down chimneys in a fur-trimmed red suit in the winter to deposit sugared goodies into the stockings of slumbering children. He was as real as anything- and so was his magic to spurn out the delectable sweeties for his adoring customers.
Did the candy man make his own sweeties? Undoubtedly. At the back of his store, just behind the counter, was a little door painted the same canary yellow as the front door. However, unlike the front door that never shut, this was a door that never opened. Behind it was the candy man's magical den where he made his confections in wafts of sweet scents and merry jingles. Sometimes the candy man would come out from behind the door bearing trays of freshly made honey nuts or clouds of fluffy candyfloss in pink, aqua and lilac. The candy man would smile at the angelic faces that beamed back at him, and his generous hand never paused to press into the sticky paws a packet of fruit drops or a fairy bubble, which only succeeded to add to his general appeal. The children worshipped him as a figure of godlike magnanimity, able to bring their simple taffy-spun dreams into the world of the living and breathing. He brought all of their wishes to life, satisfying their innocent but intense desire for all things sugary- and they loved him for that.
Did the candy man make his own sweeties? Undoubtedly. At the back of his store, just behind the counter, was a little door painted the same canary yellow as the front door. However, unlike the front door that never shut, this was a door that never opened. Behind it was the candy man's magical den where he made his confections in wafts of sweet scents and merry jingles. Sometimes the candy man would come out from behind the door bearing trays of freshly made honey nuts or clouds of fluffy candyfloss in pink, aqua and lilac. The candy man would smile at the angelic faces that beamed back at him, and his generous hand never paused to press into the sticky paws a packet of fruit drops or a fairy bubble, which only succeeded to add to his general appeal. The children worshipped him as a figure of godlike magnanimity, able to bring their simple taffy-spun dreams into the world of the living and breathing. He brought all of their wishes to life, satisfying their innocent but intense desire for all things sugary- and they loved him for that.
Their mothers loved the candy man as well.
He wasn't short and round like the cookie-cutter figures in their children's brightly illustrated picture books. The confectioners in the pages were fat and old and cheerful, with twinkly blue eyes and jaunty moustaches black as liquorice and curled at the corners. A jolly "ho ho ho" was all they needed to make them first cousins with the seasonal red gift-giver on his reindeer sleigh.
The candy man wasn't at all like that. For starters, he was tall, with broad shoulders and rippling muscles from hours spent stirring vats of thick liquid sugar and pulling soft cotton spuns of pastel taffy. He wasn't bald with a shiny head- his hair was a thick mop of silky nut-brown curls- the exact shade of his priciest chocolates with bright silk ribbon round the boxes. His skin- if translucent- could easily be mistaken for honeyed caramel. The children almost believed that butterscotch and toffee for their apples could drip from his very fingertips. And his eyes- the candy man's eyes were as dark as the currants that dotted his fruit and nut chocolate and studded his gingerbread. His eyes didn't stop at twinkling- they positively sparkled, throwing out radiant light, the windows to the depths of his soul. They smiled together with his fondant lips that were always curved into his high-voltage smile, for the children and their mothers.
He looked almost as delicious as his sugar concoctions. Almost as if you could unwrap him. Almost as if you could eat him all up.
The candy man wasn't at all like that. For starters, he was tall, with broad shoulders and rippling muscles from hours spent stirring vats of thick liquid sugar and pulling soft cotton spuns of pastel taffy. He wasn't bald with a shiny head- his hair was a thick mop of silky nut-brown curls- the exact shade of his priciest chocolates with bright silk ribbon round the boxes. His skin- if translucent- could easily be mistaken for honeyed caramel. The children almost believed that butterscotch and toffee for their apples could drip from his very fingertips. And his eyes- the candy man's eyes were as dark as the currants that dotted his fruit and nut chocolate and studded his gingerbread. His eyes didn't stop at twinkling- they positively sparkled, throwing out radiant light, the windows to the depths of his soul. They smiled together with his fondant lips that were always curved into his high-voltage smile, for the children and their mothers.
He looked almost as delicious as his sugar concoctions. Almost as if you could unwrap him. Almost as if you could eat him all up.
The candy man will not be eaten. He will eat you.
Where did the candy man obtain his ingredients? Without a doubt his goods were made of nothing but the finest the world had to offer, but the greengrocer did not stock any of the ruby-red plums and fuzzy peaches the candy man crystallized and jellied. It was impossible that the cinnamon and clove from the spice shop across the road- guarded by a small, wizened Indian lady in a washed out sari, could have been the chief ingredient of the spiced gingerbread the children nibbled at during the worst of the bitter cold winters. The florist certainly did not have such lovely tea roses that the candy man distilled himself to make the make rosewater for his lumps of Turkish Delight and special Valentine's sweetheart candies. The candy man was never known to leave his shop, not even to go down to the market on Wednesdays. He existed in his own right, encased in his own fairy bubble of sweet dreams and lustful desires.
The candy man did not go out for his ingredients. His ingredients came to him.
Occasionally, upon arriving home in time to cook the evening meal, a young mother would find in the paper bag of sweeties a little bag of crystallized crimson roses. There would be a slight puzzlement- she certainly did not take it off the shelves- in fact she did not even see any crystallized roses on sale- neither did her little angel clamour for it. No, the packet was slipped into the bag by a certain honey-tipped hand, unbeknownst to the unsuspecting customer.
She knew just what the roses meant. She knew what the invitation was for- and she was unable to resist the cloying temptation of it.
That night, when all in the house was a-slumber, she would climb carefully out of her bed so as not to awaken her snoring husband. She would dress in her finest clothes, perhaps spritz just a little of her birthday perfume, and quietly slip out of the house.
In the cool night air she would totter to her destination as eagerly as a bee to a nectar-swollen blossom. Her cheeks flushed pink in excitement and her heart a-flutter.
The candy store would be dark, perhaps arousing some doubt in her already quick-beating heart. But the flicker of candlelight and the door that hung ajar told her that her coming was expected, and that would ease her mind considerably. With that thought lingering in her head, she would slip into the dimness of the candy store.
She knew just what the roses meant. She knew what the invitation was for- and she was unable to resist the cloying temptation of it.
That night, when all in the house was a-slumber, she would climb carefully out of her bed so as not to awaken her snoring husband. She would dress in her finest clothes, perhaps spritz just a little of her birthday perfume, and quietly slip out of the house.
In the cool night air she would totter to her destination as eagerly as a bee to a nectar-swollen blossom. Her cheeks flushed pink in excitement and her heart a-flutter.
The candy store would be dark, perhaps arousing some doubt in her already quick-beating heart. But the flicker of candlelight and the door that hung ajar told her that her coming was expected, and that would ease her mind considerably. With that thought lingering in her head, she would slip into the dimness of the candy store.
Enter into the lair of the sugar candy beast.
The candy man would be standing behind the counter, just as he had not six hours ago. In his hand was a lighted candle, on his lips the same, welcoming smile he bestowed upon his customers. But in his blackcurrant eyes- a certain, glittering look of mischief that masked what looked like the look in the eyes of a starved wolf. The look of a voracious appetite. An appetite that needed filling- and fast.
He would beckon to her to step to the back of his mystical store, then lead the way through the door behind the counter, into the den that no eyes but his own saw. She would be fascinated, then slightly disappointed when she saw that all the room contained was a bed of plump pillows and candles around it. The candy man's humble bedroom. But upon realising why she was brought into it, she would begin to giggle, somewhat flustered. Perhaps she would flutter her eyelashes too much, twirl a lock of hair with her fingers, blush. Then the candy man’s smouldering gaze and inviting smile would cast off all her hesitation as fast as she would cast her garments off for him.
She would lay down upon the candyfloss pillows and silk sheets the same colour of the ribbons that adorned the chocolate boxes- and the candy man would begin to perform his magic upon her. His golden syrup fingertips would skim against her oh-so-sensitive skin, his barley mint teeth would nibble her fair neck, bringing forth the sweetest murmurs and moans of bliss. His penetrating smile would turn her into a peach cooking in sugar. Naked and blushing.
He would show her, one by one, his special toys that helped him make his confections. They would tempt and excite her. The candy man's favourite was a lovely long snake of cinnamon-honey leather. Its silky soft feel and sharp scent would sent loving shudders down her spine as she prepared herself for what came next. The snake, as hungry as its master, would bite into the fleshy globes of her behind, filling the den with glorious cries of ecstacy. It was from all this that the candy man harvested his ingredients. The soft, tender whimpers he caught to be spun and made into his mint green and robin's egg blue taffy. The salty tears that ran down her cheeks he would catch in little crystal glasses. From that he would roast an abundant supply of almonds and walnuts to mix into his chocolate bars and peanut brittles. The hardness of the thrusts he would capture and slip into his sticks of rock candy, so that when the little teeth bit into them there would be a loud crack of sweet shattering sanity. The hot steam that came in short gasps he used to give his chocolate creams and gingerbread their wonderfully warming heat. The pink blush that touched the skin of the rapturous women he took to colour his wine gums, his candyfloss, his sugared almonds. The sweetest cries after each piston he put into the most expensive chocolates and pralines, giving them their distinctive flavour that sent the insides of those who ate them stirring with a desperate, unidentified lust for release.
And at the final, deep plunge, at the deliciously tipped climax laced with pain and dusted with lust, the candy man would reach down and pluck the rose from between her thighs, the fruit of his nightly labours. And from that came his light pink syrup of fragrant rosewater. The same smell that lingered in his shop and hung thick and sticky over the village in the summer and billowed warm and inviting during winter. And the last of the cries were the just desserts- sweet nectar to the candy man's ears.
She would awaken in her own bed the next morning, unsure of whether it had all been a sweet dream, or a hellishly scandalous nightmare. But everything was as normal- the sweets continued to glisten at the window of the candy store, the children's noses continued to press upon the glass, the candy man continued to smile behind the counter, the yellow door still shut from prying eyes. His blackcurrant eyes still glittered, the wolf now satisfied and sound asleep until the next awakening. When that came- another package of sweet crystallized roses would be slipped into the bag of an unsuspecting smiling customer by a honey hand, and the night would be alive with cries of pleasure, and the sweets would continue to glisten, and the children would be happy. Oh, the candy man had a sweet sweet secret- and everyone loved him from it.
He would beckon to her to step to the back of his mystical store, then lead the way through the door behind the counter, into the den that no eyes but his own saw. She would be fascinated, then slightly disappointed when she saw that all the room contained was a bed of plump pillows and candles around it. The candy man's humble bedroom. But upon realising why she was brought into it, she would begin to giggle, somewhat flustered. Perhaps she would flutter her eyelashes too much, twirl a lock of hair with her fingers, blush. Then the candy man’s smouldering gaze and inviting smile would cast off all her hesitation as fast as she would cast her garments off for him.
She would lay down upon the candyfloss pillows and silk sheets the same colour of the ribbons that adorned the chocolate boxes- and the candy man would begin to perform his magic upon her. His golden syrup fingertips would skim against her oh-so-sensitive skin, his barley mint teeth would nibble her fair neck, bringing forth the sweetest murmurs and moans of bliss. His penetrating smile would turn her into a peach cooking in sugar. Naked and blushing.
He would show her, one by one, his special toys that helped him make his confections. They would tempt and excite her. The candy man's favourite was a lovely long snake of cinnamon-honey leather. Its silky soft feel and sharp scent would sent loving shudders down her spine as she prepared herself for what came next. The snake, as hungry as its master, would bite into the fleshy globes of her behind, filling the den with glorious cries of ecstacy. It was from all this that the candy man harvested his ingredients. The soft, tender whimpers he caught to be spun and made into his mint green and robin's egg blue taffy. The salty tears that ran down her cheeks he would catch in little crystal glasses. From that he would roast an abundant supply of almonds and walnuts to mix into his chocolate bars and peanut brittles. The hardness of the thrusts he would capture and slip into his sticks of rock candy, so that when the little teeth bit into them there would be a loud crack of sweet shattering sanity. The hot steam that came in short gasps he used to give his chocolate creams and gingerbread their wonderfully warming heat. The pink blush that touched the skin of the rapturous women he took to colour his wine gums, his candyfloss, his sugared almonds. The sweetest cries after each piston he put into the most expensive chocolates and pralines, giving them their distinctive flavour that sent the insides of those who ate them stirring with a desperate, unidentified lust for release.
And at the final, deep plunge, at the deliciously tipped climax laced with pain and dusted with lust, the candy man would reach down and pluck the rose from between her thighs, the fruit of his nightly labours. And from that came his light pink syrup of fragrant rosewater. The same smell that lingered in his shop and hung thick and sticky over the village in the summer and billowed warm and inviting during winter. And the last of the cries were the just desserts- sweet nectar to the candy man's ears.
She would awaken in her own bed the next morning, unsure of whether it had all been a sweet dream, or a hellishly scandalous nightmare. But everything was as normal- the sweets continued to glisten at the window of the candy store, the children's noses continued to press upon the glass, the candy man continued to smile behind the counter, the yellow door still shut from prying eyes. His blackcurrant eyes still glittered, the wolf now satisfied and sound asleep until the next awakening. When that came- another package of sweet crystallized roses would be slipped into the bag of an unsuspecting smiling customer by a honey hand, and the night would be alive with cries of pleasure, and the sweets would continue to glisten, and the children would be happy. Oh, the candy man had a sweet sweet secret- and everyone loved him from it.
Sugar, spice and everything nice,
That is what little girls are made of.
That is what little girls are made of.
