Caramel

Wisps of smoke tell you you’re doing it right.  It is important to swirl the pot; stirring with a spoon can set off a crystalline chain reaction that will leave you with useless chunks of sugar and regret.  It is important to swirl the pot slowly; they don’t call it culinary napalm for nothing.

When you see the wisps of smoke, swirl for just a few more seconds.  When you are on the verge of fearing all is lost, whip the pot off the heat and add cream.  When the fury of bubbles abates, toss in a pinch of the best salt you have and some vanilla if you’re so inclined.  Return the whole thing to a gentler heat, stirring until your sauce is smooth and dark and lustrous.

Caramel has a thousand and one uses.  It will coat, cover, fill, swirl, flavor, or complement just about any fruit, nut, cookie, cake, or pie.  Yet its true beauty lies not in the kitchen at all.  A spoon, perhaps, and a willing participant are all you really need.

You’ll want to start with the inside of her elbow, or maybe her wrist.  It is as much a tickle as a tease to lick the soft creases.  She smiles and, for a moment, becomes shy.  Her thoughts have begun to wander; she knows what you are thinking.

You lay a thin smear across her belly, working your way from her left side to her right with your mouth—tongue and teeth and lips.  She sighs and pulls at your hair, wanting to touch, wanting to taste.  You coat your fingers and allow her to suck them while you continue to work your way up her torso. 

The underside of her breast is salty and warm.  It is here you really begin to taste her.  Her nipples are erect.  You worship one, then the other until her sighs become moans.

When you drizzle caramel on the inside of her thighs, she starts to squirm in earnest.  With her body, with a handful of semi-coherent words, she implores you to be fast and hard.  You remain slow, methodical even.  Some indulgences are meant to be savored.

Later, you lay with bodies pressed together.  Her pulse has finally slowed.  The evenness of her breathing assures you she is both sated and spent.  The taste of her lingers, mixed with the bitter-sweet of caramel and the salt of your shared sweat.  The half-empty jar sits on the bedside table, the promise of another night, waiting to be devoured.