It was no ordinary candy store.  The enormous lemon drop shaped shingle read:  Harry’s Hallucinogenic Sweets.  The shop was located in a quaint seaside village frequented by tourists randomly walking the streets in that dazed look of people finally let off the farm.  Willamea was as lost as the others, but even in this artist village of strange sites and novelty shops, the idea of mind altering chocolates, toffees and bon-bons captured her tired imagination.  She took a step inside.  
She noticed the store was divided into sections, again marked with those outrageous signs:  Titillating Toffee; Chocolate Chills, Butterscotch Busties, Almond Alacrities, and Pecan Patterings.  
The clerk, a wizened old man with spectacles resting at the end of his nose, with purple sneakers and a bright orange shirt, waddled over to Willamea.  She was fascinated by a life size chocolate sculpturing of a Greek God lifting a goblet of wine.  “What do think about that?” the old clerk inquired.  Willamea was embarrassed by her lascivious thoughts, and so chose to smile politely, and said only “Interesting!”  
“We don’t clothe our candy, the clerk said, and so I’m sorry if this candy sculpturing is a bit graphic.”  Then he developed a sly smile, and said, “but you see, each sculpturing materializes uniquely for each customer the moment he or she walks in the door.”  More silence.   She looked at him as if he were nuts, but her attitude changed when he said:  “You see, we here at Harry’s Hallucinogenic Sweets simply transform our candies into the reality of your current hallucinations.  We make our candies in the moment, fresh from your fantasies.  This one is yours.  Quite a thing to see, wouldn’t you agree?!”
Willamea still did not move or answer, just continued to stare at this marvelous chocolate man beckoning her in his pose for her to come closer.  The old clerk leaned over to her.  “Here at Harry’s, you have permission to indulge.  You’re not entitled to every piece of candy in the store, but since this chocolate god is your own creation, you may have as much of him as you want.”
She finally spoke.  “Where do I start?” she heard herself asking, a ravenous insistence in her voice.  “What part do your really want?  Remember, you have permission to indulge.” 
With that, without another second of hesitation, Willimea sprung in one swift leap in front of her fantasy, and pulled the very heart of the god out its chest, and consumed it completely.