Hemlock Sparkle and Poppy Cheeks

The man is tall, his pencil-thin body clothed in a black T-shirt and tracksuit pants. His skin is pale and he has a fringe of short grey hair that hangs over his forehead. His partner is tall, statuesque, her blonde hair in a short bob tied back with a red ribbon. Natalia picks up the woman's questionnaire from a pile on her desk and notices that the participants' names are not what you would expect for a heterosexual couple. The man is called Hemlock Sparkle, and his partner is Poppy Cheeks.

Natalia frowns as she reads the questionnaires. There is no way that these two could be having sex. But then, there is no way that they couldn't. Monika chimes in: "Those sound like very chaste names. What kind of sex could they be into?"

"I've no idea. Maybe something . . . kinky?" It's clear by Natalia's tone that she's foraging beyond her narrowly-lived experience. She's never experienced sex, let alone 'kinky' sex. "Maybe something dirty? Something that involves humiliation or degradation?"

"Kinky stuff sounds good to me," Monika says.

"And why would you want to **** yourself?" Natalia asks, slightly annoyed.

Monika rolls her eyes and laughs, "Not every kink involves degradation. I really do hope you learn more about sexual adulting through this experiment, Natalia." Natalia retorts, "Stop virgin-shaming me!"

"Sorry, Natalia. I'm just being honest. We're all going to find out more about the female orgasm tonight. It's the whole reason we're here."

"Fine, but don't lecture me." Natalia looks up from the pages of the questionnaire to see some curious action on the CCTV screen. Hemlock Sparkle is naked and standing in the centre of the room, legs open and arms stiffly angling away from his torso. His face is consumed in an expression of sublime joy. His skin starts to glow red as he sways his body, as if being rocked by a cold Antarctic breeze. His eyes are locked on his partner, Poppy. She is at his feet doing something almost incomprehensible. Naked and kneeling, her head is tucked between her knees. Her hands are clasped behind her head, completing a position that can only be described as egg-like. "What the hell is that?" Monika says, breaking her trance.

"Looks like... wait, no, can't be," Natalia says, studying the peculiar scene. "Have you seen that movie 'March of the Penguins'?"

"No, but are you saying that they're . . . are they trying to be . . . " Monika pauses in an quizzical stance, " . . . penguins?!"

"I don't know . . . I mean, yes, that's what it looks like, but . . . " Natalia's brow furrows.

"But what?" Monika asks.

"It doesn't matter what it looks like. It's what it feels like . . . to the woman," Paulina replies, smiling slightly. "I mean, just because it looks like my fiancé and I are doing it missionary style every night doesn't mean that . . . "

"Whatever," Monika interrupts. "We all know you feel nothing during sex. Let's focus on the penguins."

"Yes, let's do that," Paulina humphs, sounding slightly offended. She stands up and walks over to her phone, in an attempt to ignore the cold realities of her friend's candid assessment. Natalia and Monika focus in on the CCTV screen. Hemlock Sparkle is really starting to live up to his name, his eyes sparkling as Poppy Cheeks begins to emulate the hatching of a baby penguin from its egg. "What beauty," Monika exclaims. "This is her emergence."

"Yeah, she's a real artist," Natalia says, smiling.

"Please God tell me he's not going to regurgitate some pilchards into her mouth now," Paulina says sardonically, not even glancing up from her phone. But her fears aren't realised. In fact, Hemlock Sparkle and Poppy Cheeks are already gathering their possessions and heading out of Copulatorium. They knock at the monitor room door, and when Natalia opens it, she is surprised by Hemlock Sparkle enveloping her in a bear hug.

"In all the years of our ritual, we've never shared it with an audience," he beams.

"But, who came?" Paulina's interest is all of a sudden reignited. "You? Her? Anyone?"

"Nobody, of course!" Hemlock Sparkle replies with a smile as wide as a church door.

"My husband and I are asexual," Poppy Cheeks explains in a motherly tone. "Mr Sparkle and I met at McMurdo Station in Antarctica. He was resident there; I was a research fellow visiting over the summer. But my departure was thwarted by a one-in-a-hundred-year weather event. In the middle of winter, while we were monitoring the breeding grounds, he won my heart by whispering, 'How could I not shelter you just like that if you promised to be mine?' And I've been his chick ever since."