This work Copyright c 2001, by Caitlain McCarren. I
reserve all rights of distribution not otherwise expressly
granted herein.
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To close, this story, while work of fiction, describes adult
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begin.
Apple Blossom Honey
by Caitlain McCarren, copyright c 2001
As a one-time beekeeper I use honey to sweeten life.
I use it in cakes and confections and offer it to my
guests in lieu of granulated sugar for coffee or tea.
I make cough remedies of it and use it in a quaint
old-time summer drink colloquially called "switchel."
If you like honey you've undoubtedly grown accustomed
to the smell and texture of the most common variety
available, clover honey. It is the standard by which
most honey is judged. This is a great loss, as
clover honey is the most mundane and bitter of the
available varieties. However to know that honey can
be distinguished one must have been a beekeeper, and
the public at large is simply unaware.
The taste of honey is altered by the bees' selection
of blossom. In certain circumstances a vast quantity
of a specific flower is present so it becomes a
preference for the bees. Clover is common because
the plains of the mid-west and west are literally
covered with it.
Bees are part of the ecology in that while they
collect nectar they also move pollen plant to plant
causing crops to bear fruit. Growers know the
necessity of bees. However, caring for bees is a
nine or ten month operation. The grower has no time
to care for a hive of bees. Enter the beekeeper who
as part of his operations "rents" hives of bees to
the growers for the spring months of each year. On
occasion due to an early bloom, it occurs that only
one flower is available and in short order, bees
being so very industrious, hives are filled with
flavored honey. It is harvested immediately so the
bees don't consume it or dilute it with other
flowers. In this way flavored honeys are cultivated.
Now, you may wonder how different these flavored
honeys might be. Rest assured that flavored honeys
are as different from each other as turnip is from
carrot is from potato. Some of the more esoteric
flavors I've tasted have been raspberry, strawberry,
sweet pea, pear, peach, rose, and chrysanthemum.
I've even tried rhododendron/azalea honey brought
from the Himalayas.
About a month from now, at the end of May, I'll
receive a fine example of flavored honey. Every
year, no matter where I roam the honey finds me. At
one time I vacationed in Italy and it found me even
there. Always the same May means the delivery of a
pound jar. The outside box is unremarkable, save for
my address wherever I may be. Opening the carton
reveals packing peanuts though at one time it was
wadded sections of newsprint. Reaching in I remove a
red box wrapped in yellow ribbon tied in a very neat
bow. The occasion repeats annually, the box, the
yellow ribbon, and no indication from whence it came.
I live in anticipation of my delivery from mid-April
until the box arrives. Sometimes I pull the ribbon
immediately upon receipt, remove the vacuum-sealed
jar from the bubble wrap, and open the cover. I sit
with a spoon and dish-up this ancient delicacy, fruit
of the vine, the work of thousands of tiny quarter
ounce beings. They transport miniscule amounts of
flower nectar, deposit it in hexagonal cells and then
fan it until the water content falls below 11%; the
good earth's first and original processed food.
Sometimes I just put the box up on the shelf and
ponder the whereabouts of the one who sent it.
In the box each year, behind the jar, under the
bubble wrap, there is a simple white card upon which
is scribbled in a now uneven hand this simple
sentiment, "In fond remembrance of that long ago
Saturday picnic. The memories haunt me still."
Chances are you never heard about flavored honey. A
fair question to cross your mind would be "How did
you become a connoisseur?" I'd like to tell you.
The time was 1958. The Korean War was over and Viet
Nam was yet to be an issue. Transistor radios were a
very new thing and television was just now starting
to come into its own as a medium. Everything was
entertainment revue or western.
I lived among the foothills of the Blue Ridge
Mountains in the Carolinas. Working in the mills as
a clerk I met a man. He just returned to the States
from a military posting and was taking up residence
in our small town to become a shift supervisor at the
mill where I worked. We naturally came into contact
at the mill, but it was at my second job, sales clerk
at the mill store, that we became better acquainted.
He was shopping for suits and I directed him toward
some marvelous smart navy blue serge with pinstripes,
just prattling on, when I turned back to see him ten
feet behind stopped dead in his tracks.
"Would you be willing to have a cup of coffee with
me?" he asked.
"Well, I won't be off work until after 6:00," I said.
"Perfect, I go on shift at the mill at 7:00. Perhaps
the diner in town? I'll buy you dinner. We can
talk?" he asked.
"I guess that would be all right," I replied. "Yes."
Dinner was dinner at the diner. Same food I'd been
eating on and off again for seven years. Tonight was
different, however. The food was all that much
better for the company. He was witty and charming
and told me of his plans for the future. At the end
I was quite taken with him. When he asked, "Can I
see you again?" it was all too easy to say, "Yes!"
We saw each other for the better part of a year.
Early on I fell in love. He tried to deny it but I
know he was in love too. We were dancing at the
local juke joint one Friday when he asked, "What
shall we do tomorrow?"
"A picnic I think," I replied. "Do you know a place
to picnic? I do if you don't."
"Actually," he said, "I spied just the place while
out hunting morning doves this past weekend. It's
beautiful. We should go. A picnic it is."
At home I fried the chicken, laying it out on towels
to drain. I packed the basket with bread and
pickles, applesauce and fennel. I wrapped the
chicken in aluminum foil and packed it, finally
placing the peach cobbler in on top. It's amazing
how sharp I find the details all these years later.
He arrived at 11:00AM and I was ready in my finest
dress, a check gingham. I ran out the door,
purse and basket in hand shouting, "It's going to be
a special day, Ma!" I jumped into his sporty new
Thunderbird and we rode away.
We traveled northwest about an hour when he pulled
off the side of the road. The hills here become
rolling and he pointed over the nearest one saying,
"There's a clearing over that hill and about a mile
in with a lone tree in the center looking out over a
mile of fields all around. That's where we're
headed. You O.K. with the long walk?"
"I'm just fine," I replied. "I like to walk."
We followed a little footpath through the wood off
the side of the highway to a wood-road going into the
interior, walking that hand in hand. He carried the
basket and wore a rucksack that transported the wine.
Short of our destination he stopped me and said,
"Darling, do you trust me?"
"What a strange question," I replied. "Yes I trust
you. Why do you ask?"
"Well," he began, "I don't believe you've been here,
though it's not far from your home. As we round that
upcoming corner the vista is going to open on the
field I spoke of. There is a perfect location to
reveal the whole scene and I would blindfold you
until we make that spot, leading you there by the
hand. I'd like to make this our place - our little
spot on the map - and I want to show it to you all at
once, rather than have you come upon it bit by bit.
Will you trust me to blindfold you and lead you
there?"
I thought this an odd request but, as it is only with
your first love, my trust and devotion knew no
bounds. "Yes, of course."
He removed a bandana from his pocket and blindfolded
me. He kissed me, and then taking up the basket took
my left hand and said, "Come." We made our way up
the wood road and when we had to cross a ditch he
carried me in his arms. Soon I felt the grasses of
the field upon my legs while still he led on. Thirty
minutes later, by my reckoning, we stopped. The
flowery scent was pleasant but overwhelming. Placing
his hands over my hips he turned me to face west with
the sun on my left cheek. "Thank you, dear, for
trusting me. Please, lift the blindfold. See what
God has wrought this fine Saturday in May."
Tentatively, I reached up to the blindfold and lifted
slightly, then pulled it off. It was terribly bright
and I blinked in defense of my eyes, but they
adjusted and I looked out where he pointed upon I
think the longest expanse of natural open space in
all of the Carolinas. It went on for at least a mile
in every direction I looked. From the south to the
east the green forest from which we emerged, the
entrance now lost to me, showed lush with evergreen
long leaf pine and oak, both live and black. Across
the field, from the southwest running north, the Blue
Ridge opened in dappled shaded majesty under a
graduated azure to cobalt sky. The bright living
ripe green grasses over the whole field were knee
high and the surface rippled as the breeze raced over
them.
I turned back to see that while he stood easy and
relaxed, behind him a gnarled tree with low boughs
exploded in a profusion of pink-white blossoms. The
tree, at one time pruned and cared for but now
covered with suckering sprigs, seemed the hub of
activity for thousands of insects indistinguishable
from each other. I noted the low frequency hum
emanating from the tree and wondered at the count on
nature's display of bees and blossoms. "What's
that?" I asked. "It most certainly isn't peach. Is
it pear?"
"Apple," he replied.
I walked around him to his right and approached.
"It's beautiful!"
"Yes, I knew you'd like it," he said, turning to me.
"I thought we'd eat under it."
"The shade looks good," I replied, "but what about
the bees?"
"Darling," he said, "if we don't bother them they
won't bother us. They'll be happy to share their
tree."
I queried uncertainly, "You sure? We won't get
stung?"
He held out his hand, saying reassuringly, "I'm
sure." I took his hand and he led the way in under
the boughs on the southwest side of the tree. I
threw open the blanket and lay it in the shade of the
apple tree. I opened the basket to find a bottle I
hadn't packed.
"What's this?"
"Oh, that's for later. Here, just lay it out in the
sun," he said.
"What is it," I asked again?
"Honey," he said simply.
"What for," I asked?
"Desert," he said.
"I brought cobbler," I protested.
"And we shall eat it, dear. This is for after that,"
he said.
I gave him a funny look but he wasn't disposed to say
more. So, I set it down.
He collected it and set it out in the sun. "We'll
let it warm."
"What do you have in mind?" I asked, still curious.
"You'll just have to wait and see," he said.
I plied him a little more but he said nothing.
I set out dinner as we talked of our jobs,
associates, friends, and life in general. Out of the
blue he asked, "Ideally, dear, when we marry, where
do you want that to happen?"
My heart leapt at the question, presumptuous though
it was. I asked, "Are we planning?"
"Could be," he replied.
"Well, I suppose I'd like to marry here at the
Methodist church. All my is here. Do you
have family," I asked?
"My are unfortunately dead, but I have a
brother," he replied.
I asked, "Would he be best material?"
"That I'll grant you. I do believe he would be a
great best man. Threw the best parties I ever saw.
Stag party'll have to be thrown," he said, at which I
frowned sourly. "Of course there are some buddies
from the service I'd like to invite. Mostly though,
the guest list will comprise your relatives and
friends. Those I'd invite could be counted on your
fingers and they would probably be in the wedding
party at my side."
"They would, would they? This is news to please my
parents. You do, by the way," I pointed up.
"That'll make speaking with your easier," he
said.
I asked, "My father? Whatever for?"
He snickered, "To ask for your hand, of course."
I asked, "Are you really going to do that?"
"I'm reviving an custom," he answered.
I snickered.
"What?" he asked.
"I can't believe you're really going to do that," I
answered.
"Why not?" he asked.
I replied, "What will you do if he says no?"
"No, that's not what I mean," he said. "What I mean
is, if he likes me what's there to loose? He's
fashioned enough to appreciate the effort, and it can
only bring me up in his estimation."
"It works only if you answer the questions he puts to
you," I said.
He replied, "I've little doubt I can satisfy him.
However, can I satisfy you?"
"What do you mean," I asked?
He paused a moment in consideration. "Are there
things you would know about me? Are you satisfied
you know me?"
"I know this you, the you I want to know. Are you
saying there's more," I asked?
"More? Yes, there is more." At this he paused again
to collect his thoughts. "I had special training in
the service. For the next 13 months I'm subject to
recall. Perhaps a long engagement is in order."
"13 months!" I exclaimed. "That's a long time to
wait; maybe too long to wait. Is there any way we
might marry sooner?"
"Dear, the nature of my training is-" he stalled,
considering. "Well let's just say that what I do for
the service is exceedingly hazardous, and should I be
recalled there's no better than an even chance I'll
return from the assignment."
"What do you mean," I queried, "'a no better than
even chance,' you'll return? Just what did you do
for the service anyway?"
"That's a silly question, dear," he replied. "It was
war and I did what we were all charged to do. I
killed people."
I wasn't willing to let it go. "So why will there be
such danger if you're recalled? Can't they do
anything to make the chore safer?"
"No," was his concise reply.
"But, why not?!" I exclaimed. "Just what did you
do?"
"I'd rather not describe it, other than to say-" he
paused again to consider. "The nature of what I did
showed a remarkable economy of ammunition."
I asked, "What does that mean?"
"Obviously," he stated, "it means nothing to you. We
had a motto in our outfit -- One shot rings out, one
enemy lies dead."
It was my turn to pause and consider. I really
didn't comprehend. This was long before reality was
vividly presented in and not knowing war I had
no frame of reference. It was obvious he thought it
a huge obstacle. "A long engagement then," I
conceded. I looked down at my knees, attempting to
hide my discouragement. I continued unpacking the
basket and setting out the food. A tear formed in my
eye and though I tried I couldn't keep it from
falling.
"You're clearly upset, dear," he said. "Why?"
"It's nothing," I replied. I looked up and rubbed
the next tear away with the back of my hand. He
didn't seem satisfied. He sat back on his haunches
awaiting continued dialogue. The tension filled the
air. To relieve it I blurted, "It's selfish!"
"Why don't you let me decide that?" he asked. He
just sat back waiting. Clearly he wasn't going to
let this go. Having removed the food there was
nothing to do but hand him his plate. I reached out
with it. Instead of taking the plate he grabbed at
my wrist and pulled me off balance. I turned to
avoid falling in the food, shouting as I fell, then
landed on my back. I tipped my head back and gave
him a questioning look. He bent down and gave me a
passionate kiss. "I love you, you know!"
"How would I know? You've never said so until now,"
I teased.
"I love you," he said.
"Is that supposed to make it all right," I asked?
He laughed, saying, "No. Women and children think
that love makes life right rather than just
different. I should think you'd know better.
However, are you telling me that to hear the words
from my mouth is unwelcome?"
I softened my countenance through my tears and
looking back up at him said, "No, it's most welcome
to hear. It's late though. You know that. You've
been in love with me the better part of a year now."
He chuckled. "Well, I figure better late than
never!" He bent down and kissed me again. Then he
lay beside me on the blanket. I turned on my side
and propped my head on my hand, the better to see and
converse. "You want to tell me what has you so
troubled," he asked?
"I told you, It's just selfish," I said.
He said, "Tell me."
"I don't want to wait," I said. "If I could I would
wed us tomorrow."
"You do realize why I think we must wait?" he asked.
"What if the service does recall me ten months from
now, while you await the birth of our first child?
What if I don't return? I wouldn't leave you with
that burden, darling, though I know you would gladly
bear up under it. In thirteen months the service
will have no hold on me and we can get on with our
lives."
I screwed my face up, considering how to say what I
had to say. He completely missed the mark. I
understood the delay. I tried to explain though it
was tentative to start. "I understand that," I said,
"it just wasn't what I meant." I paused, puzzled,
and cross at myself for the inadequacy of the words I
had. "I understand," I began, "...there are certain
pleasures that people enjoy," I tried. "It's
these at which I wonder and would know ... now."
He smiled. "Have you no patience, woman?"
"No," I replied.
He laughed, "I thought you might feel this way.
That's why I came prepared."
"Prepared!" I cried. "For... intercourse?" I took
umbrage at this thought, the thought he was prepared,
which I found presumptuous. There was that word
again. I thought it strange to be angry because he
was ready, considering what I was saying. I softened
my heart a little.
"Actually, no, dear," he said. "There need to be
some pleasures left for the nuptial bed!"
"There are other ways to bring a woman pleasure," he
intimated.
"How?" I asked. "No, don't say. Will this make me
bad? Will you think less of me if I consent to ...
do this?"
"Does this make you a bad girl?" he queried
rhetorically. "You can never fall from my
estimation. If anything, I find you more fascinating
everyday we're together. I can never think more
highly of you, no matter which path you chose."
"However, I'd say that it would be so in the eyes of
your and the church, if they were to find out
or if you were to speak out of turn. It's your
reputation we must consider. Nevertheless, here we
are under an apple tree able to see anyone coming
into view for a mile in any direction. We are under
the boughs of the tree shaded from sun, and sight,
for the same distance. If we were to enjoy ourselves
here I'm certain no one would know, save us." He
paused, to let me consider. "This isn't Adam and
Eve, dear. I'm more like the serpent tempting you
under the tree of knowledge. Like Eve you may have
your choice. I'll take no as answer as readily as
yes." He paused here, to let me consider long. He
followed up with, "That said, you have my solemn
promise that despite my fears of recall by the
service it's my intention to never, ever, leave you."
After a moment he launched himself back up on his
knees. He bent down and kissed me again. I rolled
onto my back so he could. It was more passionate
than any kiss I ever received, before or since.
Pulling back a little to see my face, he said, "Let's
eat. I'm dying to try your cobbler! You can give me
your answer after dinner."
I moved back up on my knees and passed him some foil
wrapped chicken. I opened the pickles and
applesauce, and uncovered the dish of fennel. He
broke the bread, handing me a chunk, and bit into his
own. We ate essentially silently, my mind
preoccupied with my decision. When I did look up at
him he had a bemused smile on his face. I frowned
every time I saw it.
He made it clear the decision was mine to make. What
I couldn't figure was why it required all this
consideration to say yes. I knew I would. I was
certain he knew I would. The further into non-
conversation we delved, the wider his smile became;
the wider the smile the deeper my frown, and the more
furrowed my brow.
Finally I could stand it no longer. "What are you
smiling at?!?"
He laughed. "I'm smiling at you killing yourself
over this decision by over-thinking it."
Upset, I blurted, "You think you know what I'm going
to say?"
He laughed again. "If you'd already made up your
mind we'd be talking. I don't know what you're
thinking, but I'm having fun guessing. The longer
you think on it, the more likely it is that I'll be
spending the afternoon here. Still, whatever you
decide is O.K. with me."
"You're impossible!" I exclaimed, giving him an ugly
look. He just gloated.
"What do you plan to do if I say yes," I asked?
"What else? Love you!" he said. "Physically.
Without reservation, ...save penetration. Pregnancy
is out of the question. I'll not have you suffer
that without the benefit of marriage."
"Why?" I asked.
He answered with a question of his own, "Why what?"
"Why are you willing to do this," I questioned?
He answered, "If I do `this' it will be for three
reasons. First, because I love you. Second, because
I'm sure you're ready. Third, because you ask."
"No other reason?"
"There are no better reasons than these," he said.
"I enjoy bringing pleasure. I'd like to do this for
you. What more reason do you need?"
"Have there been others," I asked?
He laughed. "Are you sure you want to ask that
question? I won't lie to you! What I think you're
really asking is will there be others. The answer is
there will be no others. You're the only one with
whom I want to pursue this. Will this satisfy you?"
I thought about this before answering, "Yes!"
He asked, "Yes, what?"
I said, "Yes, it satisfies my question. Yes, I want
to know what you would show me. Yes, I'll take the
risk with you the service won't recall you. Yes, I
love you. Yes, I think I always will!"
"Good," he said. "Now eat your dinner in peace.
You'll want the strength later. Where's that
cobbler? Ahhh!"
The shift of attention back to dinner threw me a
little. I think, ...aw, whom am I kidding? I was
expecting some outward demonstration of joy at what I
said. The decision seemed momentous a moment ago.
He just shrugged it off as everyday mundane.
He broke my reverie by sneaking up on me and speaking
these words in my ear as if having read my mind, "I
never let the decision be more momentous than the
action, dear. I'm pleased you made a choice. Now
quiet your mind and try to be here with me in this
moment, rather than planning our future or comparing
this to your past. Trust me, there'll never be
anything to compare. Pay attention so we both enjoy
it and so you don't miss a single nuance!" Startled,
I turned to him. He kissed me, warm, slow, wet, and
deep. I kissed back savoring the sensations on my
lips, at my breasts, at the base of my spine, and at
the warming, ...you know, down there. A moment later
I tipped over on the blanket in a swoon. I think he
saw it coming and guided me down.
I came to with his smiling face hovering above me.
His eyelids crinkled with concern, but there was
definitely a smile under that nose. Frightened at
what just happened, I started, shrinking back at
first but childlike I wrapped my arms around his neck
and drew myself to his broad muscled chest. I clung
to him as if for life and asked, panicked, "Hold
me?!?!" He slipped his arms around my waist and
pulled me in close. My breasts, crushed against his
chest, were warm. As a matter of fact, I noted my
whole being felt flushed as the hot blood coursed
through me, but my skin felt cold and I shivered.
"Darling?" he queried repeatedly, trying to gain my
attention.
At about the forth or fifth try I responded, "I'm
scared!"
"You're also showing the early signs of shock and we
need to warm you up!" he said.
"Spare blanket in the basket!" I responded. He moved
but I wouldn't let go. It took several tries with me
clinging to him, but finally he tipped open the
basket cover, reached in, and removed the blanket. I
felt the instant warmth as the blanket wrapped over
my shoulders. "Don't go!" I desperately cried.
"I'm not going anywhere," he responded reassuringly.
He held me and rocked me as I warmed.
I couldn't track time in my panic but eventually I
came to enough to ask, "What happened to me?"
"Well, dear, I knocked you out. I boxed Golden
Gloves in the service but yours is my first KO. To
think that all I had to do was kiss `em."
"They would never have let you fight your way in
close enough to kiss them," I offered.
He just laughed, a great big belly laugh that rolled
up from way down deep in that warm wonderful muscular
chest. I giggled at first then laughed with him. We
went at laughing uproariously for what seemed like
forever. Eventually we laughed ourselves out. I
lifted my head from his shoulder and tipped back away
from him enough to look in his eyes a moment. I
kissed him then asked, "Did I beat the count? Can I
at least fight out the rest of the round?"
"Well now, I don't know about that!" he said.
"Usually they call the match after the KO." I gave
him a very disappointed look, then kissed him. I
pulled back again to gaze into those wondrous blue
eyes. He said, "Well, there's always the rematch!"
I kissed him again, trying to revisit the warm, slow,
wet, deep kiss that put out my lights. When we broke
apart I pulled back and smiled a broad dreamy sated
smile.
"You really look beautiful when you wear that smile,"
he said.
I replied, "Kiss me again so it doesn't melt away."
"Only too glad to oblige, lady," he said tipping me
to the side and cradling my head in the crook of his
right elbow. I held the blanket close about my
shoulders in nervous anticipation as he looked down
on me. Gently he lowered his head to my lips that
were now turned up awaiting him. This was "the"
kiss. As he started warmth built in the pit of my
stomach and radiated out. Soon the warmth engulfed
me until I displayed a full blush from forehead to
knees when we parted our lips.
When he broke our kiss I nuzzled into his upper arm
and caught the manly scent of cologne on his chest.
I thought this is what it's like to be with a man.
No wonder blushes when dad comes down from the
bath all clean from a day's work. It's got to be
anticipation. This is wonderful. The glow didn't
fade for the longest time. When it did it was just a
little. I felt him bend his lips to my ear,
"Darling, this is just the beginning!"
"It's really dreamy here in your arms," I replied.
"You're so strong; and your smell! You smell so
good! I think this could be what heaven is like."
"Yes, and there are even greater pleasures to come!"
he said.
"Oh, good," I said, "but no more knock outs, O.K.
They're fine falling into them but I don't like the
fear coming out of them, even if they do drive me
into these arms."
"How'd you learn about the fight game," he asked.
"Dad's a fan. I remember listening at his knee when
Ezzard Charles unified the Heavy Weight Championship
some years back," I answered.
"Dad's a boxer?" he queried.
I replied, "Oh, I don't know, could be."
"I'll have to ask," he said.
I asked dreamily annoyed, "Do you want to talk
boxing?"
He replied evenly, "No, I want to talk about you
sitting up and eating some of this food we brought.
I'm beginning to think you had me carry it for my
health."
"I'm not hungry," I said.
"Come on," he persuaded gently. "You need to eat, so
unless you want me pouring it in you, sit up." He
pulled me back up gently, hugging me close before
letting me go. "You frightened me when you fainted
like that. You don't want anymore of those episodes?
Good! Eat!" he commanded gently, but emphatically.
I reached for a wineglass. "No! No wine for you
until you put some bread and food in you. I'm nice,
but I'm not carrying the trash, blankets, baskets,
and you out of here. So eat something."
I reached in the bowl of fennel and hauled out a
foreshortened stalk cut on the bias. I bit and
chewed, enjoying the sweet scent and tang of licorice
that fennel carries. I chewed open mouth in protest
to his commands. He peered up and gave me a dirty
look, so I closed my mouth. I chewed up another
stalk of fennel before moving on to my hunk of bread
and discovering I really was hungry. After the bread
I ate two pieces of chicken and some applesauce.
Then I stripped off another hunk of bread from the
loaf and ate that too.
He handed back my wineglass and filled it from the
now open bottle. I sniffed at it and finding it
fruity and pleasant sipped at it. When I was done
chewing I took a big to wash down the food.
"Decided you were hungry after all?" he asked.
"Where's the cobbler?" I asked smiling, while fishing
out one of my slab pickles from the jar.
"You haven't eaten since yesterday, have you?" he
queried, more as statement.
"Come to think of it," I said, "I haven't."
He said, "No wonder you fainted."
"What does eating have to do with it?" I asked.
"If you don't eat regularly, your body tires," he
said. "Last couple of days has put a lot of stress
on you. I chock it up to nervous anticipation of
being with me. You don't carry a lot of fat on you,
so you used up whatever reserve you had in the mental
and physical labor of coming to that point just
before you fainted. When you needed stores to deal
with my kiss you had none. You became disoriented,
fatigue overtook you, and you fainted."
"So I'll be better," I asked?
He said, "Don't you feel better?"
I stopped chewing long enough to think about it. My
mind had quieted substantially; I could concentrate
and understand what he was saying. "Yes, I feel
better."
"Well, then," he replied as if that were proof
enough. "Now you're of sounder mind and body, want
to take back what you said about knowing what I can
show you?"
"No!" I said. "Why would you think so?"
"Just checking," he said, handing me the cobbler
dish.
I set it aside and reached out for his hand, which I
pulled close and laid over my beating heart. "I
can't tell you how pleased I am we're becoming
lovers. That's what's happening, isn't it," I asked
rhetorically? "I love you too!" With this I
dispelled his doubt over what we were about to do.
He leaned over the blanket to me and I met him
halfway where we kissed again. He moved his hands
over my renewing that yummy feeling in the
pit of my stomach. We kissed repeatedly a few
moments before I let go of his hand. He wrapped the
loose hand around the back of my head and stroked at
my hair soothing me. Finally he used that hand to
hold me as he kissed me again open-mouthed. I
returned the passion, but lost my balance, placing my
hand firmly in the cobbler pan. I didn't care.
When he released me after several moments I sat back.
I grabbed a handful of the cobbler and lifted it to
my mouth. I took the first mouthful before he
reached out and my full hand close, nibbled
at the cobbler, and my hand, in an intimate display.
I giggled around the sweet crumbs and fruit in my
mouth. He let go of my hand and I drew it back to
take another sensual bite while I looked at him,
inviting him with my eyes to take another of cobbler,
or me. He reached out after a moment and I gave him
the hand. it to his mouth he licked the
fingers clear of cobbler and left the contents of the
palm to me.
I drew back my hand and bit a big hunk of cobbler out
of my palm and covered my lips and chin as if I was
competing in a pie-eating contest. He waited as I
finished the contents of my palm and licked it clean.
He crawled over to me on all four, and licked the
cobbler from my face with his tongue until nothing
was left but a crumb on my lower lip. He kissed me
again, it into his mouth and sending a
thrilling chill down my spine that lasted until he
released my trapped lip.
"Oh! that feels so good. Do it again!" I cried.
"Not just now, but let's try this," he said as he
plunged down on my neck, kissing. I warmed, then
heated, my sex engorging in a manner unknown to me
before now, and both wetted and whetted. I shivered
with delight. His hands roamed over the cloth at my
breasts as the nipples sprung out and stiffened hard
and as through as chair dowels. He kissed at
my neck, then nibbled at my earlobe. Just when I
didn't think he could coax another ticklish shiver he
bit the fleshy part of my left shoulder causing me to
lose control and quake down to my toes. He lay me
down on the blanket. He kissed me as he began
unbuttoning his shirt. I reached in through the
opening and ran my hands up and down over his rippled
stomach. He stopped long enough to unbutton the
cuffs and remove the shirt, and then we joined lips
again.
When we came up for air he asked, "Like this?"
My reply was unintelligible. He unbuttoned my dress
as I helped. Soon the button front was undone. He
reached in under the hem of my skirts and began
rubbing across the waistband of my over my
stomach, moving ever so slowly down until he touched
the top of my pleasure button through the cloth with
the heel of his palm. Immediately, unconsciously, I
thrust my hips up at his probing hand while he
gathered the back hems of my skirts and pulled them
above my waist.
He let his hand roam over my waist and knead along my
thighs while he swept the dishes to the far side of
the blanket to allow us more room. He burrowed his
hand beneath the small of my arched back, then lifted
and repositioned me more in the center of the
blanket. I wrapped my arm over his shoulder to help
and while I was there managed to plant a slow wet
kiss on his lips as much to keep myself enticed as to
enflame him. The motion of the move was a little
rough so I cried my alarm into his mouth. He
responded by breaking then renewing the kiss, which
quieted me instantly.
He pulled up my dress as I lifted my arms to allow
its removal. My slip came off with it and the chill
of the breeze raised goose bumps across my body. He
reached around and after fumbling a little unbound my
bra. He wound the spare blanket over my shoulders
while I removed my bra leaving my and very
visible pink nipples exposed. In this state of
undress I felt a little vulnerable. I scanned the
horizon for intruders upon my bliss, finding none.
Reassured I lay back to watch as he stripped his
shoes and socks off, then removed his belt. He
reached out and removed my shoes leaving me in
nothing but hose, garter, and panties. My arms were
crossed under my holding the blanket wrap
closed. "Darling, you're a wonderful sight to
behold. That smile says so much. You're beautiful!"
he proclaimed. I reached out and tugged at his left
wrist coaxing him back.
He climbed back over me, straddling my hips, and
kissed my lips playfully, repeatedly. He cupped my
left with his right hand beneath the blanket
and played over the nipple with the thumb. I
twitched each time his thumb passed over it, the
shudder wracking the left side of my body. He bent
his head low over my right nipple as he looked up at
me with a smile on his face. He breathed warm moist
air on it until I turned my head to see. He turned
his attention back to that nipple and plunged his
mouth over it, it in and filling his mouth,
then capturing it between his teeth, nipping at it.
I arched my back under him pulling the away
and elongating the nipple sending a shock from there
to my sex. Closing my eyes I gasped! Then he
released it and repeated this provocation as I cried
out.
He swapped sides, cupping my right in his left
hand after dipping his left thumb in the wine.
Wetting his thumb with alcohol and slipping it over
the wet nipple chilled the nubbin further, hardening
it more and stiffening it again. When I realized
what was happening there he plunged his warm mouth
over my dry left nipple. His ploy seemed exquisite,
the sensations of warm and cold seemingly
sending an electric current between twinning nipples,
and from there to my sex now weeping and soaking my
panties. My wet anus chilled, but seemingly puckered
outside of my will to stop it. My unfolded flower
seemed sensitive to any breeze, no matter how slight.
His simply rocking back and forth over my hips seemed
to displace enough air to cause delightful shivers to
emanate. My thighs shuddered, my calves pulled at my
heels, my toes curled, and I involuntary,
reflexively, gripped at the blanket as if to find
purchase on the very air in which I now floated.
He the left nipple into his warm mouth and
chewed lightly at it, intensifying every little
sensation and stripping me of all other sensibility.
I lolled my head back, mouth agape, and at the
air breathlessly. At a moment I found pleasurably
unbearable I groaned out my passions!
My body convulsed from within and without. More
curious than frightened by all these spasms I moaned
out low and throatily, "What's happening to me?"
He stopped to look up and then moved his right hand
to my waist before pronouncing, "I'm not certain,
dear. You may be observing your first orgasm. Is it
troubling you?"
"No!" I croaked. "How ...do you ...tell?"
His faced opened up in a big grin as he said, "Well,
darling, the only way to know for sure is if I were
to ...ah, that is... ah, well, this is going to sound
so strange!" He went back to nibbling at my left
nipple, grazing it with his teeth, licking around and
over it and blowing cool air on it, then it
back in his mouth alternating cool and hot.
"How?!?!" I as much commanded as requested.
He blew on the nipple then it in his mouth
again. When he released it softly, he blew on it
quickly chilling it, then looked up to my face from
there and said, "Well, uhm, I just put my fingers,
uhm ...inside you."
Oh, now that was a thought! Something, ...inside
there, "Tell me! Please!"
He stopped long enough to throw his right leg back
over on my right side next to his other. He went
back to chewing and nibbling like he was never
interrupted. Truly, as far as the sensations were
concerned, they never were. He laid his palm on my
stomach and rubbing in circles made his way to the
waistband of my panties. Lifting the band he slid
his fingers under and worked them down over the top
of my engorged lips. This brought about a hitch in
my breathing as I air through my top teeth,
now hooked over my lower lip, "Ffffffffffffffffffff!"
He felt and probed and found the tip of my clitoris.
That brought on another hitch. He wound his thumb
around and around it, as if smoothing down the flaps
to allow the way to the instrument itself within its
silky sheath. Slowly he circled and for my part I
cried out in a high pitched tone. Then,
...satisfaction. He slipped his middle finger into a
now splayed feminine flower and touched the top of my
hard tipped nub. Instantly I fell silent, went slack
jawed and glassy eyed. Every muscle in my back
contracted. I thrust my up into his mouth
then backed it out. The nipple, inadvertently grazed
by his teeth during the unintended movement,
triggered my new orgasm, this one fully involving; my
vagina gripping, gripping, gripping, my stomach
rolling, rolling, rolling. In all of this I forgot
to breathe and rolled my eyes into the back of my
head.
When I was myself again I found I had been turned on
my side and covered with the blanket. I opened my
eyes to see him gazing down on me from those dark
eyes with a wide grin in a head propped up on an arm.
I smiled up at him contentedly while his other hand
rubbed back and forth over my side. "That, darling,"
he said, "was a confirmed orgasm." I broadened my
smile and covered my eyes in wonder and shy
embarrassment.
"Thank you," were the first words I spoke. I was so
grateful, pleased, happy, and ...sated, that I could
think of no better words. From his perch on that arm
his grin widened, then he spoke through his smile,
"You're entirely welcome." We lay there for what
seemed like forever. Me reclined, him running his
hand over my body, slowly, sensuously. "After you
recover some we could do that again if you like." I
didn't reply because I was enjoying his touch and I
didn't want that to end. "What're you thinking?" he
asked after a few moments.
"I'm wondering how I'll ever survive that," I said.
He chuckled, "Honey, you'll do fine!"
"I've got to be your dream girl," I said.
Smiling, he queried, "How do you mean, dear?"
"A woman who faints at your kiss, of course!"
He broke out in that big belly laugh I did come to
enjoy hearing. I'd never before heard him break out
in this thunderous laughter. I smiled up at him and
watched him laugh with wonder. When he quieted he
turned back down to me and said, "You're most
certainly my dream girl, and it hasn't a thing to do
with your fainting. I love you, you know."
"I do now!" I replied. "I love you, too."
"Thanks for loving me."
He had evidently gathered the food for there was none
to be seen. "The food," I asked?
"Back in the basket, dear. Your fennel is on top if
you like. Take off your for me," he said.
I gave him a look and asked, "Just what are you going
to do with my panties?"
"You soaked them pretty well through. You can rest
while I go down to the stream to the south-west and
rinse them clear," he said. "If I hurry, they may
dry enough that you can wear them out of here."
I rolled onto my back and shimmied out of them,
extending them from under the blanket.
He reached out and took them up. "I'll be back. Try
to sleep. I'll wake you upon my return."
I rolled back over on my side and folding my arms
together at the elbows lay my head upon them and
watched him go. A few moments later I lay fast
asleep.
It seemed like only a few moments before he woke me
with a kiss. "How long," I asked?
"Not long, about an hour," he said.
I sat up, slowly. "That long?" I asked, mentally
fatigued.
"How'd'you feel," he queried.
"Huh, ...Oh, fine," I answered. "Really good as a
matter of fact, thanks to you."
"Hungry?" he asked.
"Yes. Any fennel left?" I flipped up the lid on the
basket to find my fennel.
"Right on top, dear," he offered. I reached in and
pulled the foil wrapped package out and closing the
lid laid it on top. I un-wrapped the foil and
retrieved a sweet stock. Holding the stalk between
my teeth I moved the blanket to cover my back,
draping it over my shoulders. He sat behind me and
began rubbing at them. It felt really good, like
when I was seven and held me close on the sofa as
we listened to the war on the radio for news of dad.
I leaned back into him, relaxing, those warm
wonderful hands rubbing at and over me, letting me
know all was right with the world.
I chewed at the fennel, the sweet tang of licorice
sticking with me, until I'd finished the three stalks
that remained. I balled up the foil and slipped it
over the lip and under the lid of the basket while I
finished chewing the last. "More, dear," he asked?
"There's pickles and some chicken left."
"No food," I said. While turning to him I replied,
"More of you would be nice." We kissed, and kissed.
Finally I sat back up and smiled at him. He pointed
out under the tree to the warm afternoon sun on the
field. I looked out in wonder as the sun took
position so that it shown in under the limbs and
blinded me. I held my hand up over my brow to shade
my eyes and marveled at the glow brought over the
grasses of the field.
"Beautiful!" I pronounced.
"Not nearly as pretty as you in that same glowing
sun," he said quietly, almost reverently.
I turned back to him and looked upon his face, which
was turned down a little in embarrassment at his own
pronouncement. He peered up from that downcast face
as if not knowing how I'd take the compliment. "It's
nice of you to say so, thank you," I replied and
moved to his lips with mine to kiss again. I turned
away and crawled out from under the low boughs to see
the whole panorama in glorious detail. I held the
blanket close, shielding myself from the breeze.
A moment later he joined me over my right shoulder,
cigarette in hand. I turned back over that shoulder
and said, "I didn't know you smoked."
"I don't always. For the most part, never when I'm
with you. I was just feeling pleased and satisfied
and that's when I like to smoke," he said. "They
taught us, in the service, not to get to like these
too much. We'd need to do without these for days at
a time. They said it was a nervous habit we'd do
well not to acquire."
"Yet, you smoke?" I asked.
"At certain times like now, yes," He said. "You
needn't worry so. I don't like the smell of it in
the house. I don't really like the smell of it on my
clothes. I can't even say it's much of a habit.
These for instance are quite stale, much to my
irritation."
"I know everyone does, dear, but I don't and I prefer
you didn't," I said.
"Really dear? 13 Months to marriage and there's
already something about me you'd change?" he teased.
I responded as any woman might, "Oh! You're
impossible!"
He was quick to reply with a smile, "Maybe so, but
you love me!"
I fell silent. It was hard to argue with that.
"I promise, dear," he said, "only outside, and
probably only when I'm alone. Besides, these let me
perform magic!"
"That's old, that hide the cigarette," I exclaimed!
He laughed, "Yeah, I can do that too."
"What do you mean, `Too?"" I asked. "What else can
you do with those things."
"Ah, what indeed?" he queried. "Magic!" He took his
hands and cupped them, then clapped them together,
showing how his hands formed a chamber by opening and
closing them a couple of times, much as a clamshell
opens and closes. Next he walked back to the tree
and at the various blossoms, fixed his eyes on
one group. He put the cigarette to his lips and
inhaled, then blew the smoke onto the flowers. He
watched, then repeated the exercise. Finally he took
his hands and clapped them down over the blossoms and
pulled them away. Inhaling again he blew the
contents of his lungs through the chamber formed by
his clasped hands. Then he turned up his hands,
right over left, and unclasped them. One by one he
removed the destroyed blossoms, flicking them out of
his palm to the ground. He blew in another layer of
smoke over his left palm. He motioned me closer to
see. I stepped forward cautiously to see a honeybee
right itself in his palm and begin crawling over his
hand.
"You haven't been stung?" I queried, incredulous.
"Not yet dear. Oh, wait, I see. No dear, she won't
sting. When she comes to she'll fly is all. Having
come to no harm I might add."
"How is this possible?" I asked.
"Nature, dear," he replied. "The smoke calms them.
That's how beekeepers get into hives. If you like
she might crawl onto your hand." I reflexively
stepped back, apprehension filling my mind. Soon,
however my curiosity got the better of me and I
stepped forward to look in his palm. There I saw the
bee crawling about exploring the extents and limits
of his palm. "It's all right darling. No need to
fear. It won't bite, ...or sting." I stepped up,
but hid behind his left shoulder, afraid the bee
would come to life, take flight, and sting me. "You
want to hold her?" he asked.
"How do you know it's a her," I asked.
"Because this bee was doing something," he answered.
"He-bees, drones, don't do a damn thing. Matter of
fact they sort of laze around the hive doing nothing
but eating. They make constitutional flights, when
they feel like it, looking for queens from other
hives to mate with."
"Don't they mate with their own queens," I asked.
"Only one queen to a hive, darling," he replied, "and
she was probably mated long before they were born.
Queens only mate once, and storing all the
reserve they'll need for a lifetime of laying eggs.
Here, you want to hold this little worker bee?"
"I won't get stung?" I questioned.
"Haven't you been stung?" he asked. "What happened
when you were stung? Did you swell up bad? Or did
it just hurt? Did a honeybee or a wasp sting you? A
hornet, perhaps?"
"I was stung by a wasp. It like hell," I
replied.
"You'll be pleased to know that while honeybee stings
do hurt, they don't like wasp or hornet stings,"
he said. "Did it swell a lot, or just a little? You
didn't break out in hives or anything, did you?"
"No hives, just a little swelling. Iced that," I
replied.
He drew on the last of his cigarette and blew the
smoke over the bee before dropping the butt and
crushing it underfoot. "Here, dear, hold out your
hand."
I held out my left hand, palm up. He tipped up his
palm and allowed the bee to climb from his own into
mine. It was odd, the feeling of the tiny feet
grasping in my palm. The bee now in my own palm, I
was free to turn it and study it. "They have such
small wings and furry bodies," I pronounced.
He laughed, "Hair, dear, they call it hair. A pilot
has told me that they shouldn't even be able to fly.
`Decidedly non-aerodynamic,' he says. `They don't
know by what mechanism they fly,' he says."
"There're these big orange pouches on the sides of
their legs..."
"Pollen sacks, dear," he interrupted.
"... and these little flakes of yellow stuck in their
hair."
"Loose pollen, ready to rub off when the bee makes
it's way to another flower," he replied.
"Dad says that without them he'd be out of business,"
I said.
"Your father's right. That pollen, moving from plant
to plant, lets plants bear fruit. Without it, and
bees to move it around, there would be nothing to
eat," he said.
The bee, evidently clearing it nostrils, came alive
and walking to the edge of my hand then started
flapping its wings. I recoiled my head as the bee
launched itself. "Look at it go!" I said, the mirth
thick in my voice.
"Good, I'm pleased," he said.
"About what?" I asked.
"A couple of things. First, that bee flew from the
tree," he said. "That's a very good indication that
the hive lies in the direction the bee went to. In
other words, its hive isn't in the trunk of this
tree. Second that you're a little less fearful of
bees. You know those bees can be your little
friends?"
"How?" I asked.
"They could be instrumental in helping you take home
some of that sensation you feel when I do, ...what I
do to you," he answered.
"What?" I asked, seeking clarification.
He answered, "They might be willing to give up their
little lives for your continued pleasure."
I looked at him and opened my mouth, but while my
mind formed the question, 'What are you talking
about?' it wouldn't let the question pass my lips.
Instinctively, I knew it didn't want to hear the
answer to that question. Instead it came out with,
"Is that why you brought the honey, to feed the
bees?"
He turned, looked straight at me and said, "That's
not the question you were going to ask, is it?"
I stepped back, apprehensively. He was reading my
mind. I didn't I like it.
He laughed. "Let me guess. You're afraid to hear
the answer to the question you were going to ask. Am
I right?"
I nodded my head in affirmation. My heart rate shot
up as the adrenaline started to flow. My lovely love
nubbin betrayed me, hardening despite my mental
efforts to calm down. When my nipples hardened I had
to cup my to keep from revealing my
excitement born of fear, and I became wet with
desire. It was too late. It was like he could smell
it on the wind and it seemed I was decidedly upwind.
"To answer the question you asked," he said, "if I
were to open that jar and leave it the bees would
clear it inside of three hours. It's not why I
brought it. I would answer the question you didn't
ask with another question. Would you like to know
why I brought the honey and to find out how the bees
can help you ride home with that feeling?"
"Will I be stung," I asked.
"Yes, you will," he replied, "three times."
"Do I have to know about the bees?" I asked.
"No," he replied, "we don't have to mess with the
bees, though I assure you that should we, it's safe.
We could do what we did before. Or we could use the
honey. Or maybe you have an idea?"
"No! I have no ideas," I answered quickly.
"Do you need more time?" he asked.
"No! No more time," I said. "If I don't do this,
I'll never have courage to consider it again. I
don't want a ho-hum existence and you excite me. If
I don't let you do what you do, I'm stifling us both.
This will never go anywhere, now or 13 months from
now, if either of us stifle the possibilities. I
don't know where you learned all this. As a matter
of fact I'm beginning to wonder if I want to know,
but wherever this information came from it's not
likely you'll just store it away, and I want you with
me as much as I want to be with you. I'm babbling
now, but do you know what I mean?"
"Yes," he replied, "you're afraid that if you don't
allow this that eventually you'll lose me, or worse,
you're afraid you'll lose yourself. Just know that I
love you and this doesn't make or break us. I won't
run because you say no. So it's up to you. If you
do this, do this because you want to know, do it for
yourself. I can assure you it's thrilling."
"You love me, and you're never going to leave me?" I
asked, seeking reassurance.
He answered, "I love you and it's my intent to never,
ever, leave you."
"Please," I asked, "do this for me?!?!"
"I just want to be explicit dear," he said, "you want
both the honey and the bees?"
"Yes! Please! Both the honey and the bees!" I
replied.
"This is courageous, dear," he said. "I conclude
we're more alike than I had right to expect. We're a
very good match!"
"I ask one favor," I said.
He asked, "What's that?"
"I don't want to see them coming," I said.
"Blindfolded?" he asked.
I made answer, hesitating, "Yes, ...please!"
He opened his arms, into which I ran. He held me
close. I laid my head on his chest and smelled his
smell, the cologne and the sour smell of sweat
acquired during the previous hour. He stood a head
taller, and my head fit into the crook of his neck.
"You tell me when you're ready, dear," he said.
"Now is best," I replied. "If I wait long I'll lose
my nerve." After a moment he turned us and guided us
in under the boughs to the blanket. He lay me down
while removing the blanket from over my shoulder.
Flicking it, he lay it over the top of me. Next he
grabbed up the jar of honey, then from the basket
pulled out a spoon. Opening the jar he dipped the
spoon then removed it, offering it to me. I opened
my mouth where he placed the spoon covered with sweet
nectar.
"Mmmm! What is that taste. It's honey and, ...and,
...apple, it tastes like apple!" I cried, surprised.
"It's the honey from apple blossoms, dear," he
prompted without need. "It's really good, isn't it?"
"Yes! Where did you get this?!?!"
"It came from an friend," he intimated. "I
called in a very big favor. It's a gift, for you.
I've just been waiting for the right moment to give
it to you."
"This is scrumptious," I exclaimed! "What do you
have to do to rate a cache like this? Kill someone?"
He said, with grave seriousness, "No, you have to
save someone's life."
The answer threw me. I stopped in mid-swallow. I
now thought better of my flip comment. "I'm sorry!
Really I am! I had no idea!" It worried me that I
might have him. "I'm really sorry, especially
if it brought up bad memories. Maybe, someday,
you'll tell me?"
"Maybe. Someday," he replied.
"Really, I'm so sorry," I said apologizing yet again.
Then to lighten the mood I offered up, "It's really
good, I see why it carries such a high price."
"To earn it I worked nearly as hard as the bees did
to make it," he said.
"You do me honor and I've slighted you. You got this
for me? Now I've gone and insulted the gift!" I
squirmed uncomfortably under the blanket.
"Dear, it's OK," he reassured me. "I know it was
unintentional, ...as long as you realize the value of
the gift. It resulted from a debt of honor. He was
only too glad to part with it --no questions asked--
once he heard it was for a lady. He could have sold
it for a princely sum. Now, it comes to you. I know
you'll enjoy it."
"All the more, now I know it's worth, and the value
you place in me. That's why you waited to bring me
here? To make this all perfect?"
"Well, when I found this place it did seem the
perfect place to present the honey," he said. "I
knew you decided you loved me. I've known for six
months, though I admit to being a little slow on the
uptake. I just woke up one morning and decided I
missed you. I knew then that I wanted to wake every
morning to find you sleeping with me there. I
thought how nice it would be to wake early and watch
you breathing, and sleeping. I was going to wait
until my service commission was complete, but knew if
I waited too long you'd lose interest. The honey is
a gift. Something to suffice in the meantime."
"This is swell honey. I've nothing of like to
offer," I said.
"You needn't worry. I'll eat my share, though it's
yours. This day is more gift than I could ever have
expected. You've let me fulfill a dream. I know you
consider this inevitable, but I feel the need to be
formal. Pending your father's approval, will you
consent to marry me?"
What was there to say except, "YES! Oh thank you! I
thought you'd never ask!" He was going to marry ME!
I found it amazing. It wasn't that I found myself
unworthy. It's just I'd been told that I shouldn't
expect too much! Now I just couldn't believe my
great good fortune! A who makes me feel like
this, and he's going to MARRY me!
"Thank you," he responded. "I think you just made me
the happiest on the face of the earth." He
leaned forward for a kiss, which I was very pleased
to grant big smile and all. It was long, and slow,
and wet, and probing, ...and long. I don't think
either of us wanted to give up on that kiss! It
restarted my furnace. Finally I had to break the
kiss: I just couldn't stand it! "Dear? Could we get
on with making a little `Magic?' Soon I'll lose
nerve and won't be able to go through with it."
"Uhm," he replied, "yes of course." He leaned back
in to continue the kiss. He set the honey to the
side, but within reach. He touched my left
over the blanket and kneaded. He paused periodically
to brush his thumb over the nipple, hardened now.
Soon he reached up with his left hand and added the
sensation from that side. He moved slowly,
deliberately, watching my responses, noted the breaks
in my breathing, and changed speeds or created and
varied rhythms that had me boiling up a storm. His
touch was like no other I had known, or would ever
otherwise know.
I threw my arms over his shoulders letting the
blanket fall between us. I was hungry, ravenous now!
Not for food but for his lips! Instinctively I think
he knew, as he stopped to wind his long toned sinuous
arms about me and drew me close. He paused to let me
know he comprehended and that he didn't mind the
interruption, then drew me closer still until our
lips met. He crushed me against his chest while our
lips spoke without words of this urgent sense of love
passing between us. This continued until we
exhausted the voiceless conversation, then he lay me
back down to continue his other meaningful
ministrations. True to his word I felt good as he
kissed and rubbed and stroked. Me: his very own
musical calliope sounding a different note at every
touch. The patterns he wove had me crying out little
tunes of anguished delight.
"Darling?" he asked.
"Mmmm," I replied.
"It's time," he said.
"Time?" I queried.
"Yes, the light diminishes. The afternoon wanes.
Soon the bees will go back," he said.
"Back? Yes of course, to the hive." I answered my
own question.
"How do you feel?"
"Really good, though hot and sweaty," I replied.
"All right then, it's time to blindfold you. Sit up
a second. I'll help you." I sat up. He removed the
same bandana he used earlier. He gripped
opposite corners while doubling the cloth over. He
spun the loose ends over the tightly drawn axis
between his fingers. "Ready?" he asked.
"As I'll ever be!" I answered.
He drew the blindfold over my eyes and tied the ends
together just behind my left ear. "Wouldn't want you
to lay on that knot," he said in reply to the unasked
question. He laid me back and kissed me deeply and
passionately. He asked, "Are you comfortable?"
"Mmmmmm," I said contentedly. He worked me up some
more just to be certain. He rubbed down there in my
hair.
"I'm going after the first bee," he said. "I'll be
very quiet, though you'll hear me trap it between my
palms. Just wait dear." A moment later I heard the
strike of the flint on the lighter and the snap as he
closed it to kill the flame. I must admit my level
of anxiety increased as I waited. My blood rushed
everywhere, especially in my ears. I missed his
capture of the bee, never hearing the clap of his
hands. The next sensation I knew of was his touch in
the hair below then the sharp stab as of the
insertion of a thorn and the pain. This was followed
with the buzz of the bee as he evidently released it.
Then unexpectedly something warm and oozed over
the area now in pain. "What's that!" I had somehow
expected that once the venom had been injected that
everything would sort of numb, but to my excitement I
found the opposite to be true. Everything there
became more sensitive. Now this liquid flowing
over the site of injection seemed unbearable with
this new heightened sensation.
"It's honey, dear," he said.
"Whatever for?!"
He chuckled, "Well darling, when you are stung by a
honeybee it leaves behind the venom sack. This in
turn leaves a scent that other bees home in on to
sting again. While we're out here away from the hive
there isn't much danger of them bothering, but the
honey masks the scent and we're now certain. It has
other uses..."
"I can hardly wait to find out about those," I said.
"It won't be long, just two more bees away," he said.
"You OK?"
"So far, so good," I replied. "I thought it would
hurt worse than it does."
"Well there `are' two bees to go and of course my fun
comes after. It may much more before we're done
darling, but I promise it'll really, really
good!" he assured me. "I'm off for another."
"OK," I replied, my voice weak with anticipation.
This time I listened intently. Still I heard nothing
until he trapped the bee. Then I heard nothing again
until he was upon me breathing his now warm breath
upon my left nipple. As soon as I noted it and the
nipple reacted to it, the pincer like pain of the
stinger's insertion gripped just below my nipple
within the confines of the aureole and cut the breath
out of me in a single gasp. Again my senses
heightened and the sensation of the honey drizzling
over the top of my nipple and flowing over my
was almost enough to cause me to pass out again.
Somehow this time I remembered to breathe and with
conscious effort seemed to force my lungs back to
operation, much as one might crank start an car.
I drew breath nearly as fast as I expelled it
earlier. After just a moment more my lungs caught up
with my mind, and while the breaths were deep they
were again occurring quite naturally.
"All right, dear?" he asked concerned. He started to
rub lightly over the top of my stomach, staying away
from the sensitive bits, and soothing me while
relaxing my sharp breaths.
"Uh- ...huh!" I replied breathlessly aroused. Though
he was quite careful not to touch anything that would
normally arouse me, this was hardly a normal
circumstance. As I now found this was hardly a
normal state of awareness for me. It was undoubtedly
me, but this me was much more ... animal. I cried
out in a high pitched wail that I think would have
carried a mile. This cry was one of desperate
hungering need, and fierce. As such I'm sure it
would have driven all but the most desperate
carnivore from me.
"Feels good, doesn't it dear?" he asked.
I grabbed at his forearm in the blindfolded darkness,
clamping my hand around his wrist in response,
knowing I was unable to articulate anything I was
feeling just then. After a moment I released it.
"I'll go find the last bee," he said.
I never heard him get up, but after four minutes if
I'm any judge, and I'm not certain even today if I
was, I heard him trap the bee. A few moments later,
the warm breath on my right nipple, its natural
reaction, and the last bee sting; the sensation of
the honey falling upon the nipple; the sensation as
it flowed over my breast. All this followed by the
sensation, with this newfound heightened awareness,
of his liberal application of honey. I felt him
repeatedly trailing the spoon with warm honey over my
body from neck to knees. Even on my toes.
Though this had my nerves on the raw edge, I was to
find very shortly that it was but the beginning. He
stopped. I heard him spin the lid back on the jar of
honey. Then I waited. Interminable. The wait that
is. I was there covered in honey, blindfolded, and
unwilling to move. I felt the honey flow with the
heat of my body into recesses I worried would never
be free of it.
I waited, and waited, and finally exclaimed,
"What?!?!?!"
He cried back, "What, what??????"
"What are you waiting for?" I queried.
He chuckled, "My aren't we impatient. I was
marveling darling, watching the honey move on your
body ever so slowly. Do you feel it? What am I
asking? Of course you feel it. Right now I'm
certain you feel everything. I won't get to see you
like this again until next year at the earliest.
While there are many similar things I'd like to do
for you this can take place but once, or in good
years twice.
"I thought you said the bee's would want this honey.
What's to keep them from coming back and cleaning
this off me themselves?" I asked.
"Why, not a thing, darling!" He chuckled again. "
Actually, you'd need wait until morning and sunrise.
The bees are returning to the hive. They won't much
bother now `til then. Of course, there is the
occasional straggler!"
"Thanks for letting me know how safe it is," I
replied, trying not to let the sarcasm drip as much
as I thought the honey might.
"Oh, darling, it's perfectly safe, now. At least
you're safe from the bees." He untied the knot
holding the blindfold in place. "Now, safe from me,
...that's quite another matter. Close your eyes, if
they're not already." He lifted my head slightly and
pulled the blindfold away. "OK, open them up slow."
I opened them, blinked, and looked up into his
smiling visage. "Welcome back, darling. Look out on
the sky, down between your feet."
My body had been oriented, apparently deliberately,
so as I looked out between my feet the opening under
the boughs was revealed. The sky had turned to
flame! The clouds burned yellow, orange, umber, and
magenta, and the Blue Ridge had colored over in that
unique color as if of a Maxfield Parish painting.
Not black, but not quite blue. Here I was one of
Parish's nymph-like females, covered in honey, the
amber color of which now burned upon my and
toes in the last reflected rays of the sun, and
matched near exactly the colors he painted them.
Twilight descended.
"It's very beautiful, even my toes!" I said. At this
he chuckled. "It's late though, it'll be dark soon.
How will we get out of here?"
At this he out-and-out laughed. "Darling, I'm sorry
because you couldn't know. You needn't worry about
leaving when the time comes. I was told once that
it's impossible that I should ever find myself lost,
at least not in the location sense. Some still argue
over the biblical sense of the word, at least as to
whether I'm totally lost."
"You're never lost? Ever?" I asked incredulously.
"Not according to those who filed out of the woods
with me," he replied. "They seem to think it a
veritable impossibility. It seems that even while
dead reckoning I was never once wrong. So you see,
daylight, moonlight, or even no light, we'll get out
of here even as if we saw the way on a map."
"That's kind of extraordinary, isn't it?" I asked.
"Well, darling, I suppose I wouldn't know. I've
always been able to do that. I don't comprehend how
it can be that no one else can," he replied quietly.
"How is it you can move so quietly, too?" I asked.
"What do you mean?" he asked.
"While laying here blindfolded I never once heard you
move," I said. "Most people when they move let their
pant legs swish together or clap their hands on their
thighs or their legs swish through the grass. Not
you though. Not a ripple or breeze. I didn't know
you came back to me `til I felt your hot breath on my
breast. By then it was too late to prepare for what
you did next."
"Wasn't it better that way?" he asked. I couldn't
say, one way or the other. He'd only done it this
way. After a moment he continued, "Anyway, moving
without sound is an acquired art. I'll show you
someday, if you like."
"Only to know how you do it," I replied.
He paused long, then asked, "Are you ready now?" he
asked.
"Ready as I'll ever be," I repeated. "What's next?"
"What indeed?" He raised his eyebrow giving his face
a quizzical look. Then he smiled. He rolled away
from me toward my feet and poised himself over the
top of the left, then descended upon the big toe.
Opening his mouth he took it in and bit down gently,
then played his tongue over it. At first it was just
icky, but then, ...well, then he worked his tongue
between the toes and it all made sense, or more to
the point made sensation. It was all I could do to
keep from curling them and trapping his tongue
between in a death grip. I was oh so glad to have
bathed before I left the house, not that I think now
it would have stopped him. You might think that
quite abnormal in a world where one bathes everyday,
sometimes twice. Then however you bathed but once a
week, and then usually on Saturday night. It seemed
this night I was to get a tongue bath.
I'd like to tell you I remember every detail, but
frankly I was out of my mind with lust, and the
sensations on my virgin psyche were just too much.
He later told me I went to sleep on him at least six
times due to nervous exhaustion. I asked what he did
while I slept. "Waited," he replied. The only parts
I remembered, though somewhat vaguely, were at each
point when he licked over one of those venom sacks
he'd buried under honey. As each was compressed
under his tongue and the venom injected the site
around each stinger became infinitely more sensitive.
This complicated removing them as he went along. He
used the edge of a pocketknife and the cool edge
caused me to jump when applied to my skin. He took
great care not to cut me, that much I recall. I
recall his questions. I recall answering. Though
the content of the conversation is still lost to me.
I've long wished I could get back the content. Hard
as I've tried I've never recalled any but the
simplest words, usually my replies.
I do recall the order of his movements. He started
with the toes, then moved on to my chest above my
breasts, licked along my neck then descended to my
thighs where I became wet again. That's when his
work began in earnest. He licked up my stomach to my
lower breasts, then spent an inordinate amount of
time licking under them at the crease where they
joined my ribs. Working around these he worked
himself into my armpits which I found to be
incredibly enjoyable, though for the life of me I
don't know why. I never thought of them in that way
at anytime since.
Last, he went over my normal pleasure centers,
starting at my breasts, first clearing one at a time
and lingering long on each. Finally he lapped
between them, plunging his tongue deep to clear all
the residual honey. At this point I was as hot and
open as I had been the first time. Not a whole lot
of verbal communication went between us; neither of
us seemed to need it. I had no idea how to improve
anything he did, so I mostly kept quiet. I moaned,
or groaned, or cried out when he did it right and
this seemed all the clues he needed to have. For my
part I shamelessly enjoyed myself.
Finally only one area remained untouched. Here he
started by licking over the stinger to inject the
rest the venom, then pulled it from my lower abdomen.
I expected he would continue at the top, but instead
licked from the top of my exposed flower around the
outside with the back of his tongue. This woke me
from my lethargic stupor.
I didn't comprehend, but at this inducement my
wetness multiplied. It positively oozed from my
opening. What he did next just blew my mind; he
licked along the insides of my labia along the edges,
then using his tongue plowed the way to my clitoris.
In my heightened sensual state I clamped my thighs
over his head and gave a mighty squeeze. I sat up
about halfway and cried out, then fell back.
Thinking him injured I forced my legs apart. I
tipped my head up to look while he popped his head
up, his mouth and chin with the combined honey
and feminine dew and he smiled at me.
"Liked that did you?" he asked, pleased with himself.
Before I could answer he licked over the top of the
injection sight and I exploded with liquid. It spit
out of that normally collapsed tube now apparently
abnormally open. He tipped his head down to watch
and when it subsided he stuck his head down there
again. This time he put his tongue deep in my
and I couldn't help crying out again. He worked his
tongue deep as was possible and as the wet continued
to flow he brought his head back up to look at me.
Noting the absence of his stimulation I looked down
to him. He just smiled. Figuring what he was about
to do I shook my head to give him the no, but he
ignored it and touched my clitoris with his tongue
again and then faster than I could react licked along
the injection sight again, with the same predictable
result. Instead of trapping his head this time I
clamped upon his shoulders as I shuddered in shear
delight.
As everything settled out he lapped at the hair still
covered in honey and worked diligently to clear as
much of the honey free as he could, keeping up a
reasonably light stimulation that kept things excited
but allowed a little respite. He licked over the
injection sight once unexpectedly and I moaned."
Once the area was reasonably clear he repeated the
tongue in my and enjoyed himself eating me.
To close things out he touched my clitoris, with his
thumb this time, as he licked over the injection
site. He never let up the pressure on my clit and my
spasms shook me unconscious.
I came to finding myself wrapped tightly in the
blanket and slumped over his shoulder. I moaned
softly but stayed relaxed. In for a penny....
When we finally stopped he lay me back down gently,
as if handling a baby. He unwrapped me and folded
the dry edge of the blanket over me and undressed
himself, which I heard rather than saw as my eyes
were tightly closed. I fell back to sleep. When I
awoke, it was to hear him splashing in water that I
had somehow missed before. I sat up and moaned out
loud, announcing my presence.
"Welcome back, dear. When you feel up to it why
don't you join me in here," he offered.
"Where's here," I asked?
"This is the pool I told you about earlier dear,
where I brought your to wash them out. This
is a cool fast moving pool of water. No uglies in
this water to worry about. It's very refreshing and
I'm willing to bet will revive you quite nicely. Do
you feel OK?"
"I feel weak, that's how I feel. Do that to me again
sometime?" I asked.
"Sure thing, anytime, ...after you have time to
recover," he replied.
Now it was my turn to chuckle, "I wasn't asking now.
What's the matter, afraid you'll kill me?"
"Not at all, but as you've heard countless times,
`everything in moderation,'" he said. "What we've
done today is reckless, hedonistic, overtly liberal;
it barely passed muster as controlled. No, I'm not
afraid of killing you. Much worse, I'm afraid of
hurting you."
"You don't want to me then?"
He replied "...of course not. I want us to be
together forever. How could I ever expect that I
could keep you, or show you how much I love you, if I
hurt you?"
"OK, seems fair enough. Next time you have to do
something else for me, though," I stated.
"Oh?" he queried absently. "What's that?"
"You have got to teach me how to do something like
that for you," I answered.
At that he swung his head over his shoulder to look
at me directly. "Are you serious, dear? Never mind.
Even in the dark I can see that you are." He turned
his body back to me to speak, "Men, unfortunately,
don't loose themselves in sex like women do; which is
not to say we don't enjoy it as much as you ladies
do. It's just different for us. However, there are
one or two things I'd like to show you, at some time,
that would give you much the same power to excite me
as I had to excite you."
"Good!" I replied. He stayed there, silent, just
treading water and looking at me. This went on for
some moments, until I asked, "What are you thinking?"
"I'm thinking my wish upon a star has been granted.
Granted the day I stopped in my tracks and asked you
to dinner."
I cried. I think it the nicest thing anyone ever
said to me. I climbed out of the blanket, naked,
something unthinkable to me a scant week ago. In for
a penny....
I walked to the water's edge and asked calmly, "How
deep?"
"Deep," he replied.
I dove in.
The waters were as cool and refreshing as he
promised. The cool, though not cold, hardened my
nipples. I presume the bee venom made them that
sensitive. In any case in mere moments I was at that
point just before you invite your partner to bed,
horny. I emerged from the water crying, "Oh! You
devil!"
He smiled, "This heightened sensitivity should last a
few days, slowly fading away. You can come over
here. I'll wrap my arms around you and warm them if
you like. There's a wash cloth over on the rock from
which you jumped, if you want to clean off instead.
I'd be real careful rubbing anything that got stung,
though."
"Thanks, I think I'll scrub off," I replied, swimming
back to the rock. I was careful about rubbing the
wrong places. It did little good curbing my
excitement. It seemed it was too late. Turns out
he'd brought a bar of shampoo with him too. In no
time I was clean, and the bubbles washed away down
the stream. I climbed back out to have my nipples
ache with the water evaporating and chilling my
breasts. He climbed out after me. Rummaging through
his knapsack he pulled out a pair of towels and
handed me one. I dried off, still aching and wanting
his touch. I reached out and touched his shoulder.
He turned back to me, finished toweling off, then
held out his arms. I gratefully climbed in and threw
my arms over his shoulders. We kissed.
We broke off, then broke apart. "Over here dear, I
laid out your clothes so you can dress." Dress I
did, as he cleaned up the towels, the washcloth, and
the soap. He took the blanket and washed it out in
the water also. I watched intently in the dark as
his shadow-like body moved in the night air with
grace and confidence. He spent many minutes wringing
the water from the blanket as I finished dressing.
Packed he came to me. I watched until he came close
enough I could make out the smile on his face. He
drew close and we kissed. He took me by the hand and
asked, "Ready to go?" I nodded assent. "Watch your
step. I'll try not to lead you anywhere it will be a
problem." We turned and walked out of the field, out
of the woods, out of paradise in North Carolina.
There you have our story. Oh, there are details.
Niggling facts. When we arrived home he took my
father aside and smoothed over all, then asked my
father for my hand. Dad was pleased. Especially
after he was informed that we had agreed to a long
engagement.
We went back to that tree a half dozen times that
year. On into November the leaves changed and fell.
We even went back to see our tree in January, when
our field was covered in an even layer of snow.
By spring, though, he was gone. Recalled to serve
the Government that took him away from me. The
service would tell me nothing of where he was or his
assignment. They were very proper about it, but in
the end, because we weren't married, they told me
nothing. They knew nothing of how we felt about each
other. The government would have been unimpressed
anyway, they have rules.
I waited three years for him. In the end I had to
cave to my father's wishes and removed the engagement
ring we bought. I met another man, a beekeeper.
Strange, that. Maybe God's little joke on me. I
married my beekeeper in 1962. He has since died of
cancer in 1986.
The honey started arriving in 1964. There was no
doubt from where the honey was cast. The first
arrival was quite a shock. My husband came home to
find me in tears. I was inconsolable. He was
caring, but what could I tell him? That his presence
wasn't just or right? That there was another I loved
first, before him? Even when true, women didn't
admit to such things. My lover was most certainly
correct not showing his face at the door, to avoid
making it an issue for my husband who would never
understand. I've two beautiful children by my
husband. I've five wonderful grandchildren.
Annually, I have the honey and my memories.
At first I just accepted the package at my home.
This my husband as much as the honey warmed me.
In 1972 I happened to be in Georgia when the package
found me. Thereafter, knowing the package would find
me wherever I was, I made it a point to be away from
home when it would arrive. I always hid the jars
when I was forced to bring them home. I didn't want
to my husband. I can truly say he always came
first, but I always had the honey to fall back on
...and the memory: the bittersweet memory.
Obviously I said nothing, yet in a strange way
everyone knew to stay away the day the honey arrived
each year. I was thankful. To this day none of my
family know. My and have long since
passed on, and they were the only ones who could even
have the smallest inkling as to what was happening.
It's such a mysterious thing to them all, the honey.
Them, the very ones I'll never be able to tell. The
only ones who could ever give a damn, and then only
because it's me.
Perhaps it's not right that I should unburden myself
on you, dear reader. It would be fair to ask, "Why?"
It seems, based on the continuing deterioration of
the signature, and make no mistake it is as much a
signature as if he had written his name, that his
time on earth is neigh on ending, and frankly, I know
I'll not live forever. I want to spill this out on
paper before I'm too doting to write it down
properly.
Mostly, I couldn't stand that the might go
untold.
There is always the chance you may carry this
to him. If you should, please let him know I'd like
to see him one more time before we go to meet our
maker. I'll come to him if he'll just let me. Just
once. As much as I dream, I have no hope it will
ever happen.
There you have it, the reminiscences of an fool,
the of forbidden love pursued, and lost, and
left unrequited due to circumstance.
Pray for me, for I find myself well and truly,
...lost.
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* *
* Implied *
* Subjection, but requir'd with gentle sway, *
* And by her yielded, by him best receiv'd, -- *
* Yielded with coy submission, modest pride, *
* And sweet, reluctant, amorous delay. *
* *
* Milton's Paradise Lost, book iv, Line 307. *
* *
* Something to say from the submissive's point of view? *
* Hard to find the "right" words? Want it in a story? *
* Tell me about it by mail at caitmccarren@yahoo.com. *
* *
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