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Apple Blossum Honey (MF Romance)

This work Copyright c 2001, by Caitlain McCarren. I

reserve all rights of distribution not otherwise expressly

granted herein.

Should you like my works and wish to add my story to your

collection, you are at liberty to do so for personal use as

proscribed by the Berne Convention and U. S. Copyright law

pertaining to fair use. In addition, electronic

distribution is allowed through BBS or the Internet as long

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Transmission or distribution by all other modes; print,

duplication to optical or magnetic media, and such other

modes as may be currently or ultimately provided, are

expressly forbidden. I, Caitlain McCarren, retain all

rights to such transmission.

In addition, this is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to

or association with persons living or dead is coincidental.

I describe situations, which without proper care could cause

bodily harm or injury. Fiction is best left as such. Don't

attempt any of what is described herein without providing

utmost care and consideration before the fact.

To close, this story, while work of fiction, describes adult

situations. If you are not yet of the age of majority, or

if accessing, reading, possessing, or distributing material

of this nature is illegal in your community; or if such

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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 red 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 red 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 family is here. Do you

have family," I asked?

"My parents are unfortunately dead, but I have a

brother," he replied.

I asked, "Would he be best man 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 father 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 old 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 old

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 movies 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 married 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 parents 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 mom 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 swallow 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 breasts 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 drawing 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. drawing 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, drawing 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 thick 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 panties 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 breasts 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 breasts 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 breast 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, sucking it in and filling his mouth,

then capturing it between his teeth, nipping at it.

I arched my back under him pulling the breast 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 breast 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 split 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 sucked 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 sucked 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 drawing it

back in his mouth alternating cool and hot.

"How?!?!" I as much commanded as requested.

He blew on the nipple then sucked 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 sucked 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 breast 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 panties 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 mom 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 spying 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, drawing 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 hurt like hell," I

replied.

"You'll be pleased to know that while honeybee stings

do hurt, they don't hurt 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 breasts 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 old 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 hurt 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 man 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 man 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 breast

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 red 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 thick 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 thick 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 hurt much more before we're done

darling, but I promise it'll hurt 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 breast

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 old 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 breasts 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 thick 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 vagina

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 vagina 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 panties 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 hurt 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 hurt 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 hurt 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 father and mother 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 story might go

untold.

There is always the chance you may carry this story

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 old fool,

the story of forbidden love pursued, and lost, and

left unrequited due to circumstance.

Pray for me, for I find myself well and truly,

...lost.



************************************************************

* *

* 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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