Cherry
Story Codes: FF, Consensual


Cherry
by Cashmere Bates


I once fell in love with a woman. I passed her on the street everyday. She’s a beautiful woman;
the kind of woman that men love for her corporal assets in addition to her loving kindness and
her tender mercies. You can feel her warming disposition from a block away. When my eye
spotted her each morning my soul became glad. Before I could decide anything that holy ghost
took over me. It’s a gift that she unknowingly gives the world; her effortless smile, her sincere
“good morning” blessed me. In her voice it has power. She made me believe…

 The closer I get, the harder it is for me to keep my cool. I examine the cacti, the gladiolas, the
hibiscus, the lavender, the dog shit in the blue-bladed grass, I frown, my nose at all these. My
nose seeks out her scent from, still, half a block away.  I hear her voice. I wonder if she’s talking
about me. Me: that strange little woman hiding under the broad brimmed hat who reads a book
as she walks crookedly down the path, always one eye on the story and one eye on the world.
Maybe she thinks I should better mind my feet but I never have. I’d rather let them guide me and
trust that she will at least stay on her side of the sidewalk.

 She’s very close now, so much so that I have already begun to mourn her passing.

 There are two of them, each pushing strollers, each taller than average, cow-boned, cotton-
stuffed, shining and overflowing like pots of gold. They must be sisters. A dark red cherry and a
chinaberry, walking. The woman I weep for is Cherry.

 Two steps ‘till her, it hits me hard. She smells like every good thing her soul would want to say.
For the seconds, I inhabit her. In this cool California morning, the earthy granules of her bare
skin glistening sweet. I shudder. My spastic tongue begs for what I can not do; to grab her and
suckle her in the eye of nature, in the flowery breath of our mothers, there on the street, our
fantasy bed; to lap her up, to kiss her giving mouth, to touch her swinging breast and gently
gnaw her needy nipples. I want to wrap my arms around her and dream in her bosom; to take
comfort in her warmth, the eternal beating of her heart. Longing to lie very close to her, I want to
taste her vaginal pulse.

 I see her every morning. Every morning makes me hungry for fruit. I’m trying to figure how to
smile at her without having her or her sister get the right idea too soon.

 I feel like I’m starving to death. If my mind is consumed with the image of her, if my body aches
for her and our spirits agree, then why has God not yet mashed our bodies together like clay? It’
s a metallic injustice that I must put my humanity to work when the matter is so ethereal.

 In an attempt to force the force, I write my phone number down on a piece of paper. I fondle it in
my pocket as I walk in her direction. I clear my throat and she’s not even in sight. I practice my
lines in the empty air. Around the bend, I see her. Queue the synchronized swimmers in my
stomach and the circus music in my head. I am a four sided fool; for my imagination, for my
inclination, my impudence and my inaction, I am dumb, such a retard, my mind is slow, I feel as
low as a dog. Even nature becomes condescending. A bee flies and crashes into my cheek.
Even the revving of cars engines play at me. Through this thick fog, this dirty trick, my blood is
so frantic that my brain almost overlooks my blessing, as this morning; there is no sister; just one
stroller, one cherry and me. This sign, this validation from above composes me.

 I speak first to slow her down. “Hey, how you doin’ this time?”

 “Alright. You?” she says.

 “Pretty good. On your way to work?” I ask.

 “Yeah, I gotta drop my sons off at daycare, first.”

 “Oh, you got em both in that thing , huh?”

 “Yeah, my sister couldn’t come today. She sick”

 “Oh, yeah, it’s the changing whether”

 “Yeah”

 “Let me ask you, you live around here? I’ve been looking, I don’t know where to go to church,
which bar to go to, I don’t know anybody out here.”

 “Oh, I don’t go to church” she informs me. “Or, at least, I haven’t been since I moved out here.”

 In my head, I thank God. “You know any good bars to go to around here.” I asked.

 “No, sorry, I don’t go to bars.”

 Next I curse the devil. “You drink?”

 “Not really.”

 “Well, I’m bored to death out here. We should meet up and find something to get into. The
beach or a play or listen to music…give me a call. It’ll be fun. I wanna hang out with you. I think
you’re beautiful, by the way.”

 “Thank you.” She sounded touched as if she doesn’t hear it as often as she should. “It was nice
to meet you, I gotta run and get them to daycare but I’ll give you a call.”

 “Okay, take care.” I bade. She rushed off before we could even exchange names.

 I felt guilty for making her feel uncomfortable.

 I had suspected that my advances might bring life to new or deeply suppressed feelings in her
but

 I couldn’t let one more day past. Not one more day could I silently pass by. That was the last
day that she passed by me. I walk down that same street every day, the same way; proud that I
tried. I sometimes imagine that she might call.

 I imagine that we might talk, then meet, then I might see her full nature up close. Sweet
concoctions might flow from her, might spill into my hand or I might hold my head underneath to
catch the thick liquid on my tongue.
I imagine when she sees me…

 She’ll invite me to her house. We’ll walk side by side in the same direction. As we share the
same stride, I’ll kiss her on her bare shoulder; nestle my face in her neck; kiss her underneath
her chin and on her cheek; fold her ear into my mouth; take in the scent of her hair; my fingertips
massaging her scalp. We’ll ignore the cars that float quietly by as I kiss her on the lips and our
tongues play. My clit waters in accordance with my mouth. Soon her tongue will play there too.
We come to a stop sign and she checks traffic.

 As we cross the street together she looks straight ahead because I can’t take my eyes off of
her.

 As we walk pass the Methodist church; I fondle her buoyant breast. I catch their weight in my
hands. I run my thumbs across her erect nipples. I put my hands under her shirt and in her bra
so she can feel my skin. My eyes are jealous of my hands, so I lift her shirt and I gently wrestle
her tits out of her bra. Her brown, round gifts cast shadows on the sidewalk. Cars go by and I
wrap my mouth around her breasts. I lick her nipples with the point of my tongue. She closes her
eyes, the seclusion encourages her. She puts her hand into her jeans and dips a finger into her
cream. My fingers want to wade in her pool. My feet find a short cut; all eyes on us, we stride
through the front door of the ZigZag bar. We stop just long enough to mash and grind our
pussies together on the pool table through the soaked seats of our pants. The patrons douse us
with shots of Amaretto and we exit the back door drunk on lust.

 She scampers through a briar patch and leads me to her house. I chase her holding on to the
back of her pants, pass the gate and through the front door that hangs wide open as I kneel
below her and slide her pants down. The mailman brings the mail, throws it at her feet as I eat
her pussy in the threshold. She moans and rubs her clit as I grip her round plentiful ass and
suck on her juicy orifice. She bungees and swivels her hips on my nose as I explore her inner
beauty with my tongue. Between my kiss and her clit I tell her I’m sorry for everything. She says it’
s okay because I couldn’t help myself. Then she warns me to not speak but by then it’s too late
to catch my breath as Cherry drowns me in unyielding buckets of forgiveness.

 I’ll gladly die in a sea of pleasure. Her pleasure and mine.

 If I’d ever see her again, but I haven’t and instead, each time my phone rings from an “unknown
call” my nipples perk and harken.

 Cherry!



Copyright© 2009 Cashmere Bates


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