The Peach Orchard

He did not wipe the juice away. Instead, he lifted me from my chair and carried me to his bed. He kissed me on the lips and began to lick the juice away. He moved slowly. First, he licked my mouth and my chin. Then he went on to my chest and slowly moved to my breasts. When he reached my nipples, the effect was electric. I moaned and my limbs did their own thing. Then he was down to my navel and his hands slipped off my panties.

My pubic hair was now thicker and more dense than peach down but still sparse. His lips went lower until he kissed me there. His tongue explored until my body exploded in ecstasy. Then his mouth came up to my navel, to my breasts, to my mouth and kissed as he entered me.

My own juice was on his mouth. It seemed to smell like peaches. It was late Summer and I was in the peach orchard. I was wearing a skimpy sunsuit and I was wearing nothing at all. There was peach down in the place that he was in me. More juice flowed.

He moved slowly and deliberately. I felt the familiar sensations that had coaxed out with my leg. But at the same time they felt new. I basked in my body. I made my little noise for "Yes." Then I said "Yes, yes, yes ...," over and over again. I felt him quicken his rhythm. He moaned and I felt his wetness in me. Again I formed "yes," as he slowed.

He wrapped my arms around him and enfolded them with his own. We clung together like that for a long time. He nuzzled my neck, slowly, gently, without words.

For all the banter about my bodily functions, I had really worried about what would happen when he had to do what my attendants did. My fears were not realized. Eventually, he simply untangled himself from me and got up. He lifted me into my chair and we headed to his bathroom, both of us naked. Once there he just lifted the seat, pointed himself in the right direction and let a long liquid stream flow from him. I had seen Johnny doing that when we were kids but I had never seen it done by a grown man. I marveled that men and boys never seemed to need to dry themselves. I watched in fascination as he shook himself. He seemed to read my mind and said, "The rule is that a guy can shake it three times. After that, he's playing with himself."

Then he lowered the seat and lifted me onto it. I relaxed and my liquid merged with his. Women, I thought, make much less of a spectacle of themselves at this business. He pulled some paper from the roll and folded it. Without any apparent sense of self consciousness, he reached between my legs and gently dried me. To my relief, I was not embarrassed.

Then he unrolled more paper and carefully folded it. He said with a grin, "In your case, if I do this more than once, it means that I'm playing with you." My right leg landed a kick on his shin. In spite of myself I made my laughing noise and with arms moving wildly, I did not resist him.

We slept, naked, in each others' arms that night. In the morning we repeated our bathroom trip. I had forgotten to bring my toothbrush. He used his own to brush me the way he had seen my mother do it when we were kids. I felt the oddest and strongest sense of intimacy.

We returned to bed. He brought us a peach to share for our breakfast. He sat against the headboard, propped by pillows. I sat with my back to him, propped by him. He alternated between kissing my neck and shoulders, feeding me the peach and taking bites himself. He caressed my breasts and played with my nipples.

I clasped my legs and the right one began its motions. My body calmed and I was suspended in ecstasy. It was better than ever. He saw my motion. His hand crept down and impressed itself between my legs. I kept my rhythm and his hand increased my pleasure. His fingers found the locus of sensation and followed my lead flawlessly. His other hand held mine and his arm encircled me, gently restraining my movements.

Then the room blurred and time stopped. It was my turn to moan. My body fought against his restraint. My abdomen throbbed and contracted. I was free and in his control at the same time. Before I could even process my pleasure, I was on my back and he was in me. I think we had orgasms together.

We are together for a night on most weekends, now. He says he would like more but I do not want to overdo it. I do worry about my bodily functions. I do not want to turn him into an attendant. I try to avoid burdening him with the most unpleasant parts. I beg off and do not go to his place on the weekends when my menstrual flow is heaviest. He still wants me and doesn't seem to mind the mess.

Once, I sent him an e-mail that said:

To: Mark.....@.....com
From: Joni.....@....net
Subject: No, not this weekend:
Date: December ....

Oh, Mark;

Wait until next weekend. I just don't want to be there when I'm ragging out. I know you say you can deal with it but I fear it would get awfully old very quickly.

And besides, sometimes a woman just has to play hard to get.

Until next week,

J.

Of course, the attendants figured out what was going on. They were the ones that had to do the hands on work with my new sexy bras, panties, camisoles, teddies and the like. They conspired with me to keep my life with Mark a secret from the bitch.

Of course she figured it out after a few months and began to treat me with an even more frosty manner than her usual. I think she was trained to see exploitation where it didn't exist. Also, I believe she was put out because I had never attended the home's "Sexuality and the Disabled" workshops. When Mark came to pick me up, he was invariably polite and friendly to her. She never dared to confront us.

Especially sweet was the remark of one of the attendants - a large and plain woman of indeterminate age. "Don't you worry, Honey," she told me, "she's just jealous ‘cause you're getting more than she is."

I hope I have not left the impression that our whole life together is in bed. We keep busy with films and concerts and lectures. We argue a lot about what we have seen -- he argues to my face and I respond by e-mail. That gives me an advantage because I can think about what I am saying and revise and polish it before I send it.

Mother has never figured out what we are doing. But, of course, Johnny caught on soon. I was visiting home and Mark was coming to watch football on a Sunday and to take me back to the city. My parents had gone to church without me and Johnny was sleeping late. Mark arrived when I was sitting alone in the sun room.

When Johnny walked in, he found us kissing. It was hard to pretend it was innocent as Mother had left me dressed only in my robe after bathing me. Johnny saw clearly that my robe was open and that Mark's hand was well inside. Johnny stared for just a moment and then walked away, chuckling. Mark withdrew his hand and looked chagrined as he closed my robe and tied the sash.

I was not a bit sorry. I was even glad that Johnny knew I had found a quality lover while he frittered away his life on girlfriends that he couldn't (or shouldn't) keep. For my part our old rivalry was still alive. Nothing was said of his discovery for the rest of the day. But several times, from a corner of my eye, I caught Johnny looking at one or the other of us. I wondered what he was thinking.

Johnny lifted me into Mark's car as we readied to leave. As he did, he said to us both, "You kids have fun. I really approve of perversion!" (I recognized that as a line from an old movie, but I couldn't place which one.) My right leg was still free and I landed a sharp kick on his knee. He hopped around on the other leg and moaned in mock pain. "Be careful, Mark, she's a spitfire," he shouted in a voice that was too loud, "If you don't behave yourself, she'll kick you out of bed."

Mark grinned sheepishly. When I was safely buckled in and the door was closed, Johnny poked his head in and nuzzled my ear. In a whisper meant only for my ear, he told me, "Good for you, little sister. And remember, I love you, too." Then we were off.

Mark was quiet for several miles. Finally he said, "Well I guess we have the blessings of your family -- the important part of it, anyway." I made my noise for, "Yes." He reached his hand for mine and held it until we neared home and he needed to shift gears.

We have been together for nearly a year now. Tonight I have been reviewing the whole wonderful time. I have no illusions about a long term future, But I want us to last as long as we will. I have just finished an e-mail and will send it to him as soon as I proofread it:

To: Mark.....@.....com
From: Joni.....@....net
Subject: The peach orchard.
Date: July ....

Dearest;

It's only a month until the peaches are ripe again. I hope we can go to the orchard this year. In this uncertain and changeable life, we need traditions and rituals to anchor us. Going to the peach orchard is one of my anchors. I'll watch the ads and we can plan a time.

Love,

Joni

P.S. I finally met Johnny's new girlfriend. They came to visit me yesterday. Hal and I had a long conversation with her and I continued it by e-mail. I really like her. After his long string of losers, I believe he has finally found a keeper. I think he was looking for my approval. I told him with my eyes that he had it. Perhaps we should ask them to come to the peach orchard with us. What do you think?

J.