Green Apples

"Honey! Honey, stop here!"

I turned my MP3 player down and stared out the window as my father, Paul, pulled into a driveway, flanked by a homemade wood-and-wire fence. We bumped down the dirt road, heading toward a two-story farmhouse in the near distance. Dark-green leafed trees lined the drive and I examined the reason for our stop. A hand-painted sign out front had toutedRed Delicious – Yellow Delicious – Green Apples For Sale and that had sent my mother into fits over fruit breathing in the country air and therefore, was much better for us.

Dad pulled the Expedition in at the side of the house, near other parked cars, and we all got out. I hung back, hoping that my mother would all but ignore me and I was glad when she jumped out, running with all the energy of a woman hurrying to a Neiman-Marcus sale. I have to admit that I was impressed myself. Mounded stacks of apples rested in deep wooden cradles with names penned on the cardboard and popsicle-stick signs. Rome, Red Delicious, Jonagold, Golden Delicious, McIntosh, Granny Smith … I grew dizzy over reading all of them and the accompanying descriptions until I met Gala.

She wasn't much older than me at 19 and her freckles and pigtails made me think of the Wendy's icon but the smile she gave me didn't make me think about hamburgers and fries. She gave me a wink as she filled the orders of waiting customers, pausing between to bite off large chunks of a green apple that she kept at the back of the register. When she was finished, she came over to me, her eyes twinkling and her teeny boobs nearly falling out of her loosely-tied halter top.

"Come for some apples?"

"Yeah. My mom's picking them out."

She nodded, looking me up and down. "She know much about apples?"

I shrugged. "I guess so. I don't know. She shrieked at my dad to turn off here and we did." I gave her my best I'm-horny-and-please-take-pity-on-me smile. "I don't think she knows anything more about apples than what she's learned from Martha Stewart."

"Well, that's not all bad. I bet she knows that you don't use Red Delicious apples for an apple pie." She picked up one of the dark red globes, caressing the shiny skin. "You should use something with a tang, like a McIntosh."

"I didn't know that." I strolled down the display, eyeing her skinny body and wondering what was underneath those cutoffs.

"Oh, so you don't know much about apples, eh?" She shouted something to one of the girls working behind the counter and lifted the counter, joining him in the midst of other customers. "Come with me and I'll give you a tour of the orchard."

I waved at my dad, letting him know that I was going with her and soon found myself lost within rows and rows of trees, heavy with ripening fruit and heady with the scent of the rotted ruins. She dashed ahead of me, adept in knowing the geography of the place and I chased after her, laughing my head off, my music long forgotten. I came around a corner, fought my way into a thicket of confederate jasmine and found her waiting, a smile on her face.

"If you're lucky, you'll find only green apples in your life." She tugged her elastic top off, freeing her small breasts and I immediately bent, taking one in my mouth. She whimpered softly, running her fingers through my hair, her voice breathy. "Girls who are selective in who they fuck and have nice, tight pussies, tasty like a fresh apple."

"You know a lot about green apples?"

"Sure have licked a lot."

The thought of her with other girls made my cock leap. "Sounds like a party."

"Too bad you don't live around here. We'd be partying all the time."

I sucked her other nipple, loving how the nipple itself was almost as large as the breast itself and it was hard to pull myself away, even when she reached inside her unzipped shorts and brought out a fingerful of pussy cream. I sucked it off her fingers and dropped to my knees, tugging the shorts off of her small hips and burrowing into her ginger-spiked pussy and using my tongue as a spear. Her slightly salty taste along with the hint of sweat was like manna to me and I ate until she came, sitting on my face and flooding my mouth with her juices.

"Fuck, that was good." She whispered, kissing me again and scouring my lips clean of her cream. "Now come and get some."

She didn't have to ask me twice. At 22, I'd had other girls but no one as exciting as Gala. I shucked off my jeans and pushed her against the tree again, taking her mouth as my prick sunk into her sloppy wet cunt. She gasped into my mouth as her feet left the ground on my first thrust and I groaned, hitting bottom. The wetness of her warm pussy was breathtaking and I pulled away, lifting her leg and burying my face into her neck as I pumped us toward cumming. I felt her cum a second time and her cunt clamped down on me so tightly, that I had to stop and gather my wits.

Gala gave me a weak grin as I started again, slowly sliding in and out and building up speed until we were both grunting and gasping at the same time. I fired off just as she was cumming and the delicious walls of her pussy closed around my throbbing cock, milking every last drop of cum out of me. We collapsed together against the tree, giggling as we enjoyed the sweet tingles of our hard cum together.

"There you are!" My mother gave me a big smile when Gala and I came back over to the stand. "We thought you got lost out here!"

"No, Mom. I just got a tour. It was really nice."

"Well, we'd better get going."

I turned to Gala and gave her hand a squeeze. "Thanks for the tour."

"No problem." She grinned, then dashed over to the table and turning, tossed me an apple. "Here. Have a Gala for the road."

I climbed back into the car, this time, in the driver's seat because it was my turn to drive and I bit deeply into that apple, smiling as I thought it could never be as tasty as the girl that shared its name.