Bright Red Juicy ApplebyVladimirKnockoff©
HE WENT TO HER IN THE NIGHT, sporting a blue hooded sweatshirt that didn't quite cover the tufts of dark blonde hair spilling down over his eyes, leaping out his second story window and landing smooth and agile like a cat on the wet grass with a poof. Across the little backyard lawn to the neighbors house a cat hurried for safety, scampering and clawing through the strawberry bushes on the edge of the property.
Ben snuck slowly around the perimeter of his house, staying in the shadows and avoiding the long flush cast by the infringing streetlamps. From the corner he looked back to his house glowing across the lawn, the little figures moving inside the window waving their wine glasses and laughing and slapping their hands against his mother's old wooden furniture. Before he left he had checked the cabinet in the basement where the wines were kept. He knew that he would not be missed.
He took a moment to calm himself. From where he stood their irrelevancies seemed more evident than ever. It was not that he did not like the people inside of the house. Some of the people inside he liked very much. His two best friends Maria and Carl, his aunts and uncles and his little cousin, his mother, his father. Even some of the others were not so very bad, before they had their drinks in them. But from where he stood their faults were magnified. He cared little for the promise of the bottoms of beer bottles and the empty wine glasses that their various coffee tables would accrue over the night. He tired of the way each 'party' or gathering or celebration of any kind with his friends and family always seemed to end -- sitting around in the halfglow of the moonlight coming in through the twisted shades, counting the night's unfulfilled promises, bemoaning again and again the unfairness of it all with whoever was still awake, watching them all one by one retiring to the rest that he did not crave, until he was left to greet the morning's pale light, and the haunting realism which it brought, alone.
This was not how he had always imagined his life. That world of lost hope and beer-soaked napkins and hollow stomachs was beginning to weigh heavily on his shoulders. Always there was something more just out of his reach on the horizon, the promise of the good and the meaningful which slipped away like the ghosts that they were, endless illusions and delusions provided by a world that built its very foundations in deceit.
Life in between each major social gathering, ever since he had finished college, seemed like nothing more than extraneous filler, nothing but the ungraceful, even disgraceful grunt work done so that a few moments spare leisure could be possible come the weekends. He did not want to live from empty party to empty party, from one coffee table of downed booze to the next. He was sick of the feeling of elasticity that had enveloped him, sick of how he had bent and twisted himself in so many directions in an effort to fit in and be happy in this lifestyle of "adulthood" that was foreign and unfamiliar and cold to him. There was something more for him, he knew. Something better. His life was not meant to be this way. He needed to find something to snap him out of it. He just never thought he would find it under Evelyn Lethario's American Eagle skirt.
Evelyn was Maria's "little" sister. Maria and Ben had been best friends for years. Things between them had never progressed beyond friendship. They helped each other date and Maria was Ben's wingman when they went out to the bars -- an experiment which ended with a desirable result very infrequently. Because they had been friends for so long their families were very close, and the gathering in Ben's living room was comprised not only of Maria, but of Mr. and Mrs. Lethario themselves, along with a few of their other friends.
As he wandered down the empty neighborhood street, a few houses buzzing with that nostalgic frenzy of any weekend summer night, the children still off chasing each other through the hedgerows in the throes of a careless bliss they were too young to understand, Ben began to tingle. His mind was racing with the promise of the night ahead of him. Suddenly he was buying into it all again, the hot breeze and the smell of a barbeque which it carried on its coattails, the warmth of the humid air on his cold air-conditioned skin, the way the darkness just beyond each lamppost seemed to beckon in its mystery and the endless possibility of what the unknown could hold.
His nerves were on fire. All week he had been letting his mouth water in anticipation of her mouth on him. Sometimes it hit him at odd moments throughout the day, when he was performing mundane tasks. He would suddenly stop and think: my God, I'm going to get my penis sucked by a beautiful girl. Time would pass. Concentration would wane and easy tasks would become impossible. It was never sex that he imagined in these daydreams. He could not think that far ahead. It had been too long. The possibility of a collision between his groin and hers was foreign to him; unmanageable, unthinkable. Her mouth, that was something real. The taste of saliva. The warmth and the softness of a girl's red lips. Things that come in waves and crests and peaks and valleys of intensity but which throughout all of his time a man or a boy never does forget.
Maria was cute, but Evelyn had a sex appeal which her older sister could only dream of. Part of it was in her style: Maria often wore long t-shirts and baggy sweatpants while in the house, and meanwhile Evelyn would be bouncing around the house in tight-shorts and a low-cut tanktop that demanded to be torn off. Her eyes were wide and alluring, her stature short but firm, hard, curvaceous. When she bent over the desk to reach for her phone, her shorts would ride slightly up her ass, displaying a wonderful stretch of slappable, kissable flesh that Ben just wanted to take a firm hold of while pounding her from behind.
There was something Pacific Islander in the Lethario lineage, just enough so that both Maria and Evelyn had slightly darker skin that tanned magnificently and made them angels of the summer. Ben thought of himself as a good guy, but he had lost track of the number of times that he had jerked off to thoughts of Evelyn and Maria. Yet he often thought that he included Maria in the fantasy only so that he would not feel uncomfortable about taking the flower of her younger sister. When he really needed to get himself off, it would be thoughts of Evelyn naked. Thoughts of Evelyn straddling him with her strong thighs, squeezing him tight, him ravaging her chest and ripping off every scrap of tantalizing clothing she had ever worn just to get at the prized girlflesh beneath that had been for so long hidden to him. And never once did he say anything, try anything, do anything. He was unfailingly polite and even slightly shy.
But there was a reason that Maria was Ben's best friend. She was far less materialistic, not at all fashion-oriented, could never be seen as slutty, read books and had an engaging personality that made her far from shallow, and all in all was not nearly as shameless as her younger sister. Evelyn kissed a dozen boys in high school, and Ben heard tales from Maria of her handjob escapades in the mall bathroom during the midst of an Abercrombie shopping spree. Everything about Evelyn offered to him the opposite of what he wanted out of a girl. She was the type of girl, young and silly and snappy and rude, that someone like Ben could never get along with.
But then everything changed.
It had all come about a week earlier, at the party which his family and the Letharios had jointly thrown, billing it as Ben's college graduation and Evelyn's high school graduation. Ben walked "accidentally" into the small, thickened grove of the two apple trees which grew on his front lawn. He wanted a moment's peace from the enormous throng of halfstrangers who congratulated him on studying himself into ten years worth of debt.
When he entered he saw Evelyn, leaning against one of the trees, a bright red juicy apple in her mouth, her other hand working furiously at a text message on her phone. He swallowed nervously at her -- he knew the instant he saw her that would never forget the way she looked that day. He could never forget the way she looked in that short white dress, spotted with pink flowers. The way her legs positively glowed beneath the welcoming sunshine. The way her forehead was sweaty and her eyes heavy with summer lust. The way her breasts pressed against the top line of her dress, which was cut short enough to display delectably fleshy thighs that had been running through his mind every time he needed to relieve himself of burning sexual energy.
Everything about the image was picture-perfect.
"Hey," Ben said.
"Listen," Evelyn said. "I know you hate me and all."
"Of course I don't. You just, er, represent a lot of things that I hate."
She laughed curtly, flashing him a white-toothed grin, her lips wet with the moisture of the apple. Ben suddenly became conscious of the sweat on his hands, of something in his khakis growing slightly larger.
"Uh, good one. You look so awkward out there, Schmidt."
She licked her finger.
"I just don't see all this nonsense as a reward. And I don't see graduating college as something worth rewarding."
"Woah there," she said, eyes widening. "You need help."
She had the apple in her mouth again. He felt himself transfixed, her lithe tanned arm with too many golden bracelets moving up to take a light feminine bite of the ripe fruit.
"I know I do," he said drunkenly, swaying towards her.
"Have you fucked my sister yet?"
She had asked him that question dozens of times. He almost always laughed uncomfortably, looked away, shook his head, reassured her that they were only friends, only best friends, always had been, always would be. But now was different. Now, Evelyn was no longer just Maria's little sister. Now, her breasts demanded attention like separate entities with every frustrated heave of her angry, necklaced chest. Now, she was graduated from high school. She was eighteen. She had a bright red juicy apple between her lips.
"No," Ben said, swaying slightly closer to her so that his hands were on either side of her, locking her against the tree amidst the halo of apples, his lips curving upwards into his best Han Solo grin, "Not yet."
And before he knew it she was pressing her richly red, sweetened wet lips into his, crushing his mouth with her own, pushing him back against the other tree. It was unlike any other first kiss he'd ever had in his entire life, like something out of a movie. His hands did not nervously probe for hers, but instead explored her body, feeling her tight curves through her dress, feeling with a rush the softness just under her upper thigh as she threw herself up into her arms. And there he held her, pinned back up against her tree, knocking a few of the apples onto the dirt where they bounced carelessly onto the grass, making out with her in broad daylight by the cover of the branches.
He was blinded by an incredible lust that he never knew he had possessed, and for the first time in months he felt alive. He did not hesitate to reach a spare hand between them, under her dress, to rub her wet panties. She grunted heavily against him and she ground her crotch into his palm as he cupped her womanhood. He gripped tightly, squeezing her sensitive organ on and off, making her buck and moan out loud. The party was going on, invisible, twenty or thirty feet away, but to Ben, an entire universe was spanned over that ground.
He pulled his rockhard cock out and her lips were all over him, sucking at his neck, pulling hard at the skin over his cheek and jawbone and running her hands over the wiry muscles in his arms and lower back.
"God I want you," she hushed into his ear, her tongue hot against the side of his face. "I just want you so bad."
"I wanted to fuck you the moment I saw you in this dress," he told her.
He tried to angle his dick into her but she threw herself off of him, panting.
"No," she said. "Not here. We'll be caught."
"I don't care."
"No. It needs to be special. It needs to be when we know we have a lot of time to ourselves. To do whatever we want to each other's bodies."
"Evelyn. There is no end to the things I want to do your body."
She nearly swooned. He had never seen a girl like this in his life. Porn didn't count. Porn was fake. Those girls were never half a horny as they pretended to be. But Evelyn was real. She was not lying, that was clear to see. She was real, driven just as wild by teenage hormones as he had been for years. To see a girl in that kind of state of distress was more erotic than any adult film ever could be.
"Listen. You seriously don't know how much I want you right now. But it can't be here."
"Let's go to bathroom."
"We'll get caught. Plus there's not enough room."
"Room for what?"
"Ohh," she bit her lip, raising her eyes. "Ohhhhh."
"Holy shit," Ben turned and punched the apple tree and bruised his knuckles. He tried to look away from her lusty body and her dress of flowers, but he could not.
"Alright," she said. "Next week your parents are having one of these things again."
"Next week! Evelyn, no. No. Even the walk to the bathroom would be too long to wait."
"It has to be this way," she breathed heavily. "Next week. I'm going to make some excuse and not go. My parents and sister will obviously go because they're obsessed with you. As soon as you can get away, come over. Come to the backyard. To the pool. My family will be at your house all night."
"A week? But what about any night this week? We can just sneak off..."
"No. This will be better. Plus I'll have all this extra time to plan what I'm going to do to you."
"This is shit," Ben said. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but it needs to happen sooner."
"Forget that," she said, laying a finger over his lips. "You agree to this, and there are no limits to what happens next Saturday. You get me? No limits. Literally no limits."
He'd never heard a girl talk that way before. He was so aroused that if she had touched him even for just a moment he knew he would explode all over her. After she picked another apple and went strutting back out into the party, he went inside to the bathroom, and used his hand, moist with her wetness, to beat himself off. Then he went back to the well-wishers.
*** The walk to her house was endless, the images running through his mind growing more severe and graphic the nearer he drew.
He thought of her as a fruit -- delicious, rare, juicy, forbidden. Maybe she was poison, maybe the world would crumble in the wake of their coupling, maybe God himself would finally come down like the Bible said he had to Eve and re-condemn the world of men to sin. But in his mind, that was worth it. She was worth it. To taste anything so...delectable, sweet, precious -- he could not think of another reason he was born. This was it, here and now. Time would pass, people would come and go, he would live a life filled with irrelevancies of varying degrees of unimportance. Perhaps he would make his dreams come true and live the life of freedom which no one truly had. But he doubted it. That very rarely did happen and when it happened it did not happen to good men. If he ever had the chance to look back from his deathbed on the seminal moments in his life, he knew he would point to here, to now, to not just tasting and smelling the forbidden fruit, but to biting into it's juicy center, to feel its sweetness run throughout his body like hot lava, to know the delicate freshness and freedom of spirit that comes through sexual union with a beautiful female creature.
That she wore designer clothes and sported a designer attitude regarding everything in the world which he had grown to despise, only turned him on more. He could never make love with a girl like this. No matter how Edenic his glorifications of her became. Evelyn Lethario was not a girl you made love to. Evelyn Lethario was a girl you fucked until you felt the skin along your dick blistering, until she couldn't walk quite the right way anymore. He wanted to fuck all the materialism out of her, to screw her tightly, moistly walled-in corporate-to-be pussy, to ravage her so thoroughly that the overwhelming emotions would make both of them forget just how wildly different they were -- in almost every way possible. Yet at the same time he realized that the fact that they were such extreme polar opposites was a part of the reason that they were so attracted towards one another, on such an elemental, almost-chemical level.
By the time he let himself into the Lethario backyard he was nearly trembling with anticipation. All thoughts of the emptiness of the past few weeks were far behind. She was waiting for him by the pool like she promised. She had lit scented candles around the perimeter, and laid out some blankets near the chairs, where she was sitting. She stood when he came in, and he felt the saliva watering in the back of his mouth again like he was some kind of animal.
She literally was mouth-watering in person -- it had never just been the idea of her. Her jet black hair was tied back in twin braids. She was wearing tight, short booty shorts and a spaghetti-strap top, which was pulled halfway up her abdomen, shining and wet from what he guessed had been a jump in the pool.
"Evelyn," he began, as they awkwardly came to one another.
She hushed him and waved her hand.
"You have to promise me one more thing," she said. Close to her, the scent of her perfume was intoxicating. He knew it was shameless, just like the flashy earring and the necklace and the bracelet. He knew she was materialistic, he knew she was not his dream girl. But none of that mattered. He bought into it, bought into it head over heels. Her smell, her princess-like, designer-wear enhanced appearance made him want to fuck her even more. Not just to punish, but maybe -- the thoughts raced wildly and improbably across his mind, the mind that took Catcher in the Rye a little too literally -- to redeem.
"What is it?"
"That you won't take it easy on me."
"What do you mean?" he swallowed.
"I mean it, Ben. Don't be a pussy. Don't fucking treat me like I'm four years younger than you. I'm a big girl now. I can take it."
"Evelyn. I've known you for years..."
"Ben, listen to me. I want to get fucked by you more than I've ever wanted anything in my entire life. You'll ruin it if you try to be romantic. Forget romance for tonight. I want you to destroy me."
"Why are you hesitating? I'm going to blow your mind. Use me in whatever way you see fit."
And then before he knew what was happening she was on her knees and he was holding the opposite braids of her silky black hair and she was bobbing her mouth up and down his cock, which somehow had become hard just from standing within her aura. Instantly he felt a great relief, like he had just taken in a deep breath after being underwater for a long time. The tension of the past week, the fury of the past year, was suddenly put on hold.
His body seemed to slip away from his penis like a suction cup into her hot mouth. It felt so good to watch the underside of his dick run along her juicy lower lip, to watch the rest of his manhood vanish into the tight 'O' she was making with her mouth for him. Her wet mouth coating him with her warm saliva and soft kisses drove him wild. He did not last very long before he realized that he needed more.
He needed to be gripped, harder than he ever had been before.
He reached his hand down to hold her soft jaw in his fingers, and then took a firm grip of her head. He applied a strong pressure, squeezing her jaws down together, forcing her mouth down tighter on his rod, causing her to make slight noises of erotic helplessness, flashing her big brown eyes up at him full of a maddening lust and slight desperation. The fact that he would eventually fuck her came across him suddenly as stood there holding her face together, like a wave of dawning, and he felt his mouth watering again. For now he kept his grip strong, arched his hips back, and slammed his cock into her mouth. He felt her tremble and a shiver of delight ran up his spine as his cock rushed by the roof of her mouth and soft tongue. The feeling of her palate on his dickhead was sensational. When he rammed his penis into her tightly closed mouth again she gagged but he was only turned on more, screwing her mouth, slapping his ultra-sensitive nutsack against her face with each thrust.