For the Want of the Right Banana

I was looking for something in particular in gray or black...silk...a blouse not for me...for my elder sister...for her thirty-second birthday...three days off.

The blouse has to have a six button minimum. Buttons Ophelia will use to signal another without a word spoken of Ophelia's interest and intentions should the right person and she cross paths while Ophelia is out on the town on the prowl for a partner for the evening. Her marriage is no longer viable, on-the-rocks so to speak and she turns to one-nighters in place of.

"Bobby no longer satisfies me," Ophelia has confessed a number of times over the last three months,

Ophelia and Bobby have been married for six years. These days the ailment arrives earlier and earlier than that infamous seven-year-itch.

"I've been scratching on my own for too long," she complained yesterday during dinner at Roman's.

After half an hour wandering about the aisles of Silver Bells Super Store on the North Lake Road I am ready to give up the search. Outdoors the temperature hovers near eighty degrees and a blue bird sky stretches from horizon to horizon and here am I enjoying the buzz of fluorescent lighting fixtures and the scent of the unwashed. I include myself among the unwashed. The unusually high temperature overwhelms the fragrance of the roll-on deodorant I applied this morning.

Half way between to exit and one last look I hear the scuffing of leather soles strolling slowly an aisle over. I find the sound more seductive that four inch heels clicking on hardwood. I am lured toward the source. When I turn the corner stage left I am just three steps behind a statuesque blonde woman. She has a wayward wiggle in her walk telegraphing the message I'm here...I'm gorgeous... come see me.

The blonde's wear-worn Levi's are slung dangerously low to slim hips. The cuffs are flared; worn down to a collection of individual threads. She is a half-inch short of the infamous; plumber-butt. Slightly more than a hand high the thick seam that runs front to back of her Levi's is pulled high and tight into the divide. The seam rides deeper than one might expect between her classically defined buttocks. Looking hard as marble her butt is packed perfectly in denim.

I wonder if the denim rubs her the right way when she's in need...I can only imagine.

I wonder what she looks without... again I can only imagine.

I wander from my appointed task.

Snap out of it...

I am hot for a better look and a chance to say a hello. The passage through lady's wear is quick. The blonde seems to know where she is headed and I've squandered enough time in search of a blouse for Ophelia to fulfill my sisterly obligation.

In short order Blondie and I are in grocery.

"When you need one most...

"When you can't do without ...

"You can't find a ripe banana," the beautifully built blonde says to anyone within earshot in a melodic sing-song voice while she fiddles sensuously with a single green banana she plucked from the bunch in the produce department.

I find myself wanting for a better look and she finds me staring like a pubescent boy. Now face to front I see the blonde is extremely endowed. Stacked our proverbial pubescent boy might say. The male of our species often refer to such lovely twins in the colloquial; melons. Hers are the personal sized variety but melons just the same; each a healthy handful.

I finally resort to words to answer her complaint.

"There's a fungus killing the banana plants around the world. I've read various publications that say it's going to get worse as the fungus spreads...they're picking them early to save what can be saved..."

Blondie nods as if she understands or is aware of the banana pandemic but there is a blank look in those Betty Davis blues.

She knows nothing of the doom of which I speak and I can't look away.

She appears to be the real life embodiment of the ditzy blonde and I can't look away...

Blondie does nothing to conceal the plump breasts that now have the attention of several passers-by. She passes them around visually without a blush. They seem to float there before one's eyes delicately harnessed in a retro style halter she wears well. She is the proud bearer of a pair of double DD's and it is plain to see she enjoys the attention.

Blondie is vintage '60s in every way but for her hair which is layered in an up to date style pixie-like. Hair to heel hers is a comfy look on the eyes for the first of autumn.

She and I are equal in height but she has three or four cup sizes on me depending on who is taking the measurements.

Blondie and I share an impish smile. Blondie and I know what it is we are thinking.

Rosy apple cheeks glow when the corners of her smile ripen and reach their apex.

"I shop here often and never expected this...to be hit on by such a lovely woman. Pleasure seems to be in the offering if I'm reading that look correctly..."

"You are," I say.

I feel the flush on my face and the damp that soils the silk between my thighs. I resist the urge to knot the sodden fabric into the furrow where the seed has been planted.

It's plain to see Blondie is dealing with involuntary responses of her own. Her nipples harden against the underside of her halter. The plum-purple.hue of her areola darkens on both of the twins. The coloration shows through the ribbed fabric alternating light to dark depending on the lay of the alternating see-through ribs against her chest. The total weight of those two fabulous twins tests the strength of the brass hoop that circles Blondie's neck and keeps the fabric in place. At her back the fabric is knotted with a simple bow: easy on easy off.

"Just a little tease for the looky-loos; those who act like they've never seen a tit," she says softly so only I hear. She presses the green banana in her hands to her cherry glossed lips. She continues her assault on the others' senses as she slides three or four inches of the banana into her mouth.

I too have fallen into the trap she has baited so cleverly and have no desire to escape. Actually my time to flee has passed with my first glimpse.

I cast my eyes down ashamed for the thoughts I am thinking and glimpse Blondie's beautiful feet. There are rings on her long toes and her nails are perfect polished bright. The view adds to the want, adds to the sin I'm praying for at the moment.

I ignore the gold band Blondie wears on the third finger left hand. My wedding rings are in a crystal dish on the night-stand at home right where they belong given the current state of my marriage.

Don't bring it up I remind myself. As the saying goes; ask no questions they'll tell you no lies.

"The green ones are better suited for the task we're considering ..." She says.

"The yellow bananas often squish way too soon," I add.

Blondie has heard enough. She takes over and is now the driving force behind our little passion play. She takes my hand and leads me to one of four dressing rooms off of the sales floor. The attending seamstress makes nothing of the fact Blondie and I have nothing but a single banana in hand.

"Hike up your skirt," she says just inside the dressing room entryway. Her request sounds like a demand an order to be followed without question. In my present state I find the practice baring myself to a woman, a complete stranger no less quite stimulating. I'm in no position to refuse at this point in our e adventure.

"Now take off your underwear," she says as soon as the lock on the door clicks. The silk fabric is sodden and sticky with the dew turned to goo.

"Now slouch down in the chair," she says.

"Now spread your legs wide as you are able," she says and I continue to comply with her request.

"You're a bit tight in the pussy. Pull your lips open," she asks.

I watch the spittle dribble from her lower lip and fall on my labia. Her spit hits like an anvil. A shiver passes over the whole of my being. When next I give my situation a thought Blondie drives the entire banana into my vagina but for the stem.

I cum twice more before a knock on the door intrudes on the celebration.

"Do you have anywhere you have to be?" Blondie asks.

"Not ever again after this," I say as I wipe the goo from my privates with my underwear. I drop the sodden silk in the trash can and pull down my skirt.

"I am currently in possession of an unoccupied cottage on Lakeside," Blondie says. She snaps off the offer quickly lest one of us turn tail and let the moments that might be slip away.

She reaches into her clutch and pulls out a business card that explains the availability she speaks of. With the introduction of her name, 'Patricia Paquin' by way of the business card I extend my hand and complete the process: "Anna Morris."

With the exchange of identities made it's time to put our veracity to the test.

"Well Anna Morris; I'll pay for two or three green bananas and you can follow me over to the property. I'll show you around the place and see where your interests lie."

I am for a moment breathless then suddenly faint. I am no longer guided by my heart. The directions are coming in from a place much lower.

"I'd love to," I answer. I am powerless to refuse. I take a step back to enhance the view that captivates. That one last look does me in.

"I'm in a silver Benz," Patricia says. "Go right out of the parking lot. Go right at the first traffic light. I don't want to lose you along the way."

Patricia departs the dressing room a minute ahead of me. On my way out I thank the seamstress for her thoughtfulness and leave a five on the table beside her.

She in turn thanks me and we leave it at that.

Just inside the front door of the cottage we are on one another like school girls testing the water; whether we can go against Nature as we know it or not. We kiss hard and wet and hurry out of the coverings that conceal. Her teeth grate against mine clicking loudly. I offer my lower lip and hold any complaint is check when Patricia sinks a canine too deep.

With sunset still an hour away Patricia continues with foreplay like I have never enjoyed before this evening.

Now I am face down on the top-sheet on the twin bed in the guest bedroom of the cottage on Lakeside. Patricia pushes away my hair and sinks her teeth into the flesh at the back of my neck.

"That hurts," I stutter.

"I'll stop if you want me to," Patricia says. "Do you want me to stop?"

I struggle with the conflict I am feeling for an instant then answer, "No."

Patricia sucks until she leaves her mark on my neck. She drives her hands into the space between my chest and the top sheet. Her fingers are on my teats pinching and pulling until both harden into pink pearls.

The downward spiral goes topside once Patricia pauses. Her arms are rail thin yet she is able to move me like a rag doll. I am as submissive now on my back as I was face down. Patricia burnishes my teats with her teeth. She leaves her mark on my belly and breasts. Patricia tinkers two fingers deep before she presses all the right buttons and fires up the after-burners. After a second wave washes over me I pull my legs back. My knees are nearly to the headboard, I am now positioned to provide the whole of my privates for Patricia's pleasure and my own. She swipes her tongue from the tiny pink pucker to my clit. Ever so slow. Twice is all the loving needed to complete my initiation.

Before I am aware Patricia's fist is pulsing in my vagina.

"More please." I ask as I feel the approach of another tremor. Patricia obliges and flexes her long fingers in that place no one has ever...

I tremble once more as Patricia wets my labia with her saliva. She pulls yet another orgasm hanging back in the mist. It's slow to the forefront until Patricia drives her tongue into my anus and my world explodes behind tightly shut eyelids.

Patricia lies beside me and whispers "There's only one way to love a woman and only a woman knows how to love properly. A man's hands are too big...too clumsy...They're in too much of a hurry."

We share the scent and the flavor of my vagina on her tongue and her lips as we kiss. And then it's my turn to reciprocate.

"You don't have to start slow or gentle," Patricia says as she directs me to the down-low with her long fingers on my shoulder. All she is opens before my eyes as she parts her legs. A troublesome hesitation intrudes while I hover over the silvery pink filets offered.

For the next hour I do to her with her and for her as she had done to me with me and for me. I understand I must be doing her right when a single swipe with the tip of my tongue I worry the whole of her desire and Patricia shouts out "Brandon."

Patricia's misspoke only adds to the need growing in my groin.

She cups my head with a two hand hold and refuses me a breath for several beats.

"I don't have a dick like Brandon's but I have this green banana..."

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