Making Jam

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Together making jam for the Earth Day trading table.
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The day was far too hot to be making jam. She perspired, and I sweated, as the hot jam bubbled. It's a time consuming business; picking the apricots through to putting it in jars and sticking on the labels. After the apricots, we hesitated, and wondered whether we'd start the figs; or go to the city to count in the New Year with the crowd.

Conscience got the better of us, we thought about the trading table and the cause. We chose to do the figs. We picked them, cut the ends off, cut them up; and hurried, so that perhaps we could do both. The heat continued into the evening; a forty five degree day into a thirty nine degree night.

It was prudent to wear long sleeves, the hot jam bubbled and spat while we stirred. When it was my turn not to stir I opened my shirt to allow some air flow. Cheryl looked at me a moment in a coy kind of way, not meeting my eyes with hers, but with a lingering look she gazed at my chest before she busied herself with the stirring. When it was my turn to stir, she left for a moment, to return without her bra and all but the one most strategic button on her shirt undone.

We'd met only two nights before at a quiz night sponsored by an environmental group and during a break we started to talk. I guess I had been attracted by her vivacity when she answered questions. There was no doubt about her being a woman. As we talked it was difficult to avoid being lost in her cleavage. She told me she was the president of an organization devoted to planting native trees in her district.

We talked of global warming and of how our grandparents led lives that we should emulate; they kept things that we now throw away, like balls of string, and the pencils they used to the very last piece of lead. We also talked of making our own preserves rather than waste the world's resources transporting things unnecessarily around the globe. I told her of my apricot and fig trees, both full of fruit, but not enough jars and no recipe. It seemed that everything I needed she had, and we were both enthusiastic about helping the earth, along with ourselves, particularly as the trees were organically grown.

She thought that selling jam would help her tree planting club. We swapped addresses and phone numbers and set the date for two days time, New Year's Eve. Perhaps we could join the revelers in the city to see in the New Year after the jam was made. She would bring a change of clothes.

Jam making is always unexpectedly slow. At first the bubbling brew is interesting but the luster soon wears off as the boiling jam spits up on to one's hands and arms. Sweat was a problem as it gathered to drip off my nose and chin. While I stirred, Cheryl mopped my face with a damp flannel and the relief was wonderful. When she took her turn at stirring I did the same for her, the sensuousness of both giving and receiving was beautiful.

The boundaries of my face seemed to extend with tender understandings after I took my shirt off. The flannel found its way around my neck and later included my chest and back until my whole upper torso was mopped. She kept her shirt on and I wasn't nearly as adventurous. I extended to mop her neck and gave an adventurous, quick stroke down her cleavage. We drank lots of fruit juice and water. Later, shyly, she raised her shirt so her back and belly could be mopped.

Cheryl was surprised by my neighborhood of tall trees with lots of bird life and she loved the parrots and corellas she'd seen as she drove her little car up my drive. She was also surprised by the rain water tanks I had in my front and back yards, they were my effort to combat the prevailing drought, cope with a bush fire and keep my trees alive. Through the window, as we tended the jam, I showed her the trees I'd planted with a view to harvesting them for firewood. She asked if they were manna gums as I'd told her of the koalas in the area. We'd both seen the pictures of desperate koalas accepting drinks from people in the recent heat wave.

So many concerns, with the economy crashing around us and the River Murray becoming a salt water trickle, we both thought that soon self sufficiency would be necessary. Happily, we were making a start. Best of all was that the recipe she brought had all natural ingredients with no cane sugar! I had to promise not to give the recipe to anyone.

As we talked Cheryl became more confident. She talked with more animation and her hands were very expressive as they added to the meaning of what she was saying. She touched me, small touches to my shoulders and to my arms as she talked. Her tone changed too, becoming softer and she looked more into my eyes as she spoke.

Cheryl wanted to know whether I had a spade. She asked whether I had experience in growing native trees from seed, and whether I'd be interested in joining her organization, it was free to join. In three years they had planted twelve thousand trees and next year they were hoping to more than double it.

I've never talked to anyone like Cheryl, she was delightful and had a captivating giggle as she explained her organization's mission. There was more, I was sure, as she hinted at some things and left others unsaid. I wasn't sure what it was but I was interested.

As the organization only had ten members she thought they'd done extremely well. They planted trees on farms and because it was a free service the farmers often provided food and weekend accommodation. Sometimes it was very rudimentary because they planted along fence lines that took them well away from the farm house; but it was ok because they had portable showers and slept in a big tent. There was no privacy but it was a lot of fun and the work wasn't forgotten. She said that they really needed more male members. Underneath the conversation was a comfortable tension of double entendre. There was also an unspoken understanding that we would deal with the jam first and wait to see what happened second.

While I stirred the jam I watched as she moved around the kitchen; she tidied, prepared the jars and did other things. Her breasts moved under her shirt, they swung as she stooped and turned; it was hypnotic. That single button stayed closed and I wondered how it could, especially when she bent over and her breasts hung to stretch her shirt, strain that button and show her very deep cleavage.

She didn't seem to mind me looking, it was impossible for me to avoid. At times I wondered whether I was being encouraged to look. Her nipples pressed their forms into her shirt and as they moved with her breasts, they left a trail of stretched fabric in their wake. I could see the shapes of the little bumps on her areolas too. Frequently she leaned over me to catch a little jam to test for set, with her hand gently on my shoulder and her soft breast pressed in to my back. It was tantalizing when she reached up to open cupboard doors; her shirt rode up and the sides of her breasts were exposed. I waited to see her nipples flash before me, but they didn't.

At every opportunity we touched; it was beautiful communication as we touched for emphasis, for understanding, for a feeling that had developed between us. It was a feeling we both knew we shared and didn't want to damage through anything poorly considered.

When we changed roles we rubbed up against each other and my cock sank into the soft flesh of her bum as she backed into me. Sometimes I was in front of her and felt the softness of her breasts on my back as we exchanged places. Neither of us moved the chair that took so much space and made it necessary for our passages to be so close.

At half past ten we become concerned about whether we had enough time to go to the city. As we filled the jars with jam, I offered to finish while Cheryl went to shower. She went out to her car and returned with a change of clothes. It wasn't long and I heard the shower start. I hurried to fill the jars.

A moment later she called for a towel. I took a towel and called to her as I held it out. The door opened a little and I put the towel in her hand. As she took it a breast came into view, her nipple large on a big areola. I resisted the temptation to take hold of her breast before it swung out of view again and she moved away. She didn't close the door and I wondered hopefully whether it was an invitation. I left to finish the jam. My cock stretched my pants in hopeful anticipation.

All the jam was in jars when she returned to the kitchen with tousled, damp hair. She looked beautiful and refreshed. She told me to go for my shower while she finished the jam.

I was quick, as I thought; half an hour to get there, half an hour to park and walk, it would be a challenge. After the sweat and stickiness of jam making it felt delightful to be clean, the clothes with their soft, washed texture felt luxurious against my skin.

I went out to the kitchen and watched Cheryl put on the rubber bands, a difficult job because the jars were so hot. Carefully she held the jar with a towel, so she wouldn't get burnt, then with one hand she stretched the rubber band, caught it on the lip and pulled it over to seal the cellophane.

For some reason, there was a quick, scraping noise as the last jar slipped from her grasp and boiling hot jam flew from it to land on her shirt. Very quickly Cheryl tore her shirt off, the jam had gone through it and as she moved to the sink she ripped off her bra. She leaned over the sink, as she ran cold water over her breast. I was horrified and for a moment stood, amazed that she should be so quick to start treatment. I eventually recovered my senses, found some ice cubes and wrapped them in flannels for her. She put them over her breast.

"Stupid thing to do," she said. Her face was flushed as she looked at me.

:Don't worry, these things happen," I said, "we don't have to go into town, we'll welcome the New Year here."

"Still stupid!" She looked at me and I felt so inadequate, I tried to find something to say that would help.

" As long as you're ok." She looked so vulnerable. I knew she wanted more than words. I leaned forward and kissed her cheek. Nothing needed to be spoken, words were meaningless. She looked up at me and I kissed her lips. Then we looked at each other; it was difficult not to look at her. I wanted to hug her tight and kiss her, but it was impossible while she was occupied and we both giggled with the understanding.

She continued to clutch the ice to her breast and ran cold water over it at the same time. I found a towel, and a tee shirt that she could wear. I wondered if jam making for the trading table was worthwhile, surely it would be easier and possibly cheaper to simply donate the money. She held her breast up and looked for signs of a burn. It looked cold to me.

"You think it's burnt?" she asked and I came closer for a better look. I could see her nipple, large and turgid, it stood up from the centre of her large, brown areola. I looked at the skin around the areola; milky, white with large blue veins that had seen little sun, inside a pale triangle surrounded by tanned brown skin. She held her breast up so I could have a better look. I asked if she could feel anything because I couldn't see anything. She held her other breast up for me and after careful comparison I said they looked the same, having discounted the effects of the ice cube treatment. I quickly kissed her lips.

"I can't feel anything," she said.

My hand shook as I ran a finger over her breast and felt for a raised edge; then more than one finger, the tips gliding over the soft skin, avoiding her nipple and its areola.

"I can't feel anything either," I told her, my mouth was so dry I was barely able to speak. "Well, not a burn I mean," and she laughed.

"I think it will be ok. Lucky I was quick!"

She pressed her breasts together and her nipples and areolas swelled, then she grinned as she dropped them. I watched as they bounced to their natural positions. She indicated that I should dry her and slowly I patted the skin with the towel in my hands as I moved her breast to gain access. It felt strange as I dried her breast, I didn't think it would be so heavy and its almost fluid nature made it difficult to hold. When finished I quickly kissed the rise of her breast, held out the tee shirt, and her breasts rose as she raised her arms to put it on.

Cheryl looked down at the tee shirt. It stretched to accommodate her breasts, her nipples clearly protruded and it being a white tee shirt we could see them and the areolas through the fabric. She raised a finger to the breast that had been at risk and touched it, then traced her fingers around, pinched both nipples and grinned at me.

We both looked up at the clock. Three minutes to midnight!

"Come!" I said and took her hand; we were going in different directions for a moment, but I led her outside and we stood away from the house. We stopped and listened. In the distance we could hear someone counting down.

"Twenty three, twenty two, ......" I reached for her hand. She passed my hand to her other hand and stood in front of me.

"Fifteen, fourteen, ........" She leaned against me and I reached forward to link my arms around her. The smell of fresh shampoo was beautiful and I inhaled deeply as I caught the scent and my nose tickled with the errant wisps of her hair. I kissed the back of her head and then the back of her neck.

"Eight, seven, ........" She looked back at me; her face beamed. Her body was stooped a little and I felt the bottoms of her breasts, as they molded around my arms which were linked around her.

"Three, two, one! Blast off! Have a Happy New Year everyone!!!!!!"

We heard the shouts of Happy New Year, the whoohoos and merriment. I leaned forward as she leaned back and we kissed. She turned and our open mouths meshed together as our tongues explored. Her hands were on my chest while I caressed her breasts and felt her nipples. There was another noise in the distance and we both looked, she turned away and I held her breasts as she pushed back into me, my cock hard and erect, nicely nestled in the crack of her bum.

I put my hands up under her tee shirt and fondled her breasts, felt her nipples, traced around the areolas, touched, kneaded and teased. With one hand I circled her belly and with each circle my hand descended further. I stopped a moment to slowly undo her belt, and reassured, when she didn't stop me, I continued with the feather touches which extended under her jeans into her pubic hair and further down until I felt her slit. I stopped, kissed the nape of her neck, and undid the button and zip on her jeans.

She pushed her jeans and panties down out of the way and with high steps trod her way out of them. We walked to the brick edging that lined the garden, she stood on it and spread her legs. With her elevated on the bricks I had a lot more access. It felt so good, her soft lips separated and wrapped around my finger as it moved down the smooth centre of her sex.

Cheryl was breathing quickly. She tried to reach behind to access me but after some fumbling she stopped and wriggled back to trap my cock in the crack of her bum. I found the nub of her clit and with one finger explored that, while my other finger continued to explore her soft folds. As I pushed her hood away and touched her clit she trembled. I caressed it separately and as I continued to stroke she began to breathe deeply, quickly, and her knees buckled.

She started to moan; with both hands she covered mine and kept them in place. I kissed and sucked her shoulder. Her hips thrust forward, her knees bent further and I had more access to her wet, swollen sex. My fingers quickened their rhythm and extended their soft touch to tease, caress and explore her.

Suddenly, from a few doors down the street, a sky rocket whispered its way up into the sky. She screamed. The sky rocket exploded. From nearby trees corellas were startled. She tensed and started to shake. The corellas screeched their protest. The sky rocket explosion arced out in a circle above us. The corellas, with a cacophony of noise took to the sky. Her whole body clenched and she shook with so much force I held her to stop her falling. The red orb of stars from the sky rocket grew larger and then began to dissipate. Thousands of corellas wheeled above us, their white feathers stark against the black sky and they screeched and flapped as they circled above us. Cheryl gasped for air and her hands held mine still as her body shuddered, her head was supported on my chest and as it lolled her hair, in its disarray, tickled my face.

There was another whispered whoosh as a sky rocket raced into the sky to burst among the birds and then another, the two, one bursting over the other, were blue and yellow. The colors shone from the corellas with a green iridescence that was brilliant. I held her as the tremors diminished and her breathing returned to normal, as more sky rockets exploded to release their stars. I caressed her breasts again, kissed her neck and rolled her nipples between my fingers. Cheryl watched the sky in wonder as she recovered. Sky rockets raced into the air from many houses, into the swirl of the sky.

"Talk about starting the New Year with a bang!" she said after a time and laughed. She turned, reached up and held my face to kiss me, she sucked my lips and her tongue parted them to sweep around inside my mouth.

"Mmmmm," she said, "Beautiful man!" She let go of my face and withdrew from our kiss to stoop. I watched her pull at my belt, then the button and zip on my jeans and quickly they slumped to my knees. The explosions of color above us, mixed with the smell of cordite and the wheeling cockatoos, continued. With her foot she pushed my pants all the way down and as I stepped out of them her hands found my cock. On her knees she took my cock in her mouth and sucked as I watched; the colors of the sky rockets reflected in her hair and as she moved the colors moved around her curls. Then she stood and pushed me up on to the same brick edging she had been on and from behind she started to stroke. My cock was so hard it throbbed.

The corellas continued to screech as they swooped and soared in chaotic patterns. Sky rockets shot into the sky to burst with a bang, their colors spread in circles of glittering stars, against the black sky and clouds of swirling grey smoke. The birds scattered again and wheeled, raucous with their protest while their white feathers reflected the colors of the fireworks. I turned my head to kiss Cheryl, she was watching too, and our lips lingered.

"Cum for me," she whispered and changed hands to speed up her strokes and add more pressure to her velvet grip. My cock felt beautiful as she rifled the skin up and down the hard shaft with an insistent rhythm. I felt her kiss my shoulder and with her free hand she reached around to pinch one of my nipples. It felt delicious, my other nipple was pinched and I could feel her breasts bobble against my back as they moved with the rhythm of her strokes.

She stopped a moment and I knew she was stripping off her tee shirt. I took mine off too. It felt primal, and so good to join the corellas with our nakedness, and our unspoken message of empathy for them. Crushed against me she started to pump again. I could feel her breasts and nipples dance on my back as she slicked the skin of my cock up and down and massaged my balls. Both of her hands were busy with their rhythms and quickly the pressure built.

We could hear voices, people at the parties nearby who began to disperse, a car door banged as they started to leave. A couple on the footpath walked past, hand in hand, and between the explosions of the fireworks and the screeching of corellas we heard the young man ask if she'd sleep with him tonight. It added to our excitement that they would have seen us in the light of the fireworks if they had looked. Cheryl continued to pump me, as we waited and hoped to hear the young woman's reply.

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