The Strawberry Flower

"Look at my tits," she said softly as she lowered herself to be closer, so her tits rested on my chest. "Do they look like the cells in the flower?" I agreed they did. They were white, their nipples hidden by being on my chest. They looked very similar.

I felt something soft touch the top my penis. She watched me as she moved, slowly, carefully and I felt my penis enter her, soft and warm, it slowly slid into her. I wondered about what it had slid into and promised myself I would look later, if I got the chance.

"Have you felt this before?" she whispered. I tried to think. I was overwhelmed and found it difficult. Is this what it felt like in the flower?" I thought about it. She moved herself up and down my penis. "Feel it?" she asked. "Is it the same?"

"It is," I admitted.

"Good." She kept moving up and down. She had a rhythm and quickened it. "Does this feel the same as when you were in the flower?" I was trying to think. "Does it feel the same? Does it?"

"It does." I was in tears. For so long I'd been looking for this.

She kissed me. It worried me. I didn't want to make a mess. I knew I would if it went on much longer. I didn't want to hurt her. She was looking at me. Her hand went to my forehead and brushed my hair away, smoothed my brow. The silence was comforting. The books absorbed sound. I could hear her breathe, the long breaths interrupted by her thrusts. I watched, worried I could be hurting her. My dick was inside her. I wondered where it went, it was beautiful. She kept working her hips up and down. She was speeding up with her hand around my balls.

I felt it, deep inside, the tension that gripped and spread, another thrust and... I was going to make a mess.

"P... Please." I started to say.

She didn't understand. I was going to make a mess and she thrust at me again, my dick seemed to grow a little, it twitched and suddenly, I knew it was too late, I knew the signs. She was thrusting herself against me, my dick lost somewhere inside her and I felt myself squirting inside her. She sighed. I moaned, a crackly moan that caught in my throat. She giggled and wrapped her arms around me, kissed my cheek as she continued to thrust and my spurts went inside her.

When I stopped making a mess she stopped. I was surprised she wasn't worried about it. She was giggling and asked how I felt. I told her it felt beautiful. Have you felt it before? she asked. I stopped and suddenly realised I had but it wasn't as good as now. She asked, "When?"

"When I fell out of the strawberry flower." She grinned.

"Thought so," she quietly said and kissed me. I kissed her. We cuddled in our little pharaoh room.

"Can we do that again?" I asked.

"I hope so. I've been waiting a long time for you to ask."

I kissed her.

The discovery had a big impact on me. I thought about it a lot. It was too complicated, the confusion too dense. I slowly stopped thinking about it. Strange thing, when I was hunting it hid. When I stopped hunting it seemed to become lazy and didn't hide. Slowly, what we thought was the truth was exposed. Some times Rosalie discovered a segment of it and gently extended my understanding. Like an orange, it was peeled and pulled apart. At the back of my mind though there was still a consideration that I had been inside the strawberry flower. I couldn't work out whether it was a fantasy or a fact.

The hot house I was in was Mrs. Quintasnavel's. My parents trusted her. While examining the strawberry flower I was lost in thought. She apparently gave me a drink. I didn't remember anything properly after that. Rosalie thought she'd "had her way with me." That's how Rosalie said it. We confronted Mrs. Quintasnavel who, at first, denied everything. Then she started to cry and wouldn't tell us anything. Something must have happened and we could only guess. I felt very sorry for her as she rubbed her eyes, looking for a tissue. She said I was such a funny, extremely polite and energetic young man, different, and she loved it, loved me. That was as much as she could say.

Rosalie knew it wasn't her. It couldn't have been. My memory of the cells in the strawberry flower was of large elongated cells. Mrs. Quintasnavel had tiny breasts. She was wearing a sleeveless shirt and we could see she had large nipples but tiny breasts. Rosalie also noticed she was hairy under her arms. She thought it was likely Mrs. Quintasnavel would be hairy between her legs too. If she was I would probably remember. It must have been someone else. If it was though, why didn't I remember what I must have seen between their legs. I must have seen something and would surely have remembered. But why was Mrs. Quintasnavel so upset? And, who else could it have been. There was no one else. She was the only one there, the others had all gone somewhere and she'd stayed to look after the place.

We thought it could have been a trick, a fantasy, my body had demands and my brain conjured things to satisfy the demands. Then Rosalie had another thought. Perhaps it had been an alien abduction. It too made sense because it explained my wound and hyperactivity as much as anything did. The "cells" could have been portholes in a spaceship, or faces of extraterrestrials gathered around to watch what was done to me. The wound between my testicles could have been the incision used to obtain cells so they could breed people like me. It explained my nakedness. Everything could be explained, even if it was that it was alien and one should expect things to be difficult to explain. At first it was considered as being a humorous consideration but slowly a wistful element was added to it. At least it was an explanation and no one could say with certainty it was wrong. I admit, I'm a little more evidence based in my thoughts.

Rosalie thought it was very strange, what I'd remembered and what I hadn't. She wasn't sure we'd pieced the puzzle together entirely and perhaps it hadn't been at all. She asked several times if there was something I hadn't told her. There was nothing. Slowly, we drew inferences, used what was of value and repaired my life. I didn't have to hunt for what was so beautiful and very quickly taken away. Every day I found something better. I lay with Rosalie and we shared our love.

I was still an Aspie geek but a more tolerable one. My life opened, like Rosalie opened for me. I went back to school and learned to write. The mathrheumatics wasn't such a burden, one and one was indeed two. It didn't matter if one one was bigger than the other. I learned how to add, subtract, divide and, in bed we multiplied. Rosalie was pregnant. We were thrilled. My gardening round got bigger. With another mouth to feed I was determined.

At the radio station I slowly became more relaxed. It was a happier place because I was happier. One day Rosalie suggested I have my picture taken. It was okay. I was so pleased with myself. The radio station wanted a picture with my diagonal part. I did my hair for them and smiled at the camera. I still hadn't figured out hair parts and shoe laces. It really didn't matter.

When I told my Mum and Dad I wanted to live with Rosalie they said they'd been wondering when I'd ask. Rosalie started to write a book about me. I didn't understand that at all. My old bedroom stayed as it was. Every day Rosalie and I got books from it. Often we lingered on my bed to share kisses, and more. After a while the tunnel was too small for Rosalie. We were all excited about the baby. We started to open our world to others.

The botanical societie's president came with an assistant who was small. We showed him the books. He was amazed. He couldn't fit in the tunnel but the young lady did. They were overwhelmed and took a lot of pictures. They said they were thinking of building a library. Now, they had to build one because I'd offered them all my books, my botanical observations that Rosalie wrote for me and my communications with the Royal Botanical Society among other things. They were excited. Overwhelmed.

When the professor of botany came, also with a thin assistant, he too was overwhelmed. He stood for ages looking at the entrance to the tunnel, completely entranced.

When the Botanical Society and the university combined to build the library it was wonderful. My Mum and Dad were so pleased to get their house back. They said they'd shivered all winter and cooked in the summer. They had to pay for insulation.

At the opening of the library everyone listened to the speeches that were mostly about me. I was very uncomfortable. Embarrassed. Rosalie cuddled little Linnaeus. Her Mum and Dad were there, surprised by the story of my books which unfolded in the documentary about me that was shown. My Mum and Dad were so very proud. They cried. Like me. Rosalie grinned. I couldn't have been there without her. I love her.

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Hello. I thought I should update this. I found it a couple of weeks ago in my diary. I'd forgotten about it. I'm Rosalie.

It is now twenty years since this was written. We kept each other honest in its writing. He kept trying to underplay his achievements. I tried not to have him portray himself disparagingly and insisted he put as much as he could in. There was a lot that didn't go in, like his research into species for paper production and finding a sustainable substitute for plastic. When we started writing this I thought it would be like a string of events that linked a beginning and an ending. It was impossible because he always had so many things going on at once and all seemed important. When I talked to him about it he said he had one interest far more important than anything else. That was me. I remember the tears I shed when I wrote those last three words, at Tom's insistence, while he cuddled me in our pharaoh bed.

The botanical library opened twenty one years ago. The anniversary was celebrated with a big party. Tom was reluctantly at the centre of it. Linnaeus Tom was amazed it was all about his Dad. Tom is a very private man and doesn't talk about himself. It was a big effort to get him to be involved with this. Fragaria Rosalie was there too. She cried when she realised it was all about her Dad. They replayed the documentary they made so long ago. Our children were shocked the documentary had been made and were fascinated. I sold sixty three copies of my book about him. Linnaeus and Fragaria bought a copy each. No one had told them. The proceeds went to the library.

Fifteen years ago the university made Tom an emeritus professor of botany. For me it was funny, he was the only professor doing the second year of high school. He says he graduates every year now because of his age. I think it's true. They're so generous and fiercely protective of him. He still goes to university to give lectures and can't write. He's admired, even with his diagonal hair part. Some of his students have copied him. It makes us laugh. He still has his radio segment. It's very popular. I think people love it that he is so socially clumsy. They love the honesty and integrity. I know I do.

The Mars expedition we were working on was cancelled. He's working on chocolate now, trying to put cacao genes into carob trees. The demand for water by cacao trees is excessive and if something isn't done soon we won't have chocolate, the cacao trees aren't sufficiently robust and viruses are threatening their survival. So far, he's identified nine different viruses. He always needs to be challenged. The energy of his response is incredible. Since we first shared his bed he has been able to direct his energy into more productive and efficient work. I love it. I love him.

He's a very happy man. I still tie his shoelaces. We don't make a big thing of it. I'm so pleased I can do it. We still have a pharaoh bed. Linnaeus and Fragaria do too. Ours is a very well insulated house.

I think I'm the world's luckiest woman. Certainly the most loved. Tom has given me that, all he can. I have been taken for an amazing ride and he's protected me all the way. I'm twelve years older and needed protection. He touches me and the electricity I feel is delicious. Inside our pharaonic room it is like we are one, joined, melded. I love it. We still can't stop touching each other.

Six months ago I was diagnosed with cancer. I don't have long. I'm so worried about Tom. I wish I knew he will cope. Linnaeus and Fragaria will cope, I know. I'm so worried. Tom has been looking after me. He's been very brave. I'm amazed he has done so well. He's been researching cancer. His skill with meristems has been a huge advantage and he's managed to grow some of my cancer cells. With luck he will inject resistant genes into my DNA using a virus to transport them. As usual he has thrown everything into it. Chocolate has been put on hold for the time being.

I've insisted he continue with his radio segment. The listeners have been kept up to date with my health problems. For anyone else it would be strange being talked about like a flower. Tom and the listeners call me "The Rose" and a bright, red rose with a lot of delicious perfume, bearing my name, will be released soon. I'm flattered. From Tom there can't be a greater compliment. My man. My beautiful man. I love him.

This is the only record written by Tom of us when we first met. Of course, I wrote it, but all the words were his. We still don't know everything about "the strawberry flower". This was written in an attempt to help Tom come to terms with things. I think it did help. It drives us mad sometimes. Mrs. Quintasnavel died a long time ago, not long after we went to see her.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Linnaeus and Fragaria, I am very proud of you. Please look after him. Be patient. I love you both, very much. I hope with this you will understand, as much as can be expected. I admit I still don't understand everything. I don't think your father will have enough time to adjust my DNA. I wish I could be with you for much longer.

Rosalie.

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My Mum. I miss her so much. It was difficult watching cancer ravage her body. I cried, still cry. We all do. From her we learned about courage and compassion among so many things. When she gave us this, Linnaeus and I were very surprised by its contents. We knew nothing of "the strawberry flower". It explained so many things, including my name, which I now love.

The last days for Mum were difficult. She seemed to be the only one able to smile. They were very good at the hospice. We built four walls and a ceiling of books at home and surrounded her bed with them. One of the walls had a hole in it, like a tunnel, that we climbed through. They all used it and like us, sat on the bed to do their observations. The walls were on wheels and the staff could swing them away from the bed to give their care. It was only when they changed the bed linen they opened the walls. Even the doctor climbed through the hole in the wall. They were very surprised but gracious and understanding. We gave them a lot of the "chocolate" we'd harvested from our carob trees. The staff confirmed Dad was on the right track with his research. Mum tasted it and thought he was too. Unfortunately, she couldn't swallow.

Mum asked for only one thing and that was to be surrounded by strawberry flowers. Their scent pervaded everything. At her funeral her casket was lowered onto them and we covered it with a mountain of them. It made so many of us cry, not only me. It was beautiful. The city went for months after without strawberries. Everyone understood.

We all miss Mum. Dad has missed her more than anyone. We tie his shoelaces when he isn't wearing elastic sided boots or shoes. I call him for meals and he helps to prepare them. He needs to be busy.

What Dad misses most is someone to talk to. He talks to Linnaeus and I, and still has his radio segment and university lectures, but he needs something more. Simon has been visiting. He and Dad are very similar. Botany is their thing. Simon is mine. I love him. We plan to marry in three months time. I know Mum would approve. I met him not long after Mum died. He was very excited when he realised who my Mum and Dad were. He too had books. His books were stacked in his bedroom and he kept raising the bed to stack them under it. Dad was delighted when he first saw it. We called his room the flood room because it was like the books had flooded in and the bed had floated like a cork on top of them. We don't know whether it was Simon's flood room or my pharaoh room but in two months time Dad will be a grandfather to a baby girl we plan to call Rosalie Fragaria. We know he will love her. He's already excited.

Linnaeus is studying to be a doctor and wants to continue Dad's work with cancer. He's very determined.

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