This work Copyright c 2001, by Caitlain McCarren.  I
reserve all rights of distribution not otherwise expressly
granted herein.

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In addition, this is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to 
or association with persons living or dead is coincidental.  
I describe situations, which without proper care could cause 
bodily harm or injury.  Fiction is best left as such.  Don't 
attempt any of what is described herein without providing 
utmost care and consideration before the fact.

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Apple Blossom Honey

by Caitlain McCarren,  copyright c 2001

As a one-time beekeeper I use honey to sweeten life.  
I use it in cakes and confections and offer it to my 
guests in lieu of granulated sugar for coffee or tea.  
I make cough remedies of it and use it in a quaint 
old-time summer drink colloquially called "switchel."

If you like honey you've undoubtedly grown accustomed 
to the smell and texture of the most common variety 
available, clover honey.  It is the standard by which 
most honey is judged.  This is a great loss, as 
clover honey is the most mundane and bitter of the 
available varieties.  However to know that honey can 
be distinguished one must have been a beekeeper, and 
the public at large is simply unaware.

The taste of honey is altered by the bees' selection 
of blossom.  In certain circumstances a vast quantity 
of a specific flower is present so it becomes a 
preference for the bees.  Clover is common because 
the plains of the mid-west and west are literally 
covered with it.

Bees are part of the ecology in that while they 
collect nectar they also move pollen plant to plant 
causing crops to bear fruit.  Growers know the 
necessity of bees.  However, caring for bees is a 
nine or ten month operation.  The grower has no time 
to care for a hive of bees.  Enter the beekeeper who 
as part of his operations "rents" hives of bees to 
the growers for the spring months of each year.  On 
occasion due to an early bloom, it occurs that only 
one flower is available and in short order, bees 
being so very industrious, hives are filled with 
flavored honey.  It is harvested immediately so the 
bees don't consume it or dilute it with other 
flowers.  In this way flavored honeys are cultivated.

Now, you may wonder how different these flavored 
honeys might be.  Rest assured that flavored honeys 
are as different from each other as turnip is from 
carrot is from potato.  Some of the more esoteric 
flavors I've tasted have been raspberry, strawberry, 
sweet pea, pear, peach, rose, and chrysanthemum.  
I've even tried rhododendron/azalea honey brought 
from the Himalayas.

About a month from now, at the end of May, I'll 
receive a fine example of flavored honey.  Every 
year, no matter where I roam the honey finds me.  At 
one time I vacationed in Italy and it found me even 
there.  Always the same May means the delivery of a 
pound jar.  The outside box is unremarkable, save for 
my address wherever I may be.  Opening the carton 
reveals packing peanuts though at one time it was 
wadded sections of newsprint.  Reaching in I remove a 
red box wrapped in yellow ribbon tied in a very neat 
bow.  The occasion repeats annually, the red box, the 
yellow ribbon, and no indication from whence it came.

I live in anticipation of my delivery from mid-April 
until the box arrives.  Sometimes I pull the ribbon 
immediately upon receipt, remove the vacuum-sealed 
jar from the bubble wrap, and open the cover.  I sit 
with a spoon and dish-up this ancient delicacy, fruit 
of the vine, the work of thousands of tiny quarter 
ounce beings.  They transport miniscule amounts of 
flower nectar, deposit it in hexagonal cells and then 
fan it until the water content falls below 11%; the 
good earth's first and original processed food.

Sometimes I just put the box up on the shelf and 
ponder the whereabouts of the one who sent it.

In the box each year, behind the jar, under the 
bubble wrap, there is a simple white card upon which 
is scribbled in a now uneven hand this simple 
sentiment, "In fond remembrance of that long ago 
Saturday picnic.  The memories haunt me still."

Chances are you never heard about flavored honey.  A 
fair question to cross your mind would be "How did 
you become a connoisseur?"  I'd like to tell you.  
The time was 1958.  The Korean War was over and Viet 
Nam was yet to be an issue.  Transistor radios were a 
very new thing and television was just now starting 
to come into its own as a medium.  Everything was 
entertainment revue or western.

I lived among the foothills of the Blue Ridge 
Mountains in the Carolinas.  Working in the mills as 
a clerk I met a man.  He just returned to the States 
from a military posting and was taking up residence 
in our small town to become a shift supervisor at the 
mill where I worked.  We naturally came into contact 
at the mill, but it was at my second job, sales clerk 
at the mill store, that we became better acquainted.  
He was shopping for suits and I directed him toward 
some marvelous smart navy blue serge with pinstripes, 
just prattling on, when I turned back to see him ten 
feet behind stopped dead in his tracks.

"Would you be willing to have a cup of coffee with 
me?" he asked.

"Well, I won't be off work until after 6:00," I said.

"Perfect, I go on shift at the mill at 7:00.  Perhaps 
the diner in town?  I'll buy you dinner.  We can 
talk?" he asked.

"I guess that would be all right," I replied.  "Yes."

Dinner was dinner at the diner.  Same food I'd been 
eating on and off again for seven years.  Tonight was 
different, however.  The food was all that much 
better for the company.  He was witty and charming 
and told me of his plans for the future.  At the end 
I was quite taken with him.  When he asked, "Can I 
see you again?" it was all too easy to say, "Yes!"

We saw each other for the better part of a year.  
Early on I fell in love.  He tried to deny it but I 
know he was in love too.  We were dancing at the 
local juke joint one Friday when he asked, "What 
shall we do tomorrow?"

"A picnic I think," I replied.  "Do you know a place 
to picnic?  I do if you don't."

"Actually," he said, "I spied just the place while 
out hunting morning doves this past weekend.  It's 
beautiful.  We should go.  A picnic it is."

At home I fried the chicken, laying it out on towels 
to drain.  I packed the basket with bread and 
pickles, applesauce and fennel.  I wrapped the 
chicken in aluminum foil and packed it, finally 
placing the peach cobbler in on top.  It's amazing 
how sharp I find the details all these years later.  
He arrived at 11:00AM and I was ready in my finest 
dress, a red check gingham.  I ran out the door, 
purse and basket in hand shouting, "It's going to be 
a special day, Ma!"  I jumped into his sporty new 
Thunderbird and we rode away.

We traveled northwest about an hour when he pulled 
off the side of the road.  The hills here become 
rolling and he pointed over the nearest one saying, 
"There's a clearing over that hill and about a mile 
in with a lone tree in the center looking out over a 
mile of fields all around.  That's where we're 
headed.  You O.K. with the long walk?"

"I'm just fine," I replied.  "I like to walk."

We followed a little footpath through the wood off 
the side of the highway to a wood-road going into the 
interior, walking that hand in hand.  He carried the 
basket and wore a rucksack that transported the wine.  
Short of our destination he stopped me and said, 
"Darling, do you trust me?"

"What a strange question," I replied.  "Yes I trust 
you.  Why do you ask?"

"Well," he began, "I don't believe you've been here, 
though it's not far from your home.  As we round that 
upcoming corner the vista is going to open on the 
field I spoke of.  There is a perfect location to 
reveal the whole scene and I would blindfold you 
until we make that spot, leading you there by the 
hand.  I'd like to make this our place - our little 
spot on the map - and I want to show it to you all at 
once, rather than have you come upon it bit by bit.  
Will you trust me to blindfold you and lead you 
there?"

I thought this an odd request but, as it is only with 
your first love, my trust and devotion knew no 
bounds.  "Yes, of course."

He removed a bandana from his pocket and blindfolded 
me.  He kissed me, and then taking up the basket took 
my left hand and said, "Come."  We made our way up 
the wood road and when we had to cross a ditch he 
carried me in his arms.  Soon I felt the grasses of 
the field upon my legs while still he led on.  Thirty 
minutes later, by my reckoning, we stopped.  The 
flowery scent was pleasant but overwhelming.  Placing 
his hands over my hips he turned me to face west with 
the sun on my left cheek.  "Thank you, dear, for 
trusting me.  Please, lift the blindfold.  See what 
God has wrought this fine Saturday in May."

Tentatively, I reached up to the blindfold and lifted 
slightly, then pulled it off.  It was terribly bright 
and I blinked in defense of my eyes, but they 
adjusted and I looked out where he pointed upon I 
think the longest expanse of natural open space in 
all of the Carolinas.  It went on for at least a mile 
in every direction I looked.  From the south to the 
east the green forest from which we emerged, the 
entrance now lost to me, showed lush with evergreen 
long leaf pine and oak, both live and black.  Across 
the field, from the southwest running north, the Blue 
Ridge opened in dappled shaded majesty under a 
graduated azure to cobalt sky.  The bright living 
ripe green grasses over the whole field were knee 
high and the surface rippled as the breeze raced over 
them.

I turned back to see that while he stood easy and 
relaxed, behind him a gnarled tree with low boughs 
exploded in a profusion of pink-white blossoms.  The 
tree, at one time pruned and cared for but now 
covered with suckering sprigs, seemed the hub of 
activity for thousands of insects indistinguishable 
from each other.  I noted the low frequency hum 
emanating from the tree and wondered at the count on 
nature's display of bees and blossoms.  "What's 
that?" I asked.  "It most certainly isn't peach.  Is 
it pear?"

"Apple," he replied.

I walked around him to his right and approached.  
"It's beautiful!"

"Yes, I knew you'd like it," he said, turning to me.  
"I thought we'd eat under it."

"The shade looks good," I replied, "but what about 
the bees?"

"Darling," he said, "if we don't bother them they 
won't bother us.  They'll be happy to share their
tree."

I queried uncertainly, "You sure?  We won't get 
stung?"

He held out his hand, saying reassuringly, "I'm 
sure."  I took his hand and he led the way in under 
the boughs on the southwest side of the tree.  I 
threw open the blanket and lay it in the shade of the 
apple tree.  I opened the basket to find a bottle I 
hadn't packed.

"What's this?"

"Oh, that's for later.  Here, just lay it out in the 
sun," he said.

"What is it," I asked again?

"Honey," he said simply.

"What for," I asked?

"Desert," he said.

"I brought cobbler," I protested.

"And we shall eat it, dear.  This is for after that," 
he said.

I gave him a funny look but he wasn't disposed to say 
more.  So, I set it down.

He collected it and set it out in the sun.  "We'll 
let it warm."

"What do you have in mind?" I asked, still curious.

"You'll just have to wait and see," he said.

I plied him a little more but he said nothing.

I set out dinner as we talked of our jobs, 
associates, friends, and life in general.  Out of the 
blue he asked, "Ideally, dear, when we marry, where 
do you want that to happen?"

My heart leapt at the question, presumptuous though 
it was.  I asked, "Are we planning?"

"Could be," he replied.

"Well, I suppose I'd like to marry here at the 
Methodist church.  All my family is here.  Do you 
have family," I asked?

"My parents are unfortunately dead, but I have a 
brother," he replied.

I asked, "Would he be best man material?"

"That I'll grant you.  I do believe he would be a 
great best man.  Threw the best parties I ever saw.  
Stag party'll have to be thrown," he said, at which I 
frowned sourly.  "Of course there are some buddies 
from the service I'd like to invite.  Mostly though, 
the guest list will comprise your relatives and 
friends.  Those I'd invite could be counted on your 
fingers and they would probably be in the wedding 
party at my side."

"They would, would they?  This is news to please my 
parents.  You do, by the way," I pointed up.

"That'll make speaking with your father easier," he 
said.

I asked, "My father?  Whatever for?"

He snickered, "To ask for your hand, of course."

I asked, "Are you really going to do that?"

"I'm reviving an old custom," he answered.

I snickered.

"What?" he asked.

"I can't believe you're really going to do that," I 
answered.

"Why not?" he asked.

I replied, "What will you do if he says no?"

"No, that's not what I mean," he said.  "What I mean 
is, if he likes me what's there to loose?  He's old 
fashioned enough to appreciate the effort, and it can 
only bring me up in his estimation."

"It works only if you answer the questions he puts to 
you," I said.

He replied, "I've little doubt I can satisfy him.  
However, can I satisfy you?"

"What do you mean," I asked?

He paused a moment in consideration.  "Are there 
things you would know about me?  Are you satisfied 
you know me?"

"I know this you, the you I want to know.  Are you 
saying there's more," I asked?

"More?  Yes, there is more."  At this he paused again 
to collect his thoughts.  "I had special training in 
the service.  For the next 13 months I'm subject to 
recall.  Perhaps a long engagement is in order."

"13 months!" I exclaimed.  "That's a long time to 
wait; maybe too long to wait.  Is there any way we 
might marry sooner?"

"Dear, the nature of my training is-" he stalled, 
considering.  "Well let's just say that what I do for 
the service is exceedingly hazardous, and should I be 
recalled there's no better than an even chance I'll 
return from the assignment."

"What do you mean," I queried, "'a no better than 
even chance,' you'll return?  Just what did you do 
for the service anyway?"

"That's a silly question, dear," he replied.  "It was 
war and I did what we were all charged to do.  I 
killed people."

I wasn't willing to let it go.  "So why will there be 
such danger if you're recalled?  Can't they do 
anything to make the chore safer?"

"No," was his concise reply.

"But, why not?!" I exclaimed.  "Just what did you 
do?"

"I'd rather not describe it, other than to say-" he 
paused again to consider.  "The nature of what I did 
showed a remarkable economy of ammunition."

I asked, "What does that mean?"

"Obviously," he stated, "it means nothing to you.  We 
had a motto in our outfit -- One shot rings out, one 
enemy lies dead."

It was my turn to pause and consider.  I really 
didn't comprehend.  This was long before reality was 
vividly presented in movies and not knowing war I had 
no frame of reference.  It was obvious he thought it 
a huge obstacle.  "A long engagement then," I 
conceded.  I looked down at my knees, attempting to 
hide my discouragement.  I continued unpacking the 
basket and setting out the food.  A tear formed in my 
eye and though I tried I couldn't keep it from 
falling.

"You're clearly upset, dear," he said.  "Why?"

"It's nothing," I replied.  I looked up and rubbed 
the next tear away with the back of my hand.  He 
didn't seem satisfied.  He sat back on his haunches 
awaiting continued dialogue.  The tension filled the 
air.  To relieve it I blurted, "It's selfish!"

"Why don't you let me decide that?" he asked.  He 
just sat back waiting.  Clearly he wasn't going to 
let this go.  Having removed the food there was 
nothing to do but hand him his plate.  I reached out 
with it.  Instead of taking the plate he grabbed at 
my wrist and pulled me off balance.  I turned to 
avoid falling in the food, shouting as I fell, then 
landed on my back.  I tipped my head back and gave 
him a questioning look.  He bent down and gave me a 
passionate kiss.  "I love you, you know!"

"How would I know?  You've never said so until now," 
I teased.

"I love you," he said.

"Is that supposed to make it all right," I asked?

He laughed, saying, "No.  Women and children think 
that love makes life right rather than just 
different.  I should think you'd know better.  
However, are you telling me that to hear the words 
from my mouth is unwelcome?"

I softened my countenance through my tears and 
looking back up at him said, "No, it's most welcome 
to hear.  It's late though.  You know that.  You've 
been in love with me the better part of a year now."

He chuckled.  "Well, I figure better late than 
never!"  He bent down and kissed me again.  Then he 
lay beside me on the blanket.  I turned on my side 
and propped my head on my hand, the better to see and 
converse.  "You want to tell me what has you so 
troubled," he asked?

"I told you, It's just selfish," I said.

He said, "Tell me."

"I don't want to wait," I said.  "If I could I would 
wed us tomorrow."

"You do realize why I think we must wait?" he asked.  
"What if the service does recall me ten months from 
now, while you await the birth of our first child?  
What if I don't return?  I wouldn't leave you with 
that burden, darling, though I know you would gladly 
bear up under it.  In thirteen months the service 
will have no hold on me and we can get on with our 
lives."

I screwed my face up, considering how to say what I 
had to say.  He completely missed the mark.  I 
understood the delay.  I tried to explain though it 
was tentative to start.  "I understand that," I said, 
"it just wasn't what I meant."  I paused, puzzled, 
and cross at myself for the inadequacy of the words I 
had.  "I understand," I began, "...there are certain 
pleasures that married people enjoy," I tried.  "It's 
these at which I wonder and would know ... now."

He smiled.  "Have you no patience, woman?"

"No," I replied.

He laughed, "I thought you might feel this way.  
That's why I came prepared."

"Prepared!" I cried.  "For... intercourse?"  I took 
umbrage at this thought, the thought he was prepared, 
which I found presumptuous.  There was that word 
again.  I thought it strange to be angry because he 
was ready, considering what I was saying.  I softened 
my heart a little.

"Actually, no, dear," he said.  "There need to be 
some pleasures left for the nuptial bed!"

"There are other ways to bring a woman pleasure," he 
intimated.

"How?" I asked.  "No, don't say.  Will this make me 
bad?  Will you think less of me if I consent to ... 
do this?"

"Does this make you a bad girl?" he queried 
rhetorically.  "You can never fall from my 
estimation.  If anything, I find you more fascinating 
everyday we're together.  I can never think more 
highly of you, no matter which path you chose." 

"However, I'd say that it would be so in the eyes of 
your parents and the church, if they were to find out 
or if you were to speak out of turn.  It's your 
reputation we must consider.  Nevertheless, here we 
are under an apple tree able to see anyone coming 
into view for a mile in any direction.  We are under 
the boughs of the tree shaded from sun, and sight, 
for the same distance.  If we were to enjoy ourselves 
here I'm certain no one would know, save us."  He 
paused, to let me consider.  "This isn't Adam and 
Eve, dear.  I'm more like the serpent tempting you 
under the tree of knowledge.  Like Eve you may have 
your choice.  I'll take no as answer as readily as 
yes."  He paused here, to let me consider long.  He 
followed up with, "That said, you have my solemn 
promise that despite my fears of recall by the 
service it's my intention to never, ever, leave you."

After a moment he launched himself back up on his 
knees.  He bent down and kissed me again.  I rolled 
onto my back so he could.  It was more passionate 
than any kiss I ever received, before or since.  
Pulling back a little to see my face, he said, "Let's 
eat.  I'm dying to try your cobbler!  You can give me 
your answer after dinner."

I moved back up on my knees and passed him some foil 
wrapped chicken.  I opened the pickles and 
applesauce, and uncovered the dish of fennel.  He 
broke the bread, handing me a chunk, and bit into his 
own.  We ate essentially silently, my mind 
preoccupied with my decision.  When I did look up at 
him he had a bemused smile on his face.  I frowned 
every time I saw it.

He made it clear the decision was mine to make.  What 
I couldn't figure was why it required all this 
consideration to say yes.  I knew I would.  I was 
certain he knew I would.  The further into non-
conversation we delved, the wider his smile became; 
the wider the smile the deeper my frown, and the more 
furrowed my brow.

Finally I could stand it no longer.  "What are you 
smiling at?!?"

He laughed.  "I'm smiling at you killing yourself 
over this decision by over-thinking it."

Upset, I blurted, "You think you know what I'm going 
to say?"

He laughed again.  "If you'd already made up your 
mind we'd be talking.  I don't know what you're 
thinking, but I'm having fun guessing.  The longer 
you think on it, the more likely it is that I'll be 
spending the afternoon here.  Still, whatever you 
decide is O.K. with me."

"You're impossible!" I exclaimed, giving him an ugly 
look.  He just gloated.

"What do you plan to do if I say yes," I asked?

"What else?  Love you!" he said.  "Physically.  
Without reservation, ...save penetration.  Pregnancy 
is out of the question.  I'll not have you suffer 
that without the benefit of marriage."

"Why?" I asked.

He answered with a question of his own, "Why what?"

"Why are you willing to do this," I questioned?

He answered, "If I do `this' it will be for three 
reasons.  First, because I love you.  Second, because 
I'm sure you're ready.  Third, because you ask."

"No other reason?"

"There are no better reasons than these," he said.  
"I enjoy bringing pleasure.  I'd like to do this for 
you.  What more reason do you need?"

"Have there been others," I asked?

He laughed.  "Are you sure you want to ask that 
question?  I won't lie to you!  What I think you're 
really asking is will there be others.  The answer is 
there will be no others.  You're the only one with 
whom I want to pursue this.  Will this satisfy you?"

I thought about this before answering, "Yes!"

He asked, "Yes, what?"

I said, "Yes, it satisfies my question.  Yes, I want 
to know what you would show me.  Yes, I'll take the 
risk with you the service won't recall you.  Yes, I 
love you.  Yes, I think I always will!"

"Good," he said.  "Now eat your dinner in peace.  
You'll want the strength later.  Where's that 
cobbler?  Ahhh!"

The shift of attention back to dinner threw me a 
little.  I think, ...aw, whom am I kidding?  I was 
expecting some outward demonstration of joy at what I 
said.  The decision seemed momentous a moment ago.  
He just shrugged it off as everyday mundane.

He broke my reverie by sneaking up on me and speaking 
these words in my ear as if having read my mind, "I 
never let the decision be more momentous than the 
action, dear.  I'm pleased you made a choice.  Now 
quiet your mind and try to be here with me in this 
moment, rather than planning our future or comparing 
this to your past.  Trust me, there'll never be 
anything to compare.  Pay attention so we both enjoy 
it and so you don't miss a single nuance!"  Startled, 
I turned to him.  He kissed me, warm, slow, wet, and 
deep.  I kissed back savoring the sensations on my 
lips, at my breasts, at the base of my spine, and at 
the warming, ...you know, down there.  A moment later 
I tipped over on the blanket in a swoon.  I think he 
saw it coming and guided me down.

I came to with his smiling face hovering above me.  
His eyelids crinkled with concern, but there was 
definitely a smile under that nose.  Frightened at 
what just happened, I started, shrinking back at 
first but childlike I wrapped my arms around his neck 
and drew myself to his broad muscled chest.  I clung 
to him as if for life and asked, panicked, "Hold 
me?!?!"  He slipped his arms around my waist and 
pulled me in close.  My breasts, crushed against his 
chest, were warm.  As a matter of fact, I noted my 
whole being felt flushed as the hot blood coursed 
through me, but my skin felt cold and I shivered.

"Darling?" he queried repeatedly, trying to gain my 
attention.

At about the forth or fifth try I responded, "I'm 
scared!"

"You're also showing the early signs of shock and we 
need to warm you up!" he said.

"Spare blanket in the basket!" I responded.  He moved 
but I wouldn't let go.  It took several tries with me 
clinging to him, but finally he tipped open the 
basket cover, reached in, and removed the blanket. I 
felt the instant warmth as the blanket wrapped over 
my shoulders.  "Don't go!" I desperately cried.

"I'm not going anywhere," he responded reassuringly.  
He held me and rocked me as I warmed.

I couldn't track time in my panic but eventually I 
came to enough to ask, "What happened to me?"

"Well, dear, I knocked you out.  I boxed Golden 
Gloves in the service but yours is my first KO.  To 
think that all I had to do was kiss `em."

"They would never have let you fight your way in 
close enough to kiss them," I offered.

He just laughed, a great big belly laugh that rolled 
up from way down deep in that warm wonderful muscular 
chest.  I giggled at first then laughed with him.  We 
went at laughing uproariously for what seemed like 
forever.  Eventually we laughed ourselves out.  I 
lifted my head from his shoulder and tipped back away 
from him enough to look in his eyes a moment.  I 
kissed him then asked, "Did I beat the count?  Can I 
at least fight out the rest of the round?"

"Well now, I don't know about that!" he said.  
"Usually they call the match after the KO."  I gave 
him a very disappointed look, then kissed him.  I 
pulled back again to gaze into those wondrous blue 
eyes.  He said, "Well, there's always the rematch!"  
I kissed him again, trying to revisit the warm, slow, 
wet, deep kiss that put out my lights.  When we broke 
apart I pulled back and smiled a broad dreamy sated 
smile.

"You really look beautiful when you wear that smile," 
he said.

I replied, "Kiss me again so it doesn't melt away."

"Only too glad to oblige, lady," he said tipping me 
to the side and cradling my head in the crook of his 
right elbow.  I held the blanket close about my 
shoulders in nervous anticipation as he looked down 
on me.  Gently he lowered his head to my lips that 
were now turned up awaiting him.  This was "the" 
kiss.  As he started warmth built in the pit of my 
stomach and radiated out.  Soon the warmth engulfed 
me until I displayed a full blush from forehead to 
knees when we parted our lips.

When he broke our kiss I nuzzled into his upper arm 
and caught the manly scent of cologne on his chest.  
I thought this is what it's like to be with a man.  
No wonder mom blushes when dad comes down from the 
bath all clean from a day's work.  It's got to be 
anticipation.  This is wonderful.  The glow didn't 
fade for the longest time.  When it did it was just a 
little.  I felt him bend his lips to my ear, 
"Darling, this is just the beginning!"

"It's really dreamy here in your arms," I replied.  
"You're so strong; and your smell!  You smell so 
good!  I think this could be what heaven is like."

"Yes, and there are even greater pleasures to come!" 
he said.

"Oh, good," I said, "but no more knock outs, O.K.  
They're fine falling into them but I don't like the 
fear coming out of them, even if they do drive me 
into these arms."

"How'd you learn about the fight game," he asked.

"Dad's a fan.  I remember listening at his knee when 
Ezzard Charles unified the Heavy Weight Championship 
some years back," I answered.

"Dad's a boxer?" he queried.

I replied, "Oh, I don't know, could be."

"I'll have to ask," he said.

I asked dreamily annoyed, "Do you want to talk 
boxing?" 

He replied evenly, "No, I want to talk about you 
sitting up and eating some of this food we brought.  
I'm beginning to think you had me carry it for my 
health."

"I'm not hungry," I said.

"Come on," he persuaded gently.  "You need to eat, so 
unless you want me pouring it in you, sit up."  He 
pulled me back up gently, hugging me close before 
letting me go.  "You frightened me when you fainted 
like that.  You don't want anymore of those episodes?  
Good!  Eat!" he commanded gently, but emphatically.  
I reached for a wineglass.  "No!  No wine for you 
until you put some bread and food in you.  I'm nice, 
but I'm not carrying the trash, blankets, baskets, 
and you out of here.  So eat something."

I reached in the bowl of fennel and hauled out a 
foreshortened stalk cut on the bias.  I bit and 
chewed, enjoying the sweet scent and tang of licorice 
that fennel carries.  I chewed open mouth in protest 
to his commands.  He peered up and gave me a dirty 
look, so I closed my mouth.  I chewed up another 
stalk of fennel before moving on to my hunk of bread 
and discovering I really was hungry.  After the bread 
I ate two pieces of chicken and some applesauce.  
Then I stripped off another hunk of bread from the 
loaf and ate that too.

He handed back my wineglass and filled it from the 
now open bottle.  I sniffed at it and finding it 
fruity and pleasant sipped at it.  When I was done 
chewing I took a big swallow to wash down the food.

"Decided you were hungry after all?" he asked.

"Where's the cobbler?" I asked smiling, while fishing 
out one of my slab pickles from the jar.

"You haven't eaten since yesterday, have you?" he 
queried, more as statement.

"Come to think of it," I said, "I haven't."

He said, "No wonder you fainted."

"What does eating have to do with it?" I asked.

"If you don't eat regularly, your body tires," he 
said.  "Last couple of days has put a lot of stress 
on you.  I chock it up to nervous anticipation of 
being with me.  You don't carry a lot of fat on you, 
so you used up whatever reserve you had in the mental 
and physical labor of coming to that point just 
before you fainted.  When you needed stores to deal 
with my kiss you had none. You became disoriented, 
fatigue overtook you, and you fainted."

"So I'll be better," I asked?

He said, "Don't you feel better?"

I stopped chewing long enough to think about it.  My 
mind had quieted substantially; I could concentrate 
and understand what he was saying.  "Yes, I feel 
better."

"Well, then," he replied as if that were proof 
enough.  "Now you're of sounder mind and body, want 
to take back what you said about knowing what I can 
show you?"

"No!" I said.  "Why would you think so?"

"Just checking," he said, handing me the cobbler 
dish.

I set it aside and reached out for his hand, which I 
pulled close and laid over my beating heart.  "I 
can't tell you how pleased I am we're becoming 
lovers.  That's what's happening, isn't it," I asked 
rhetorically?  "I love you too!"  With this I 
dispelled his doubt over what we were about to do.  
He leaned over the blanket to me and I met him 
halfway where we kissed again.  He moved his hands 
over my breasts renewing that yummy feeling in the 
pit of my stomach.  We kissed repeatedly a few 
moments before I let go of his hand.  He wrapped the 
loose hand around the back of my head and stroked at 
my hair soothing me.  Finally he used that hand to 
hold me as he kissed me again open-mouthed.  I 
returned the passion, but lost my balance, placing my 
hand firmly in the cobbler pan.  I didn't care.

When he released me after several moments I sat back.  
I grabbed a handful of the cobbler and lifted it to 
my mouth.  I took the first mouthful before he 
reached out and drawing my full hand close, nibbled 
at the cobbler, and my hand, in an intimate display.  
I giggled around the sweet crumbs and fruit in my 
mouth.  He let go of my hand and I drew it back to 
take another sensual bite while I looked at him, 
inviting him with my eyes to take another of cobbler, 
or me.  He reached out after a moment and I gave him 
the hand.  Drawing it to his mouth he licked the 
fingers clear of cobbler and left the contents of the 
palm to me.

I drew back my hand and bit a big hunk of cobbler out 
of my palm and covered my lips and chin as if I was 
competing in a pie-eating contest.  He waited as I 
finished the contents of my palm and licked it clean.  
He crawled over to me on all four, and licked the 
cobbler from my face with his tongue until nothing 
was left but a crumb on my lower lip.  He kissed me 
again, drawing it into his mouth and sending a 
thrilling chill down my spine that lasted until he 
released my trapped lip.

"Oh! that feels so good.  Do it again!" I cried.

"Not just now, but let's try this," he said as he 
plunged down on my neck, kissing.  I warmed, then 
heated, my sex engorging in a manner unknown to me 
before now, and both wetted and whetted.  I shivered 
with delight.  His hands roamed over the cloth at my 
breasts as the nipples sprung out and stiffened hard 
and as thick through as chair dowels.  He kissed at 
my neck, then nibbled at my earlobe.  Just when I 
didn't think he could coax another ticklish shiver he 
bit the fleshy part of my left shoulder causing me to 
lose control and quake down to my toes.  He lay me 
down on the blanket.  He kissed me as he began 
unbuttoning his shirt.  I reached in through the 
opening and ran my hands up and down over his rippled 
stomach.  He stopped long enough to unbutton the 
cuffs and remove the shirt, and then we joined lips 
again.

When we came up for air he asked, "Like this?"

My reply was unintelligible.  He unbuttoned my dress 
as I helped.  Soon the button front was undone.  He 
reached in under the hem of my skirts and began 
rubbing across the waistband of my panties over my 
stomach, moving ever so slowly down until he touched 
the top of my pleasure button through the cloth with 
the heel of his palm.  Immediately, unconsciously, I 
thrust my hips up at his probing hand while he 
gathered the back hems of my skirts and pulled them 
above my waist.

He let his hand roam over my waist and knead along my 
thighs while he swept the dishes to the far side of 
the blanket to allow us more room.  He burrowed his 
hand beneath the small of my arched back, then lifted 
and repositioned me more in the center of the 
blanket.  I wrapped my arm over his shoulder to help 
and while I was there managed to plant a slow wet 
kiss on his lips as much to keep myself enticed as to 
enflame him.  The motion of the move was a little 
rough so I cried my alarm into his mouth.  He 
responded by breaking then renewing the kiss, which 
quieted me instantly.

He pulled up my dress as I lifted my arms to allow 
its removal.  My slip came off with it and the chill 
of the breeze raised goose bumps across my body.  He 
reached around and after fumbling a little unbound my 
bra.  He wound the spare blanket over my shoulders 
while I removed my bra leaving my breasts and very 
visible pink nipples exposed.  In this state of 
undress I felt a little vulnerable.  I scanned the 
horizon for intruders upon my bliss, finding none.  
Reassured I lay back to watch as he stripped his 
shoes and socks off, then removed his belt.  He 
reached out and removed my shoes leaving me in 
nothing but hose, garter, and panties.  My arms were 
crossed under my breasts holding the blanket wrap 
closed.  "Darling, you're a wonderful sight to 
behold.  That smile says so much.  You're beautiful!" 
he proclaimed.  I reached out and tugged at his left 
wrist coaxing him back. 

He climbed back over me, straddling my hips, and 
kissed my lips playfully, repeatedly.  He cupped my 
left breast with his right hand beneath the blanket 
and played over the nipple with the thumb.  I 
twitched each time his thumb passed over it, the 
shudder wracking the left side of my body.  He bent 
his head low over my right nipple as he looked up at 
me with a smile on his face.  He breathed warm moist 
air on it until I turned my head to see.  He turned 
his attention back to that nipple and plunged his 
mouth over it, sucking it in and filling his mouth, 
then capturing it between his teeth, nipping at it.  
I arched my back under him pulling the breast away 
and elongating the nipple sending a shock from there 
to my sex.  Closing my eyes I gasped!  Then he 
released it and repeated this provocation as I cried 
out. 

He swapped sides, cupping my right breast in his left 
hand after dipping his left thumb in the wine. 
Wetting his thumb with alcohol and slipping it over 
the wet nipple chilled the nubbin further, hardening 
it more and stiffening it again.  When I realized 
what was happening there he plunged his warm mouth 
over my dry left nipple.  His ploy seemed exquisite, 
the split sensations of warm and cold seemingly 
sending an electric current between twinning nipples, 
and from there to my sex now weeping and soaking my 
panties.  My wet anus chilled, but seemingly puckered 
outside of my will to stop it.  My unfolded flower 
seemed sensitive to any breeze, no matter how slight.  
His simply rocking back and forth over my hips seemed 
to displace enough air to cause delightful shivers to 
emanate.  My thighs shuddered, my calves pulled at my 
heels, my toes curled, and I involuntary, 
reflexively, gripped at the blanket as if to find 
purchase on the very air in which I now floated.

He sucked the left nipple into his warm mouth and 
chewed lightly at it, intensifying every little 
sensation and stripping me of all other sensibility.  
I lolled my head back, mouth agape, and sucked at the 
air breathlessly.  At a moment I found pleasurably 
unbearable I groaned out my passions!

My body convulsed from within and without.  More 
curious than frightened by all these spasms I moaned 
out low and throatily, "What's happening to me?" 

He stopped to look up and then moved his right hand 
to my waist before pronouncing, "I'm not certain, 
dear.  You may be observing your first orgasm.  Is it 
troubling you?"

"No!" I croaked.  "How ...do you ...tell?"

His faced opened up in a big grin as he said, "Well, 
darling, the only way to know for sure is if I were 
to ...ah, that is... ah, well, this is going to sound 
so strange!"  He went back to nibbling at my left 
nipple, grazing it with his teeth, licking around and 
over it and blowing cool air on it, then drawing it 
back in his mouth alternating cool and hot.

"How?!?!" I as much commanded as requested.

He blew on the nipple then sucked it in his mouth 
again.  When he released it softly, he blew on it 
quickly chilling it, then looked up to my face from 
there and said, "Well, uhm, I just put my fingers, 
uhm ...inside you."

Oh, now that was a thought!  Something, ...inside 
there, "Tell me!  Please!"

He stopped long enough to throw his right leg back 
over on my right side next to his other.  He went 
back to chewing and nibbling like he was never 
interrupted.  Truly, as far as the sensations were 
concerned, they never were.  He laid his palm on my 
stomach and rubbing in circles made his way to the 
waistband of my panties.  Lifting the band he slid 
his fingers under and worked them down over the top 
of my engorged lips.  This brought about a hitch in 
my breathing as I sucked air through my top teeth, 
now hooked over my lower lip, "Ffffffffffffffffffff!"

He felt and probed and found the tip of my clitoris.  
That brought on another hitch.  He wound his thumb 
around and around it, as if smoothing down the flaps 
to allow the way to the instrument itself within its 
silky sheath.  Slowly he circled and for my part I 
cried out in a high pitched tone.  Then, 
...satisfaction.  He slipped his middle finger into a 
now splayed feminine flower and touched the top of my 
hard tipped nub.  Instantly I fell silent, went slack 
jawed and glassy eyed.  Every muscle in my back 
contracted.  I thrust my breast up into his mouth 
then backed it out.  The nipple, inadvertently grazed 
by his teeth during the unintended movement, 
triggered my new orgasm, this one fully involving; my 
vagina gripping, gripping, gripping, my stomach 
rolling, rolling, rolling.  In all of this I forgot 
to breathe and rolled my eyes into the back of my 
head.

When I was myself again I found I had been turned on 
my side and covered with the blanket.  I opened my 
eyes to see him gazing down on me from those dark 
eyes with a wide grin in a head propped up on an arm.  
I smiled up at him contentedly while his other hand 
rubbed back and forth over my side.  "That, darling," 
he said, "was a confirmed orgasm."  I broadened my 
smile and covered my eyes in wonder and shy 
embarrassment.

"Thank you," were the first words I spoke.  I was so 
grateful, pleased, happy, and ...sated, that I could 
think of no better words.  From his perch on that arm 
his grin widened, then he spoke through his smile, 
"You're entirely welcome."  We lay there for what 
seemed like forever.  Me reclined, him running his 
hand over my body, slowly, sensuously.  "After you 
recover some we could do that again if you like."  I 
didn't reply because I was enjoying his touch and I 
didn't want that to end.  "What're you thinking?" he 
asked after a few moments.

"I'm wondering how I'll ever survive that," I said.

He chuckled, "Honey, you'll do fine!"

"I've got to be your dream girl," I said.

Smiling, he queried, "How do you mean, dear?"

"A woman who faints at your kiss, of course!"

He broke out in that big belly laugh I did come to 
enjoy hearing.  I'd never before heard him break out 
in this thunderous laughter.  I smiled up at him and 
watched him laugh with wonder.  When he quieted he 
turned back down to me and said, "You're most 
certainly my dream girl, and it hasn't a thing to do 
with your fainting.  I love you, you know."

"I do now!" I replied. "I love you, too."

"Thanks for loving me."

He had evidently gathered the food for there was none 
to be seen.  "The food," I asked?

"Back in the basket, dear.  Your fennel is on top if 
you like.  Take off your panties for me," he said.

I gave him a look and asked, "Just what are you going 
to do with my panties?"

"You soaked them pretty well through.  You can rest 
while I go down to the stream to the south-west and 
rinse them clear," he said.  "If I hurry, they may 
dry enough that you can wear them out of here."

I rolled onto my back and shimmied out of them, 
extending them from under the blanket.

He reached out and took them up.  "I'll be back.  Try 
to sleep.  I'll wake you upon my return."

I rolled back over on my side and folding my arms 
together at the elbows lay my head upon them and 
watched him go.  A few moments later I lay fast 
asleep.

It seemed like only a few moments before he woke me 
with a kiss.  "How long," I asked?

"Not long, about an hour," he said.

I sat up, slowly.  "That long?" I asked, mentally 
fatigued.

"How'd'you feel," he queried.

"Huh, ...Oh, fine," I answered.  "Really good as a 
matter of fact, thanks to you."

"Hungry?" he asked.

"Yes.  Any fennel left?"  I flipped up the lid on the 
basket to find my fennel.

"Right on top, dear," he offered.  I reached in and 
pulled the foil wrapped package out and closing the 
lid laid it on top.  I un-wrapped the foil and 
retrieved a sweet stock.  Holding the stalk between 
my teeth I moved the blanket to cover my back, 
draping it over my shoulders.  He sat behind me and 
began rubbing at them.  It felt really good, like 
when I was seven and mom held me close on the sofa as 
we listened to the war on the radio for news of dad.  
I leaned back into him, relaxing, those warm 
wonderful hands rubbing at and over me, letting me 
know all was right with the world.

I chewed at the fennel, the sweet tang of licorice 
sticking with me, until I'd finished the three stalks 
that remained.  I balled up the foil and slipped it 
over the lip and under the lid of the basket while I 
finished chewing the last.  "More, dear," he asked?  
"There's pickles and some chicken left."

"No food," I said. While turning to him I replied, 
"More of you would be nice."  We kissed, and kissed.

Finally I sat back up and smiled at him.  He pointed 
out under the tree to the warm afternoon sun on the 
field.  I looked out in wonder as the sun took 
position so that it shown in under the limbs and 
blinded me.  I held my hand up over my brow to shade 
my eyes and marveled at the glow brought over the 
grasses of the field.
"Beautiful!" I pronounced.

"Not nearly as pretty as you in that same glowing 
sun," he said quietly, almost reverently.

I turned back to him and looked upon his face, which 
was turned down a little in embarrassment at his own 
pronouncement.  He peered up from that downcast face 
as if not knowing how I'd take the compliment.  "It's 
nice of you to say so, thank you," I replied and 
moved to his lips with mine to kiss again.  I turned 
away and crawled out from under the low boughs to see 
the whole panorama in glorious detail.  I held the 
blanket close, shielding myself from the breeze.

A moment later he joined me over my right shoulder, 
cigarette in hand.  I turned back over that shoulder 
and said, "I didn't know you smoked."

"I don't always.  For the most part, never when I'm 
with you.  I was just feeling pleased and satisfied 
and that's when I like to smoke," he said.  "They 
taught us, in the service, not to get to like these 
too much.  We'd need to do without these for days at 
a time.  They said it was a nervous habit we'd do 
well not to acquire."

"Yet, you smoke?" I asked.

"At certain times like now, yes," He said.  "You 
needn't worry so.  I don't like the smell of it in 
the house.  I don't really like the smell of it on my 
clothes.  I can't even say it's much of a habit.  
These for instance are quite stale, much to my 
irritation."

"I know everyone does, dear, but I don't and I prefer 
you didn't," I said.

"Really dear?  13 Months to marriage and there's 
already something about me you'd change?" he teased.

I responded as any woman might, "Oh!  You're 
impossible!"

He was quick to reply with a smile, "Maybe so, but 
you love me!"

I fell silent.  It was hard to argue with that.

"I promise, dear," he said, "only outside, and 
probably only when I'm alone.  Besides, these let me 
perform magic!"

"That's old, that hide the cigarette," I exclaimed!

He laughed, "Yeah, I can do that too."

"What do you mean, `Too?"" I asked.  "What else can 
you do with those things."

"Ah, what indeed?" he queried.  "Magic!"  He took his 
hands and cupped them, then clapped them together, 
showing how his hands formed a chamber by opening and 
closing them a couple of times, much as a clamshell 
opens and closes.  Next he walked back to the tree 
and spying at the various blossoms, fixed his eyes on 
one group.  He put the cigarette to his lips and 
inhaled, then blew the smoke onto the flowers.  He 
watched, then repeated the exercise.  Finally he took 
his hands and clapped them down over the blossoms and 
pulled them away.  Inhaling again he blew the 
contents of his lungs through the chamber formed by 
his clasped hands.  Then he turned up his hands, 
right over left, and unclasped them.  One by one he 
removed the destroyed blossoms, flicking them out of 
his palm to the ground.  He blew in another layer of 
smoke over his left palm.  He motioned me closer to 
see.  I stepped forward cautiously to see a honeybee 
right itself in his palm and begin crawling over his 
hand. 

"You haven't been stung?" I queried, incredulous.

"Not yet dear.  Oh, wait, I see.  No dear, she won't 
sting.  When she comes to she'll fly is all.  Having 
come to no harm I might add."

"How is this possible?" I asked.

"Nature, dear," he replied.  "The smoke calms them.  
That's how beekeepers get into hives.  If you like 
she might crawl onto your hand."  I reflexively 
stepped back, apprehension filling my mind.  Soon, 
however my curiosity got the better of me and I 
stepped forward to look in his palm.  There I saw the 
bee crawling about exploring the extents and limits 
of his palm.  "It's all right darling.  No need to 
fear.  It won't bite, ...or sting."  I stepped up, 
but hid behind his left shoulder, afraid the bee 
would come to life, take flight, and sting me.  "You 
want to hold her?" he asked.

"How do you know it's a her," I asked.

"Because this bee was doing something," he answered.  
"He-bees, drones, don't do a damn thing.  Matter of 
fact they sort of laze around the hive doing nothing 
but eating.  They make constitutional flights, when 
they feel like it, looking for queens from other 
hives to mate with."

"Don't they mate with their own queens," I asked.

"Only one queen to a hive, darling," he replied, "and 
she was probably mated long before they were born.  
Queens only mate once, drawing and storing all the 
reserve they'll need for a lifetime of laying eggs.  
Here, you want to hold this little worker bee?"

"I won't get stung?" I questioned.

"Haven't you been stung?" he asked.  "What happened 
when you were stung?  Did you swell up bad?  Or did 
it just hurt?  Did a honeybee or a wasp sting you?  A 
hornet, perhaps?"

"I was stung by a wasp.  It hurt like hell," I 
replied.

"You'll be pleased to know that while honeybee stings 
do hurt, they don't hurt like wasp or hornet stings," 
he said.  "Did it swell a lot, or just a little?  You 
didn't break out in hives or anything, did you?"

"No hives, just a little swelling.  Iced that," I 
replied.

He drew on the last of his cigarette and blew the 
smoke over the bee before dropping the butt and 
crushing it underfoot.  "Here, dear, hold out your 
hand."

I held out my left hand, palm up.  He tipped up his 
palm and allowed the bee to climb from his own into 
mine.  It was odd, the feeling of the tiny feet 
grasping in my palm.  The bee now in my own palm, I 
was free to turn it and study it.  "They have such 
small wings and furry bodies," I pronounced.

He laughed, "Hair, dear, they call it hair.  A pilot 
has told me that they shouldn't even be able to fly.  
`Decidedly non-aerodynamic,' he says.  `They don't 
know by what mechanism they fly,' he says."  

"There're these big orange pouches on the sides of 
their legs..."

"Pollen sacks, dear," he interrupted.

"... and these little flakes of yellow stuck in their 
hair."

"Loose pollen, ready to rub off when the bee makes 
it's way to another flower," he replied.

"Dad says that without them he'd be out of business," 
I said.

"Your father's right.  That pollen, moving from plant 
to plant, lets plants bear fruit.  Without it, and 
bees to move it around, there would be nothing to 
eat," he said.

The bee, evidently clearing it nostrils, came alive 
and walking to the edge of my hand then started 
flapping its wings.  I recoiled my head as the bee 
launched itself.  "Look at it go!" I said, the mirth 
thick in my voice.

"Good, I'm pleased," he said.

"About what?" I asked.

"A couple of things.  First, that bee flew from the 
tree," he said.  "That's a very good indication that 
the hive lies in the direction the bee went to.  In 
other words, its hive isn't in the trunk of this 
tree.  Second that you're a little less fearful of 
bees.  You know those bees can be your little 
friends?"

"How?" I asked.

"They could be instrumental in helping you take home 
some of that sensation you feel when I do, ...what I 
do to you," he answered.

"What?" I asked, seeking clarification.

He answered, "They might be willing to give up their 
little lives for your continued pleasure."

I looked at him and opened my mouth, but while my 
mind formed the question, 'What are you talking 
about?' it wouldn't let the question pass my lips.  
Instinctively, I knew it didn't want to hear the 
answer to that question.  Instead it came out with, 
"Is that why you brought the honey, to feed the 
bees?"

He turned, looked straight at me and said, "That's 
not the question you were going to ask, is it?"

I stepped back, apprehensively.  He was reading my 
mind.  I didn't I like it.

He laughed.  "Let me guess.  You're afraid to hear 
the answer to the question you were going to ask.  Am 
I right?"

I nodded my head in affirmation.  My heart rate shot 
up as the adrenaline started to flow.  My lovely love 
nubbin betrayed me, hardening despite my mental 
efforts to calm down.  When my nipples hardened I had 
to cup my breasts to keep from revealing my 
excitement born of fear, and I became wet with 
desire.  It was too late.  It was like he could smell 
it on the wind and it seemed I was decidedly upwind.

"To answer the question you asked," he said, "if I 
were to open that jar and leave it the bees would 
clear it inside of three hours.  It's not why I 
brought it.  I would answer the question you didn't 
ask with another question.  Would you like to know 
why I brought the honey and to find out how the bees 
can help you ride home with that feeling?"

"Will I be stung," I asked.

"Yes, you will," he replied, "three times."

"Do I have to know about the bees?" I asked.

"No," he replied, "we don't have to mess with the 
bees, though I assure you that should we, it's safe.  
We could do what we did before.  Or we could use the 
honey.  Or maybe you have an idea?"

"No!  I have no ideas," I answered quickly.

"Do you need more time?" he asked.

"No!  No more time," I said.  "If I don't do this, 
I'll never have courage to consider it again.  I 
don't want a ho-hum existence and you excite me.  If 
I don't let you do what you do, I'm stifling us both.  
This will never go anywhere, now or 13 months from 
now, if either of us stifle the possibilities.  I 
don't know where you learned all this.  As a matter 
of fact I'm beginning to wonder if I want to know, 
but wherever this information came from it's not 
likely you'll just store it away, and I want you with 
me as much as I want to be with you.  I'm babbling 
now, but do you know what I mean?"

"Yes," he replied, "you're afraid that if you don't 
allow this that eventually you'll lose me, or worse, 
you're afraid you'll lose yourself.  Just know that I 
love you and this doesn't make or break us.  I won't 
run because you say no.  So it's up to you.  If you 
do this, do this because you want to know, do it for 
yourself.  I can assure you it's thrilling."

"You love me, and you're never going to leave me?" I 
asked, seeking reassurance.

He answered, "I love you and it's my intent to never, 
ever, leave you."

"Please," I asked, "do this for me?!?!"

"I just want to be explicit dear," he said, "you want 
both the honey and the bees?"

"Yes!  Please!  Both the honey and the bees!" I 
replied.

"This is courageous, dear," he said.  "I conclude 
we're more alike than I had right to expect.  We're a 
very good match!"

"I ask one favor," I said.

He asked, "What's that?"

"I don't want to see them coming," I said.

"Blindfolded?" he asked.

I made answer, hesitating, "Yes, ...please!"

He opened his arms, into which I ran.  He held me 
close.  I laid my head on his chest and smelled his 
smell, the cologne and the sour smell of sweat 
acquired during the previous hour.  He stood a head 
taller, and my head fit into the crook of his neck.  
"You tell me when you're ready, dear," he said.

"Now is best," I replied.  "If I wait long I'll lose 
my nerve."  After a moment he turned us and guided us 
in under the boughs to the blanket.  He lay me down 
while removing the blanket from over my shoulder.  
Flicking it, he lay it over the top of me.  Next he 
grabbed up the jar of honey, then from the basket 
pulled out a spoon.  Opening the jar he dipped the 
spoon then removed it, offering it to me.  I opened 
my mouth where he placed the spoon covered with sweet 
nectar.

"Mmmm!  What is that taste.  It's honey and, ...and, 
...apple, it tastes like apple!"  I cried, surprised.

"It's the honey from apple blossoms, dear," he 
prompted without need.  "It's really good, isn't it?"

"Yes!  Where did you get this?!?!"

"It came from an old friend," he intimated.  "I 
called in a very big favor.  It's a gift, for you.  
I've just been waiting for the right moment to give 
it to you."

"This is scrumptious," I exclaimed!  "What do you 
have to do to rate a cache like this?  Kill someone?"

He said, with grave seriousness, "No, you have to 
save someone's life."

The answer threw me.  I stopped in mid-swallow.  I 
now thought better of my flip comment.  "I'm sorry!  
Really I am!  I had no idea!"  It worried me that I 
might have hurt him.  "I'm really sorry, especially 
if it brought up bad memories.  Maybe, someday, 
you'll tell me?"

"Maybe.  Someday," he replied.

"Really, I'm so sorry," I said apologizing yet again.  
Then to lighten the mood I offered up, "It's really 
good, I see why it carries such a high price."

"To earn it I worked nearly as hard as the bees did 
to make it," he said.

"You do me honor and I've slighted you.  You got this 
for me?  Now I've gone and insulted the gift!"  I 
squirmed uncomfortably under the blanket.

"Dear, it's OK," he reassured me.  "I know it was 
unintentional, ...as long as you realize the value of 
the gift.  It resulted from a debt of honor.  He was 
only too glad to part with it --no questions asked-- 
once he heard it was for a lady.  He could have sold 
it for a princely sum.  Now, it comes to you.  I know 
you'll enjoy it."

"All the more, now I know it's worth, and the value 
you place in me.  That's why you waited to bring me 
here?  To make this all perfect?"

"Well, when I found this place it did seem the 
perfect place to present the honey," he said.  "I 
knew you decided you loved me.  I've known for six 
months, though I admit to being a little slow on the 
uptake.  I just woke up one morning and decided I 
missed you.  I knew then that I wanted to wake every 
morning to find you sleeping with me there.  I 
thought how nice it would be to wake early and watch 
you breathing, and sleeping.  I was going to wait 
until my service commission was complete, but knew if 
I waited too long you'd lose interest.  The honey is 
a gift.  Something to suffice in the meantime."

"This is swell honey.  I've nothing of like to 
offer," I said.

"You needn't worry.  I'll eat my share, though it's 
yours.  This day is more gift than I could ever have 
expected.  You've let me fulfill a dream.  I know you 
consider this inevitable, but I feel the need to be 
formal.  Pending your father's approval, will you 
consent to marry me?"

What was there to say except, "YES!  Oh thank you!  I 
thought you'd never ask!"  He was going to marry ME!  
I found it amazing.  It wasn't that I found myself 
unworthy.  It's just I'd been told that I shouldn't 
expect too much!  Now I just couldn't believe my 
great good fortune!  A man who makes me feel like 
this, and he's going to MARRY me!

"Thank you," he responded.  "I think you just made me 
the happiest man on the face of the earth."  He 
leaned forward for a kiss, which I was very pleased 
to grant big smile and all.  It was long, and slow, 
and wet, and probing, ...and long.  I don't think 
either of us wanted to give up on that kiss!  It 
restarted my furnace.  Finally I had to break the 
kiss: I just couldn't stand it!  "Dear?  Could we get 
on with making a little `Magic?'  Soon I'll lose 
nerve and won't be able to go through with it."

"Uhm," he replied, "yes of course."  He leaned back 
in to continue the kiss.  He set the honey to the 
side, but within reach.  He touched my left breast 
over the blanket and kneaded.  He paused periodically 
to brush his thumb over the nipple, hardened now.  
Soon he reached up with his left hand and added the 
sensation from that side.  He moved slowly, 
deliberately, watching my responses, noted the breaks 
in my breathing, and changed speeds or created and 
varied rhythms that had me boiling up a storm.  His 
touch was like no other I had known, or would ever 
otherwise know.

I threw my arms over his shoulders letting the 
blanket fall between us.  I was hungry, ravenous now!  
Not for food but for his lips!  Instinctively I think 
he knew, as he stopped to wind his long toned sinuous 
arms about me and drew me close.  He paused to let me 
know he comprehended and that he didn't mind the 
interruption, then drew me closer still until our 
lips met.  He crushed me against his chest while our 
lips spoke without words of this urgent sense of love 
passing between us.  This continued until we 
exhausted the voiceless conversation, then he lay me 
back down to continue his other meaningful 
ministrations.  True to his word I felt good as he 
kissed and rubbed and stroked.  Me: his very own 
musical calliope sounding a different note at every 
touch.  The patterns he wove had me crying out little 
tunes of anguished delight.

"Darling?" he asked.

"Mmmm," I replied.

"It's time," he said.

"Time?" I queried.

"Yes, the light diminishes.  The afternoon wanes.  
Soon the bees will go back," he said.

"Back?  Yes of course, to the hive."  I answered my 
own question.

"How do you feel?" 

"Really good, though hot and sweaty," I replied.

"All right then, it's time to blindfold you.  Sit up 
a second.  I'll help you."  I sat up.  He removed the 
same red bandana he used earlier.  He gripped 
opposite corners while doubling the cloth over.  He 
spun the loose ends over the tightly drawn axis 
between his fingers.  "Ready?" he asked.

"As I'll ever be!" I answered.

He drew the blindfold over my eyes and tied the ends 
together just behind my left ear.  "Wouldn't want you 
to lay on that knot," he said in reply to the unasked 
question.  He laid me back and kissed me deeply and 
passionately.  He asked, "Are you comfortable?"

"Mmmmmm," I said contentedly.  He worked me up some 
more just to be certain.  He rubbed down there in my 
hair.

"I'm going after the first bee," he said.  "I'll be 
very quiet, though you'll hear me trap it between my 
palms.  Just wait dear."  A moment later I heard the 
strike of the flint on the lighter and the snap as he 
closed it to kill the flame.  I must admit my level 
of anxiety increased as I waited.  My blood rushed 
everywhere, especially in my ears.  I missed his 
capture of the bee, never hearing the clap of his 
hands.  The next sensation I knew of was his touch in 
the hair below then the sharp stab as of the 
insertion of a thorn and the pain.  This was followed 
with the buzz of the bee as he evidently released it.

Then unexpectedly something warm and thick oozed over 
the area now in pain.  "What's that!"  I had somehow 
expected that once the venom had been injected that 
everything would sort of numb, but to my excitement I 
found the opposite to be true.  Everything there 
became more sensitive.  Now this thick liquid flowing 
over the site of injection seemed unbearable with 
this new heightened sensation.

"It's honey, dear," he said.

"Whatever for?!"

He chuckled, "Well darling, when you are stung by a 
honeybee it leaves behind the venom sack.  This in 
turn leaves a scent that other bees home in on to 
sting again.  While we're out here away from the hive 
there isn't much danger of them bothering, but the 
honey masks the scent and we're now certain.  It has 
other uses..."

"I can hardly wait to find out about those," I said.

"It won't be long, just two more bees away," he said.  
"You OK?"

"So far, so good," I replied.  "I thought it would 
hurt worse than it does."

"Well there `are' two bees to go and of course my fun 
comes after.  It may hurt much more before we're done 
darling, but I promise it'll hurt really, really 
good!" he assured me.  "I'm off for another."

"OK," I replied, my voice weak with anticipation.  
This time I listened intently.  Still I heard nothing 
until he trapped the bee.  Then I heard nothing again 
until he was upon me breathing his now warm breath 
upon my left nipple.  As soon as I noted it and the 
nipple reacted to it, the pincer like pain of the 
stinger's insertion gripped just below my nipple 
within the confines of the aureole and cut the breath 
out of me in a single gasp.  Again my senses 
heightened and the sensation of the honey drizzling 
over the top of my nipple and flowing over my breast 
was almost enough to cause me to pass out again.  
Somehow this time I remembered to breathe and with 
conscious effort seemed to force my lungs back to 
operation, much as one might crank start an old car.  
I drew breath nearly as fast as I expelled it 
earlier.  After just a moment more my lungs caught up 
with my mind, and while the breaths were deep they 
were again occurring quite naturally.

"All right, dear?" he asked concerned.  He started to 
rub lightly over the top of my stomach, staying away 
from the sensitive bits, and soothing me while 
relaxing my sharp breaths.

"Uh- ...huh!" I replied breathlessly aroused.  Though 
he was quite careful not to touch anything that would 
normally arouse me, this was hardly a normal 
circumstance.  As I now found this was hardly a 
normal state of awareness for me.  It was undoubtedly 
me, but this me was much more ... animal.  I cried 
out in a high pitched wail that I think would have 
carried a mile.  This cry was one of desperate 
hungering need, and fierce.  As such I'm sure it 
would have driven all but the most desperate 
carnivore from me.

"Feels good, doesn't it dear?" he asked. 

I grabbed at his forearm in the blindfolded darkness, 
clamping my hand around his wrist in response, 
knowing I was unable to articulate anything I was 
feeling just then.  After a moment I released it.  
"I'll go find the last bee," he said.

I never heard him get up, but after four minutes if 
I'm any judge, and I'm not certain even today if I 
was, I heard him trap the bee.  A few moments later, 
the warm breath on my right nipple, its natural 
reaction, and the last bee sting; the sensation of 
the honey falling upon the nipple; the sensation as 
it flowed over my breast.  All this followed by the 
sensation, with this newfound heightened awareness, 
of his liberal application of honey.  I felt him 
repeatedly trailing the spoon with warm honey over my 
body from neck to knees.  Even on my toes.

Though this had my nerves on the raw edge, I was to 
find very shortly that it was but the beginning.  He 
stopped.  I heard him spin the lid back on the jar of 
honey.  Then I waited.  Interminable.  The wait that 
is.  I was there covered in honey, blindfolded, and 
unwilling to move.  I felt the honey flow with the 
heat of my body into recesses I worried would never 
be free of it.

I waited, and waited, and finally exclaimed, 
"What?!?!?!"

He cried back, "What, what??????"

"What are you waiting for?" I queried.

He chuckled, "My aren't we impatient.  I was 
marveling darling, watching the honey move on your 
body ever so slowly.  Do you feel it?  What am I 
asking?  Of course you feel it.  Right now I'm 
certain you feel everything.  I won't get to see you 
like this again until next year at the earliest.  
While there are many similar things I'd like to do 
for you this can take place but once, or in good 
years twice.

"I thought you said the bee's would want this honey.  
What's to keep them from coming back and cleaning 
this off me themselves?" I asked.

"Why, not a thing, darling!"  He chuckled again.  " 
Actually, you'd need wait until morning and sunrise.  
The bees are returning to the hive.  They won't much 
bother now `til then.  Of course, there is the 
occasional straggler!"

"Thanks for letting me know how safe it is," I 
replied, trying not to let the sarcasm drip as much 
as I thought the honey might.

"Oh, darling, it's perfectly safe, now.  At least 
you're safe from the bees."  He untied the knot 
holding the blindfold in place.  "Now, safe from me, 
...that's quite another matter.  Close your eyes, if 
they're not already."  He lifted my head slightly and 
pulled the blindfold away.  "OK, open them up slow."  
I opened them, blinked, and looked up into his 
smiling visage.  "Welcome back, darling.  Look out on 
the sky, down between your feet."

My body had been oriented, apparently deliberately, 
so as I looked out between my feet the opening under 
the boughs was revealed.  The sky had turned to 
flame!  The clouds burned yellow, orange, umber, and 
magenta, and the Blue Ridge had colored over in that 
unique color as if of a Maxfield Parish painting.  
Not black, but not quite blue.  Here I was one of 
Parish's nymph-like females, covered in honey, the 
amber color of which now burned upon my breasts and 
toes in the last reflected rays of the sun, and 
matched near exactly the colors he painted them.  
Twilight descended.

"It's very beautiful, even my toes!" I said.  At this 
he chuckled.  "It's late though, it'll be dark soon.  
How will we get out of here?"

At this he out-and-out laughed.  "Darling, I'm sorry 
because you couldn't know.  You needn't worry about 
leaving when the time comes.  I was told once that 
it's impossible that I should ever find myself lost, 
at least not in the location sense.  Some still argue 
over the biblical sense of the word, at least as to 
whether I'm totally lost."

"You're never lost?  Ever?"  I asked incredulously.

"Not according to those who filed out of the woods 
with me," he replied.  "They seem to think it a 
veritable impossibility.  It seems that even while 
dead reckoning I was never once wrong.  So you see, 
daylight, moonlight, or even no light, we'll get out 
of here even as if we saw the way on a map." 

"That's kind of extraordinary, isn't it?" I asked.

"Well, darling, I suppose I wouldn't know.  I've 
always been able to do that.  I don't comprehend how 
it can be that no one else can," he replied quietly.

"How is it you can move so quietly, too?" I asked.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"While laying here blindfolded I never once heard you 
move," I said.  "Most people when they move let their 
pant legs swish together or clap their hands on their 
thighs or their legs swish through the grass.  Not 
you though.  Not a ripple or breeze.  I didn't know 
you came back to me `til I felt your hot breath on my 
breast.  By then it was too late to prepare for what 
you did next."

"Wasn't it better that way?" he asked.  I couldn't 
say, one way or the other.  He'd only done it this 
way.  After a moment he continued,  "Anyway, moving 
without sound is an acquired art.  I'll show you 
someday, if you like."

"Only to know how you do it," I replied.

He paused long, then asked, "Are you ready now?" he 
asked.

"Ready as I'll ever be," I repeated.  "What's next?"

"What indeed?"  He raised his eyebrow giving his face 
a quizzical look.  Then he smiled.  He rolled away 
from me toward my feet and poised himself over the 
top of the left, then descended upon the big toe.  
Opening his mouth he took it in and bit down gently, 
then played his tongue over it.  At first it was just 
icky, but then, ...well, then he worked his tongue 
between the toes and it all made sense, or more to 
the point made sensation.  It was all I could do to 
keep from curling them and trapping his tongue 
between in a death grip.  I was oh so glad to have 
bathed before I left the house, not that I think now 
it would have stopped him.  You might think that 
quite abnormal in a world where one bathes everyday, 
sometimes twice.  Then however you bathed but once a 
week, and then usually on Saturday night.  It seemed 
this night I was to get a tongue bath.

I'd like to tell you I remember every detail, but 
frankly I was out of my mind with lust, and the 
sensations on my virgin psyche were just too much.  
He later told me I went to sleep on him at least six 
times due to nervous exhaustion.  I asked what he did 
while I slept.  "Waited," he replied.  The only parts 
I remembered, though somewhat vaguely, were at each 
point when he licked over one of those venom sacks 
he'd buried under honey.  As each was compressed 
under his tongue and the venom injected the site 
around each stinger became infinitely more sensitive.  
This complicated removing them as he went along.  He 
used the edge of a pocketknife and the cool edge 
caused me to jump when applied to my skin.  He took 
great care not to cut me, that much I recall.  I 
recall his questions.  I recall answering.  Though 
the content of the conversation is still lost to me.  
I've long wished I could get back the content.  Hard 
as I've tried I've never recalled any but the 
simplest words, usually my replies.

I do recall the order of his movements.  He started 
with the toes, then moved on to my chest above my 
breasts, licked along my neck then descended to my 
thighs where I became wet again.  That's when his 
work began in earnest.  He licked up my stomach to my 
lower breasts, then spent an inordinate amount of 
time licking under them at the crease where they 
joined my ribs.  Working around these he worked 
himself into my armpits which I found to be 
incredibly enjoyable, though for the life of me I 
don't know why.  I never thought of them in that way 
at anytime since.

Last, he went over my normal pleasure centers, 
starting at my breasts, first clearing one at a time 
and lingering long on each.  Finally he lapped 
between them, plunging his tongue deep to clear all 
the residual honey.  At this point I was as hot and 
open as I had been the first time.  Not a whole lot 
of verbal communication went between us; neither of 
us seemed to need it.  I had no idea how to improve 
anything he did, so I mostly kept quiet.  I moaned, 
or groaned, or cried out when he did it right and 
this seemed all the clues he needed to have.  For my 
part I shamelessly enjoyed myself.

Finally only one area remained untouched.  Here he 
started by licking over the stinger to inject the 
rest the venom, then pulled it from my lower abdomen.  
I expected he would continue at the top, but instead 
licked from the top of my exposed flower around the 
outside with the back of his tongue.  This woke me 
from my lethargic stupor.

I didn't comprehend, but at this inducement my 
wetness multiplied.  It positively oozed from my 
opening.  What he did next just blew my mind; he 
licked along the insides of my labia along the edges, 
then using his tongue plowed the way to my clitoris.  
In my heightened sensual state I clamped my thighs 
over his head and gave a mighty squeeze.  I sat up 
about halfway and cried out, then fell back.  
Thinking him injured I forced my legs apart.  I 
tipped my head up to look while he popped his head 
up, his mouth and chin thick with the combined honey 
and feminine dew and he smiled at me.

"Liked that did you?" he asked, pleased with himself.  
Before I could answer he licked over the top of the 
injection sight and I exploded with liquid.  It spit 
out of that normally collapsed tube now apparently 
abnormally open.  He tipped his head down to watch 
and when it subsided he stuck his head down there 
again.  This time he put his tongue deep in my vagina 
and I couldn't help crying out again.  He worked his 
tongue deep as was possible and as the wet continued 
to flow he brought his head back up to look at me.

Noting the absence of his stimulation I looked down 
to him.  He just smiled.  Figuring what he was about 
to do I shook my head to give him the no, but he 
ignored it and touched my clitoris with his tongue 
again and then faster than I could react licked along 
the injection sight again, with the same predictable 
result.  Instead of trapping his head this time I 
clamped upon his shoulders as I shuddered in shear 
delight. 

As everything settled out he lapped at the hair still 
covered in honey and worked diligently to clear as 
much of the honey free as he could, keeping up a 
reasonably light stimulation that kept things excited 
but allowed a little respite.  He licked over the 
injection sight once unexpectedly and I moaned."  

Once the area was reasonably clear he repeated the 
tongue in my vagina and enjoyed himself eating me.  
To close things out he touched my clitoris, with his 
thumb this time, as he licked over the injection 
site.  He never let up the pressure on my clit and my 
spasms shook me unconscious.

I came to finding myself wrapped tightly in the 
blanket and slumped over his shoulder.  I moaned 
softly but stayed relaxed.  In for a penny....

When we finally stopped he lay me back down gently, 
as if handling a baby.  He unwrapped me and folded 
the dry edge of the blanket over me and undressed 
himself, which I heard rather than saw as my eyes 
were tightly closed.  I fell back to sleep.  When I 
awoke, it was to hear him splashing in water that I 
had somehow missed before.  I sat up and moaned out 
loud, announcing  my presence.

"Welcome back, dear.  When you feel up to it why 
don't you join me in here," he offered.

"Where's here," I asked?

"This is the pool I told you about earlier dear, 
where I brought your panties to wash them out.  This 
is a cool fast moving pool of water.  No uglies in 
this water to worry about.  It's very refreshing and 
I'm willing to bet will revive you quite nicely.  Do 
you feel OK?"

"I feel weak, that's how I feel.  Do that to me again 
sometime?" I asked.

"Sure thing, anytime, ...after you have time to 
recover," he replied. 

Now it was my turn to chuckle,  "I wasn't asking now.  
What's the matter, afraid you'll kill me?"

"Not at all, but as you've heard countless times, 
`everything in moderation,'" he said.  "What we've 
done today is reckless, hedonistic, overtly liberal; 
it barely passed muster as controlled.  No, I'm not 
afraid of killing you.  Much worse, I'm afraid of 
hurting you."

"You don't want to hurt me then?"

He replied "...of course not.  I want us to be 
together forever.  How could I ever expect that I 
could keep you, or show you how much I love you, if I 
hurt you?"

"OK, seems fair enough.  Next time you have to do 
something else for me, though," I stated.

"Oh?" he queried absently.  "What's that?"

"You have got to teach me how to do something like 
that for you," I answered.

At that he swung his head over his shoulder to look 
at me directly.  "Are you serious, dear?  Never mind.  
Even in the dark I can see that you are."  He turned 
his body back to me to speak, "Men, unfortunately, 
don't loose themselves in sex like women do; which is 
not to say we don't enjoy it as much as you ladies 
do.  It's just different for us.  However, there are 
one or two things I'd like to show you, at some time, 
that would give you much the same power to excite me 
as I had to excite you."

"Good!" I replied.  He stayed there, silent, just 
treading water and looking at me.  This went on for 
some moments, until I asked, "What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking my wish upon a star has been granted.  
Granted the day I stopped in my tracks and asked you 
to dinner."

I cried.  I think it the nicest thing anyone ever 
said to me.  I climbed out of the blanket, naked, 
something unthinkable to me a scant week ago.  In for 
a penny....

I walked to the water's edge and asked calmly, "How 
deep?"

"Deep," he replied.

I dove in.

The waters were as cool and refreshing as he 
promised.  The cool, though not cold, hardened my 
nipples.  I presume the bee venom made them that 
sensitive.  In any case in mere moments I was at that 
point just before you invite your partner to bed, 
horny.  I emerged from the water crying, "Oh!  You 
devil!"

He smiled, "This heightened sensitivity should last a 
few days, slowly fading away.  You can come over 
here.  I'll wrap my arms around you and warm them if 
you like.  There's a wash cloth over on the rock from 
which you jumped, if you want to clean off instead.  
I'd be real careful rubbing anything that got stung, 
though."

"Thanks, I think I'll scrub off," I replied, swimming 
back to the rock.  I was careful about rubbing the 
wrong places.  It did little good curbing my 
excitement.  It seemed it was too late.  Turns out 
he'd brought a bar of shampoo with him too.  In no 
time I was clean, and the bubbles washed away down 
the stream.  I climbed back out to have my nipples 
ache with the water evaporating and chilling my 
breasts.  He climbed out after me.  Rummaging through 
his knapsack he pulled out a pair of towels and 
handed me one.  I dried off, still aching and wanting 
his touch.  I reached out and touched his shoulder.  
He turned back to me, finished toweling off, then 
held out his arms.  I gratefully climbed in and threw 
my arms over his shoulders.  We kissed.

We broke off, then broke apart.  "Over here dear, I 
laid out your clothes so you can dress."  Dress I 
did, as he cleaned up the towels, the washcloth, and 
the soap.  He took the blanket and washed it out in 
the water also.  I watched intently in the dark as 
his shadow-like body moved in the night air with 
grace and confidence.  He spent many minutes wringing 
the water from the blanket as I finished dressing.

Packed he came to me.  I watched until he came close 
enough I could make out the smile on his face.  He 
drew close and we kissed.  He took me by the hand and 
asked, "Ready to go?"  I nodded assent.  "Watch your 
step.  I'll try not to lead you anywhere it will be a 
problem."  We turned and walked out of the field, out 
of the woods, out of paradise in North Carolina.

There you have our story.  Oh, there are details.  
Niggling facts.  When we arrived home he took my 
father aside and smoothed over all, then asked my 
father for my hand.  Dad was pleased.  Especially 
after he was informed that we had agreed to a long 
engagement.

We went back to that tree a half dozen times that 
year.  On into November the leaves changed and fell.  
We even went back to see our tree in January, when 
our field was covered in an even layer of snow. 

By spring, though, he was gone.  Recalled to serve 
the Government that took him away from me.  The 
service would tell me nothing of where he was or his 
assignment.  They were very proper about it, but in 
the end, because we weren't married, they told me 
nothing.  They knew nothing of how we felt about each 
other.  The government would have been unimpressed 
anyway, they have rules.

I waited three years for him.  In the end I had to 
cave to my father's wishes and removed the engagement 
ring we bought.  I met another man, a beekeeper.  
Strange, that.  Maybe God's little joke on me.  I 
married my beekeeper in 1962.  He has since died of 
cancer in 1986.

The honey started arriving in 1964.  There was no 
doubt from where the honey was cast.  The first 
arrival was quite a shock.  My husband came home to 
find me in tears.  I was inconsolable.  He was 
caring, but what could I tell him?  That his presence 
wasn't just or right?  That there was another I loved 
first, before him?  Even when true, women didn't 
admit to such things.  My lover was most certainly 
correct not showing his face at the door, to avoid 
making it an issue for my husband who would never 
understand.  I've two beautiful children by my 
husband.  I've five wonderful grandchildren.  
Annually, I have the honey and my memories.

At first I just accepted the package at my home.  
This hurt my husband as much as the honey warmed me.  
In 1972 I happened to be in Georgia when the package 
found me.  Thereafter, knowing the package would find 
me wherever I was, I made it a point to be away from 
home when it would arrive.  I always hid the jars 
when I was forced to bring them home.  I didn't want 
to hurt my husband.  I can truly say he always came 
first, but I always had the honey to fall back on 
...and the memory: the bittersweet memory.  

Obviously I said nothing, yet in a strange way 
everyone knew to stay away the day the honey arrived 
each year.  I was thankful.  To this day none of my 
family know.  My father and mother have long since 
passed on, and they were the only ones who could even 
have the smallest inkling as to what was happening.  
It's such a mysterious thing to them all, the honey.  
Them, the very ones I'll never be able to tell.  The 
only ones who could ever give a damn, and then only 
because it's me.

Perhaps it's not right that I should unburden myself 
on you, dear reader.  It would be fair to ask, "Why?"  
It seems, based on the continuing deterioration of 
the signature, and make no mistake it is as much a 
signature as if he had written his name, that his 
time on earth is neigh on ending, and frankly, I know 
I'll not live forever.  I want to spill this out on 
paper before I'm too doting to write it down 
properly.

Mostly, I couldn't stand that the story might go 
untold.

There is always the chance you may carry this story 
to him.  If you should, please let him know I'd like 
to see him one more time before we go to meet our 
maker.  I'll come to him if he'll just let me.  Just 
once.  As much as I dream, I have no hope it will 
ever happen.

There you have it, the reminiscences of an old fool, 
the story of forbidden love pursued, and lost, and 
left unrequited due to circumstance.

Pray for me, for I find myself well and truly, 
...lost.





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*                                                          *
*  Implied                                                 *
*  Subjection, but requir'd with gentle sway,              *
*  And by her yielded, by him best receiv'd, --            *
*  Yielded with coy submission, modest pride,              *
*  And sweet, reluctant, amorous delay.                    *
*                                                          *
*        Milton's Paradise Lost, book iv, Line 307.        *
*                                                          *
*  Something to say from the submissive's point of view?   *
*  Hard to find the "right" words?  Want it in a story?    *
*  Tell me about it by mail at caitmccarren@yahoo.com.     *
*                                                          *
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