0 comments/ 12130 views/ 0 favorites Strawberry Fields Forever By: Beatle Bum When I was 19 I spent my summer picking strawberries at a local fruit farm. As the strawberry picking season runs from the end of May until the middle to end of August, this fitted in perfectly with my summer break from university. There were about 20 of us pickers working there, most of whom were women from low-income famalies trying to boost the pay of their husbands. We would all arrive at around 6.30 every morning and work through till about 1 o’clock when most of the pickers would go home to collect their children from school and complete their household chores. Four of us, though, would take a 40 minute lunch break and carry on picking through the afternoon until we were too tired to do any more. As we were paid by the weight of strawberries collected, this system seemed to suit everyone. It wasn’t the best paid job in the world but gave us some pocket-money, and for the wives who worked there, alleviated some of their financial worries. The only trouble was the weather. If it rained we stopped picking and usually went home, as strawberries shouldn’t be picked when they are wet because they become mushy after picking. Fortunately that year was one of the better summers that England enjoyed. We lost a few days to the rain in May and June, but had almost continuous sunshine throughout July and August. If anything it was too hot to work on some afternoons, and I for one wore a wide-brimmed hat which at least gave me some shade. On both sides of the field there was a little wooden shack which was primarily used to store the picked strawberries until the farmer collected them, but also had some basic toilet facilities, and was where we hung our jackets and kept our coffee-flasks whilst we laboured in the fields. If there was a short rain shower, and it hadn’t been too heavy, we would shelter there until the clouds had rolled past and we could resume work. The strawberries were planted in a field in rows approximately 2 feet apart, and we all worked along our own row from plant to plant, plucking those berries that had ripened. Once we reached the end of a row, which would take a fortnight or so, we’d start again at the beginning as some of the others by now would have ripened. One late July afternoon was a particularly hot one. Only the four of us were there for the afternoon, my fellow pickers consisting of another student like myself named Mike, who was earning some pocket money during his vacation, a girl from New Zealand called Linda who has stopped off in Britain for a few months as part of a year-long trip around the world, and the farmer’s son Ian, a 15-year old lad that helped on his Dad’s farm during the school holidays. Mike and Ian were working close to each other in one corner of the field, whilst Linda and I were a couple of hundred yards from them over the other side. Linda was working two rows to my right. As it was a Friday I was in a good mood, there had been no weather breaks for some days, and I had filled a lot of the wooden trays with the strawberries, so I should be getting a fatter than usual envelope of money. The only problem was a summer storm that had been brewing on the horizon. Dark clouds were heading our way and the low rumble of thunder could be heard in the distance. I figured I would work on until the rain hit us, carry the trays of strawberries over to the huts, and call it a day. Suddenly the first heavy drops of rain started falling. Initially only a few fat drops fell, but soon afterwards the heavens opened and a torrential downpour started. I grabbed my two crates of strawberries (we couldn’t leave them there or they would be spoilt) and headed as quickly as I could to the hut. I couldn’t run with them, the strawberries were too heavy for that, but I walked pretty fast. When I got there I dumped the boxes on top of other crates already there, and looked out the hut. Mike and Ian had headed for the other hut carrying 3 crates between them and Linda was slowly heading towards me struggling with her 2 almost full trays. I ran out to her to help her with her crates. Even though it had been only a couple of minutes since the storm started she was soaked through. Unlike me she doesn’t wear a summer hat, and her long blonde-haired was plastered to her skull. Today she had come dressed in a striped short-sleeved shirt and a pair of Levi’s with the legs cut off, turning them into a rather small pair of frayed denim shorts. The clothes, of course, like her hair were plastered to her body. I knew that Linda was not one for wearing a bra, many a time I had peeked at the indentations of her nipples on whatever top she was wearing, and I had occasionally spied the tops of her breasts as she stooped down to pick the fruit, but now they were almost completely visible in their full glory. Her sodden shirt had sculpted itself round them and I could appreciate the firmness, size and shape of them. She was not a big-breasted girl, but neither was she on the small side. The looked just right I thought, I could see myself cupping one hand round each of them and bringing my lips to their nipples. All these thoughts rushed around my head in the few moments it took to take one of the trays off Linda and head back to the hut. I got back there, placed her crate on top of the two I had dumped their a few moments ago, Linda following me in and doing the same with the remaining one. “Jeez,” she said when she had plonked it down, “that came on suddenly, I feel like a drowned rat”. “Yeah,” I said looking out across the field where the rain was beating down even more fiercely, “I guess that finishes us up for the week. We won’t be picking any more today, the berries will be drenched.” A sudden bolt of lightning lit up the darkened sky as if to confirm my opinion. I turned back to look at her one again taking in the drenched shirt and the way the material moulded her breasts. I could feel my cock harden and start to bulge my Levi’s as I took in the sight. Linda noticed too, glanced down and saw the cause of my erection. “Hey, what’s the matter with you, never seen a pair of tits before?" She shook her head to shake some of the rainwater off and continued. "You know you guys are all the same. You see tits on television, in the papers, on adverts by the side of the road, and yet you still get a stiffy when you see them. Don’t you ever get bored looking at them?” “Er, sorry… no” I stammered, “it’s just, er... yours look very… um…nice” “Don’t apologize,” she said, “I quite like the attention, I just don’t get the fascination, I mean there only tits for Christ sake.” “Well,” I continued, “I like… um... breasts, and … well it looks very sexy like that with your hair and clothes all wet.” “Oh Jeez, my hair,” she said running her fingers through them like a comb and trying to pull some of the moisture off. I’m gonna need to wash it when I get home.” She looked up at me and chuckled “Say you got pretty wet as well. Thanks for helping me but you didn’t have to you know. I could have managed, and now you’re soaked through.” I looked at myself. I must have looked a sight as well, my T-shirt and jeans stuck to my body at various points and the water was still dripping off the rim of my hat and down the back of my shirt. I took of the hat threw in it the corner and shook the rain of my head. “I love it when it rains,” she said, "don't you? Say, have you ever done it in the rain?” “Done what?” “Screw!” she replied, “What did you think I meant, pick fucking strawberries? Have you ever fucked a girl in the rain? I didn’t need to think about an answer. The venues for my sexual experiences up to then had been confined to my girlfriend’s bedroom, and my room at university when she had stayed one weekend. I’d never yet enjoyed the typical teenage tryst of the backseat of a car. “Well, no, I guess not.” I said. “Wanna try it?” she said. “What now?” “Yes, of course now! I didn’t mean next Christmas! Back home I screwed this guy in a snowstorm once. That was great, although bloody cold I can tell you.” “Yeah, but in here? There’s not much room is there?” “No you dolt,” she said “out there in the rain, it’s quite a turn-one for me.” As if to emphasise the conditions, the hut was lit up by another flash from outside, followed moments later followed by another clap of thunder. “Come on it’ll be fun!” “But Ian will see,” I protested. “Jeez, you’re not very adventurous are you? Your dick is saying yes, but your head says no. Live a little.” She took my hand and led me through the downpour round the back of the hut. I guess see she had a point. The bulge in my jeans was even more prominent than it had been, yet I was looking round furtively as if expected to be arrested any moment for lewdness in public. She stopped at the back of the hut unbuttoned her shirt and opened up the sides so that the rain was beating down on her breasts, and leaned back against the wooden planks of the hut. “You wanted to see my beauties earlier on,” she said, “well here they are. Let’s see what you can do with them.” Any lingering doubts I had had disappeared. I leant forward and cupped her left breast m my right hand and brought my mouth to her nipple. I teased the end with my tongue a few times and then sucked on it, feeling it’s erectness between my teeth. Growing with confidence my hand moved down her stomach to the top of her shorts, and finding the metal button there, unbuttoned that with consummate ease. If anything the rain was now heavier than it had been, I could feel it running down the back of my T-shirt, but there was no stopping me now. Still with my mouth at her nipple, my hand eased the zipper of her shorts down as far as it would go. I tried to ease her shorts down but they were now so sodden with rain they were stuck to her and I couldn’t budge them. I gave up on them for a few moments, brought both hands up so that each of them was now cupping one of her ‘beauties’ and lowered my face in between them. Ah, it was heavenly in there, that musky smell of her body coupled with the rivulet of rainwater trickling between them. I licked and nipped the soft skin of each breast whilst pushing them into the sides of my face with my hands. Linda was obviously enjoying it too. “Hmmm,” I heard her whisper, “that nice.” After another couple of minutes or so of enjoying those lovely womanly mounds, I stood up and then sank to me knees to battle further with her shorts. I usual kneel anyway to pick the strawberries, but now the rain was turning the earth into mud, and could feel the wetness of the soil soaking through them. I reached round her waist with both hands and eased the shorts down. They came down without too much difficulty and when they were around her ankles she lifted one leg out of them and using the other expertly flipped them up in the air catching them in her hand. Under her shorts Linda wore a pair of dark red cotton panties that I immediately pressed my face into. “Just a sec,” she said, “I don’t want these getting too wet – at least not from the rain – it could be a bit uncomfortable on the drive home.” She lowered them herself, stepped out of them, bundled them up inside her shorts and hung both items on a nail protruding from one of the wooden slats next to her. Straightening up again she leaned once more back against the slats and widened her legs slightly. I leant forward again and after a couple of perfunctory kisses on her inner thighs, pressed my lips against hers. Her pussy had been trimmed to a narrow band of dark brown hair along the length of her slit, fanning out to a small triangle just above her clitoris. She moved her back down the wooden slats, widened her legs further still and parting her nether lips. My tongue reached out and tasted her moistness. It was wonderful, the slightly salty tang of her juices, the aroma of a woman’s most intimate perfume, both mingling with the musky smell her rain-soaked skin was giving off. My tongue eased slowly in and out of her before moving further up her furrow to flick the tip of her clit. Just a little further stimulation from the tongue and it emerged from its secret hiding place standing proud and erect. My tongue continued to dance little circles upon it and I was rewarded with a moan from above. Her hand came down pushing my head further down her slit. My tongue went back to the entrance of her cunt, whilst her own hand, now just inches away from my face, started rubbing her clit furiously. Despite the driving rain I could hear her breathing getting louder and deeper. My tongue was darting in and out of her with gaining momentum when there was a sudden loud clap of thunder and almost immediately afterwards she came. I sat back on my heels and wiped the rain from my eyes. I looked up at her face, rivulets of rainwater running down it and dripping off her chin on to her breasts. Her hair looked a mess, plastered as it was across her head and behind each ear. What little eye-shadow she wore was now smeared down the side of each eye and her shirt hung limply down the sides of her body. Her breasts stood proud and firm, awash with rainwater but with defiant nipples hard with desire. I thought she was the most erotic sight I had ever seen. “Hey,” she said, “that was good. That was very good. You’re not so unadventurous after all. Now stand up and let me have a taste of you.” I stood up, pulled off my sodden T-shirt and took her place against the back of the hut, my face and chest now facing the driving rain. She crouched down in front of me and loosened the belt of my jeans. Belt loosened she popped open the metal stud and lowered my zip. Pulling the flaps of the jeans to either side my cock tented out in front of her. “Oh my,” she said, “you are keen.” Hooking her fingers into the elastic of my boxer-shorts she yanked both the shorts and jeans to me knees, my cock springing up in front of her. “Oh my,” she said again. She leant slightly back ready to take me in her mouth when she suddenly lost her footing in the muddy soil and found herself sitting on her naked ass on the ground. “Shit,” she said, “as if I wasn’t wet enough already.” I laughed, and fortunately she saw the funny side too. With a slight giggle she laid right back on the wet ground. Her scalp was still plastered with her hair, and strands of it were stuck to the side of her face. The few hairs of her pussy were similarly stuck to her, and the nipples on her breasts stood upright and firm despite the rainwater beating down on them. There was a mud smear down the right side of her body. If anything the sight was even more erotic than before and at the same time quite comical. I stretched out a hand to help her back to her feet. She reached out, grabbed my hand and with a sharp tug and pulled me down on top of her. “There,” she said with a grin on her face, “at least now you’ll be as dirty as me. I laughed and brought my mouth down to hers. After a few moments of kissing and tongue wrestling I pulled my head back slightly and licked some of the rain off her face. “Come inside me,” she whispered. I had been lying half on top of her, but now moved myself so that I was completely on top of her, my cock seeking out its goal. “Here let me,” she said reaching down, grabbing hold of me and guiding me inside her. She bent her legs slightly and I started moving in and out of her. No-one was around, of course, and we were hidden from sight anyway by the hut and the hedge at the edge of the field, but had there been they would seem a very comical sight. Me, thrusting into her with the rain drilling into my back and my trousers round my ankles, and her soaked from head to toe, the eye-shadow now just two blue smears around the side of each eye, gasping with each forward thrust I made. She brought both her hands around me, cupped my buttocks and slowly dragged me deeper inside her. I thought at first this was purely to increase her pleasure, but I soon realised that she had also done this deliberately to leave muddy smears on my backside. “There,” she said between gaps, “now you truly are a dirty boy.” Her hands suddenly grasped me even harder, grabbing me around the waist, and she rolled me on to my back, with her on top of me now, my cock still impaled deep inside her. I carried on pumping as best I could, as her waist rose and fell shifting up and down on my cock. There was another lightning flash and an even louder than before, clap of thunder. She pushed her upper body up so that she was leaning over me, her weight supported on her two arms. The rainwater was trickling down her breasts and on to my chest. “How would you like to get even dirtier?” she asked. “Huh?” “I want you in my ass!” she said. “What!” “I said I want you in my ass. Wouldn't you like to?” I was astonished. “I didn’t think girls liked that. I thought it was a, you know, male porno fantasy thing.” “Oh no,” she said “lots of us girls love it, but you got to have the right cock for it. Not too thick or it’s too painful and uncomfortable. Now you haven’t got a big one…” “Oh thanks!” “No, don’t be daft, its fine, in fact it’s very nice, but you've got what my brothers used to call a 'pencil-cock'. Long and thin, just right in fact for the tradesman's entrance!” She climbed off me leaving my unfulfilled prick pointing at the dark sky, and lay down in what was fast becoming a mud-bath next to me, her back turned away. “Do it gently,” she said reaching round to grab hold of me when I had turned towards her, “and let me do the work.” I felt her hand snake round behind her and wrap itself around my shaft. She then squirmed the cheeks of her ass against me. Moments later I felt the tip of my cock press against her most intimate of orifices, and then her whole body push slowly towards me. The rain, mud and her own juices around my cock, acted as a lubricant, and with a slight thrust of my own hips, the head was inside her. “Gently, gently,” she cried. I stopped moving altogether and let her take full control. A few seconds pause, and then she started moving against me again. First small slow movements and then she began to gradually exaggerate the movement and increase the speed. I had my eyes closed now, blinded as I was with the rainwater was running into them, but managed to reach around with one hand and cup her right breast. She had other ideas, though, her own hand grabbed hold of mine and firmly brought it back down to her clit. My fingers found her love-button and started to massage it again, as my hips almost involuntary started thrusting again, sinking slightly deeper with each forward push. “Yeah, that’s it, keep doing that,” she said. “Hold off as long as you can but when you do cum see if you can explode inside me in time with a thunderclap.” I doubted if I could hold off that long, her ass was so tight compared to her cunt, and the combination of the rain, the mud, the location, and the girl were just too exciting. I could feel my body stiffening and I knew I was about to cum. There was a sudden flash of lightning in the distance. I pressed down hard on her clit, thrusting as deep as I could inside her, and we came together, our cries and grunts drowned out by the thunder. We lay still for more than a minute not saying anything, my eyes still closed, the rain still beating down on us. I felt me cock begin to soften and I slowly eased out of her. I eased my hand off her and wiped the rain from my eyes as best I could with the back of it. “Jeez, that was great,” she said, and rolled onto her back to face me, the rain still beating down on her, a stream of dirty water running between her breasts. “Told you it's fun doing it in the rain. Hey, how about that, we're supposed to be picking strawberries and instead I got your cherry!” “Huh?” “Your cherry. You were an anal virgin, but not any more you dirty little boy,” she laughed. “God you do look a bit of a mess though!” Strawberry Fields Forever Evan waited as patiently as he could. Even though it had been ten years, he felt like he couldn't wait another ten seconds. Technically, it had only been five years. Evan had seen her at the five-year class reunion. Seen being the operative word considering she came over long enough to say hi and introduce her husband. A husband who glared at Evan as if he wanted to stomp a mud hole in him and walk it dry. Evan spent the rest of that night avoiding her and wondering what she had told her husband. Her. Her being Phoebe. Phoebe being the one he was waiting for. The one he spent four years of his high school on again, off again dating. The one he spent four years trying to hide their dating activities. The one that everyone knew he had dated on again, off again for four years. (He never was good at keeping secrets.) The one that had taken him to ten years to realize she was the only one he had truly ever loved. Evan had been married at one time in his life. It was a loveless marriage that didn't last very long. There wasn't a lot of fighting and arguing. In fact the day they signed the papers, his ex-wife embraced him. She let it be known that she still wanted to be friends. Evan has not seen nor heard from her since she walked out of the door of the lawyer's office. That had been three years ago this coming fall. There had been a few woman come and go through Evan's life. There were a few "I love yous" exchanged. Looking back now, he realized those words came almost as an auto-response when you've been with someone long enough. Evan had begun to wonder if there was really anyone that he has said those words to and really meant it. These thoughts were weighing on his mind on a day a few months ago while helping his parents move. Actually he was going through some of his stuff while his dad made fun of his mother about the time she fell out of the back of a moving pickup truck into a mud hole. Evan couldn't help but laugh as he went through boxes of stuff that had lay untouched since he left for college. Most of the stuff was junk that Evan was just going to throw out. Of course there were a few things that he wanted to keep: old newspaper clippings from his days as a an Academic achiever or as a competitive runner, various awards, his class ring, and an old shoebox with the name "PHOEBE" written across the top in bold, black marker. Evan had forgotten about the box. In fact, he had found it buried in the back of his closet under a ton of clothes, old games, and other various boxes. He couldn't remember if he had put the box in the back intentionally or it just got pushed back there by the accumulation of junk over the years. He couldn't remember the complete contents of the box either. Evan went home and sat up late into the night sifting through the contents of the box. Inside he found notes, pictures, ticket stubs from movies, and even a few score sheets from the old bowling alley that was in the process of being torn down. He read through all the notes; some good and some bad. The good ones would be about the evening they had shared or about an upcoming date. The bad ones would have to do with the dislike of who the other one had been dating at the time. Some of those notes had gotten down right nasty but in the end it always seemed as if they always found away to patch up their friendship. After reading those letters, Evan sat wondering about why he had reacted the way he had, especially when she was seeing someone he didn't approve of. (Come to think of it, he didn't approve of anyone she saw.) Oft times he and Phoebe had a pretty stormy friendship. When they were together (In secret of course) things were perfect. There was no fighting or arguing. The hair pulling and eye gauging only came about when the other was dating someone else. As Evan sat deep in thought, he drifted to all the happy times while growing up. There was only one constant in all those memories: Phoebe was in every one of those memories. She was there cheering him on at all of his track and cross-country meets. She was there when he tried his hand at acting, even giving him an ovation at the top of her lungs when he missed nearly half of his lines and all his cues. All of these thoughts began to give him a feeling he hadn't felt in a long time. It was a feeling of warmth that started in the center of his belly and slowly spread through out his whole body until it slowly engulfed him in a warm hug. It was a feeling he got when Phoebe and he shared a stolen kiss after school when they thought no one was looking or when they passed in the hall and exchanged smiles. It was a feeling that he didn't understand then but was slowly coming to a realization now. It was a feeling of being in love. The next several days Evan spent analyzing his past relationship with Phoebe. He kept coming to the conclusion that he had indeed been in love with her. He then began to think of what might have happened if he had told her that he was in love with her. Would they have stayed together through college, gotten married, and had kids? He then came to the conclusion that it was even silly to think like that. Phoebe was married last he had heard. It really didn't matter if she knew he had been in love with her then or if he was in love with her now. Evan dismissed the notion of love but decided that if might be nice to catch up with his old friend. The ten-year class reunion was in the planning stages. He decided that this would be the perfect opportunity for him to get back in touch with Phoebe. Evan did a fair amount of searching. He tried old friends, the telephone book, and finally the Internet. None of his friends had heard from her, the telephone book turned out to be like searching for a needle in a haystack and the Internet started looking hopeless until Evan ran across a site called classmates.com. Here you could register with your high school class letting everyone know what you'd been up to since graduation. It turns out that Phoebe was listed. Evan excitedly hammered out a short email and proceeded to check his email at least twice an hour for the next five days. Evan began to get despondent. He considered sending her another email but he didn't want to seem like he was trying to do anything other than touch base with an old friend. He decided that he'd wait two more days before sending another email. If she wrote back and mentioned the two emails, he could always say he forgot about sending her the first email. Luckily Evan didn't have to send that second email because on the sixth day, he got a reply from her. It was a short email letting him know how glad she was to hear from him and her phone number so they could talk. It took a couple of days but Evan finally forced himself to dial the last number and talk to Phoebe. The initial conversation was good. Evan filled her in on his failed marriage and his career. Phoebe went on about her three wonderful kids and amazing husband. They have several conversations over the next couple of weeks. Not once did Evan mention that he possibly had been in love with her. He did mention that he wanted to get together for lunch. Phoebe readily agreed and they set a date for a few days after their last conversation. They were going to have lunch at a place they frequented growing up. Here we find Evan patiently waiting for Phoebe to arrive. They had agreed on meeting at noon but for some reason he arrived forty-five minutes early. There is nothing wrong with being a little early. In fact, Evan made a good habit of being five to ten minutes early. Geez, forty-five minutes is stretching it. It's not like he'd never been here before. He and Phoebe had eaten tons of meals here. Evan was beginning to deal with a case of the nerves. He couldn't understand why though. He was just going to meet an old friend for lunch. An old friend he hadn't seen in ten years. An old friend that he had been in love with all those years ago. "I am not in love with her." Evan said as he shook his head as if that simple act would completely get the notion out of his head. He gave an older couple a sheepish grin as the looked at him like he was a raving lunatic for talking to himself. "Maybe I should just go inside and wait." He muttered to himself when the couple was out of earshot. Evan walked to the front door of the diner, pushing it open. The instant he stepped inside, the sounds, sights, and smell brought back a thousand memories of gatherings with friends, good dates, dates the didn't end so well, and tons of evenings with Phoebe. He could almost mentally envision the two of them as teenagers sitting in a corner booth after an Academic Bowl competition. The memories brought a smile to Evan's face. Where did all the simplistic times go? Where was the life where you didn't have a care in the world and everything was black and white? Evan's thoughts were interrupted when the cook said "Sit where you want. Lunch crowd ain't what it used to be." The cook, an older guy in his late fifties or early sixties took a moment to study Evan. "You look familiar but if you've come in here before it's been a long time." The cook wiped a towel across his forehead as he said this. "Mr. Devlin, it's Evan. Wow I almost didn't recognize you. Someone told me that you didn't run this place anymore." He had a monster grin on his face as he said this. Evan really hadn't recognized the old cook when he had come in. He really hadn't expected to see him here. Evan had heard through the grapevine that the old cook had passed away a few years ago. Of course, Evan wasn't going to mention this to him. "Evan, Evan…" The old cook scratched his head trying to remember who he was talking to. "I remember now. You used to come in here when you were younger. I think I used to see you in here with a little blonde; your sweet heart. That's been at least ten years or more. Whatever happened to the two of you? Did y'all get married?" The old cook finished the last part of his speech with a smile. "No sir, we didn't get married. In fact, we lost touch after graduation. I am meeting her here in a few minutes to catch up." Evan said as he took a seat at the counter to chat with the cook while he waited on Phoebe. "In fact, she is married and has three kids of her own." Evan found it strange that the place was totally empty and their was no one else around except he and Mr. Devlin. "It's a shame that the two of you didn't get married. There was a lot of love between the two of you. The whole staff could see it. The two of you might have been trying to hide it but I think everyone could see it." Mr. Devlin said as he patted his forehead with a towel. This struck Evan as odd considering the place was fairly cool. It even looked as if none of the cooking equipment had been turned on. Evan had to let out a chuckle at that. "Were we that obvious?" The cook nodded his head as Evan continued "For some crazy reason we tried hiding it from everyone. I guess everyone knew." Evan shrugged. "I didn't even realize until recently that I actually loved her." Evan shook his head again. Why do I keep thinking that he thought? "What does it matter now? We are all grown up. She is married and has kids. It doesn't really matter in the big scheme of things." "It's never to late to tell someone that you love them." The cook said as he glanced at the front door. Evan couldn't tell if he was expecting someone or was trying to will a customer to walk through the door. He and the old man were still the only ones in the diner. Evan found this very strange but before he could ask Mr. Devlin about it, the cook continued his thoughts. "Tell someone every chance you get. It can brighten a day, unburden a heavy heart, or -" Before Mr. Devlin had a chance to finish, Evan cut him off. "First of all, I don't know if I really love her or not. I just think that I loved her long ago. Second, and most important, she is married. It doesn't really matter if I love her or not. " The cook cracked a smile and said "You loved her then and you love her now. Why else would you be here?" He looks at Evan as if he expected an answer but continued without waiting long enough to get one. "You don't get many second chances in life. When she comes through that door, tell her how you feel. Let her know you love her. You -" Evan cut him off again. "What's the use? What is it going to change?" Now it was Evan's turn to get cut off. "It can change everything. You can tell her you love her and when you walk out that door, you may be a different man with a different life." As the cook finished speaking, he turned around and walked into the back of the diner without so much as a word. "I tell her that I love her and my life is sure to change. I go home to find her and her three kids on my doorstep." Evan said to himself as he left the counter and decided to wait for Phoebe in a booth. Normally if he were waiting on someone in a restaurant, he'd sit near the front so as to be easily found. Since the diner was a virtual ghost town it wouldn't be a problem if he decided to sit in a back booth. This would also allow him to get a good view of anyone that came in. How hard is it going to be to get a glass of tea around here he thought as he slid in the very back booth in the farthest corner from the front door. Evan still hadn't seen the first customer or even a waitress since he arrived. He was about to walk back to the counter to see if he could find one or at least get a glass of tea when his cell phone rang. Evan flipped it open and saw that it was Phoebe calling. His eyes practically lit up as he pressed the talk button. "Hey Pheebs! I am a little early but I am here." Evan's smile faded to a frown. "Of course I understand. Any day is fine with me. Don't worry about it. I just hope little Bob starts to feel better. Talk to you later." Evan slammed his phone shut in disappointment. He wasn't mad. Her little boy was sick and she was doing the right thing by staying to take care of him. He had to admit that he was really looking forward to seeing her. He wanted to see if she was still as beautiful as always. He wanted to see her smile. He wanted to see if her eyes lit up when she saw him for the first time. (Secretly, he hoped they did.) Snap out of it silly boy. You are beginning to act like you are in love with her. He thought as he grabbed a menu and began to look through it. Evan closed it in disgust. Pheebs wasn't coming, he was hungry, and there still wasn't a sign of anyone in the diner. Evan was ready to yell at the top of his lungs when the front door opened and what walked through caused him to forget any language he knew. In the door walked Phoebe. It wasn't the Phoebe Evan had expected. It definitely wasn't the Phoebe that had just called to reschedule because of a sick child. This Phoebe didn't look like she had had one baby much less three. This Phoebe looked like she had just walked out of the year 1992 right into the diner on present day. There were the round cheeks. The freckles and the full blue eyes that seemed to light up the room whenever she walked in. The blond hair was there also. The blond hair that Evan had so loved running his fingers through when they were alone. Evan's brain was trying to register some thought, any thought. His eyes saw a younger Phoebe; a ghost Phoebe perhaps. She couldn't have been more than eighteen years old. His brain was screaming "She isn't real. You are just seeing things." Evan sat there with a totally confused look on his face as Phoebe joined him at the booth. Evan knew she was real. He didn't know how though. "You look like you just swallowed a bug. Are you okay?" Phoebe asked. "No I am not okay. I am sitting here with the eighteen year old version of you." His brain was screaming but all Evan could do was nod his head. "Glad you are okay. What did you need to tell me? I got your note asking me to meet you here. Nortie is waiting for me in the car and you know he doesn't like you at all. " Phoebe looked out the front door and thrust her hand as if she were telling someone to wait. Evan look out the front door and could see no one. This was sending his brain into overdrive. First an eighteen-year-old Phoebe walks through the door. Then she starts talking about a note asking her to meet him here. Then Nortie, her boyfriend from either tenth or eleventh grade, was supposedly waiting in the empty parking lot. He and Evan didn't get along at all. Nortie was extremely jealous of Evan if he remembered correctly. "Hello Evan? Anyone home? I told you I have Nortie waiting." Phoebe said. Evan couldn't think of anything to say. He knew that he needed to say something and do it quick. "How old do I look?" Evan blurted out. He regretted saying it almost as soon as it left his mouth. "Are you sure that you didn't swallow a bug?" Phoebe eyed him like he was a little crazy. "You look you always do, eighteen. That little mustache you try to grow might make you look older if you could grow it in completely." Evan felt above his lip and felt nothing. He had shaved that morning; something he usually did every morning. Then he remembered having problems growing a complete mustache when he was younger. If he was seeing her as an eighteen-year-old, did that mean she was seeing him the same way? "Damn it" Phoebe said as she looked out the front door at an otherwise empty parking lot. "Here comes Nortie." Evan looked at the door half expecting it to open letting Nortie in yet knowing that wasn't possible. "What do you need to tell me?" Phoebe's tone clearly showed she did not need to be the source of conflict between the two of them. Evan's mind started to race. He was supposed to have something to say to this, whatever it was that looked like Phoebe had back in school. If he didn't tell her soon, her boyfriend would walk through the door and who knows what would happen. (If the high school version of Nortie walked through the door, Evan was sure he could take him.) Then Evan thought about the conversation he and Mr. Devlin had earlier. When not tell her that he loved her? He did. That much he realized now. He did want to be with her. What could it hurt to this Phoebe how he felt? Maybe he was getting a second chance. Maybe he was just day dreaming. He didn't know anymore. All he knew was that he had to tell her something quick and he wanted to tell her this more than anything. "I love you, Phoebe. I guess that I always have. We have dated in the past so I know the feelings are there. We don't get along as well when we are dating but I don't ever realize how much I enjoy being with you until I see you arm and arm with someone else or I see you kissing someone else good night. My arms know this. My lips know this. You and I know this. Now I want everyone to know this. No more secrets! I want the world to know I love you, Phoebe." Evan could see the magic of his words light up in Phoebe's eyes. These words meant something to her even if she was only a ghost or a figment of Evan's imagination. The words meant something to Evan also because he knew this was the first time he had truly ever meant those words he just said. "I need to go. Nortie is waiting for me." Phoebe said as she rose from the booth. Evan wasn't disappointed she was leaving though. She knew that he loved her. The look on her face as she leaned across the table to give him a kiss, not a full on kiss but one that Evan imagined Dan Fogelburg got from his old girlfriend in the end of Same Old Lang Syne. Then she turned and slowly walked out the door. Did I just imagine that? Evan thought. It all seemed so real. In fact, he could still feel the warmth of her kiss. Evan didn't have time to ponder it any further. "How did you get in here? We don't open until 2 p.m.," asked an older lady in a waitress uniform. Strawberry Fields Forever Now this was getting really weird. Evan had gotten here about 11 a.m. and the doors were open. He thought it weird that no one was here. No one except Mr. Devlin, that is. "I got here around 11 a.m. and the place was open. I was coming to meet an old friend. I came in to wait and saw Mr. Devlin." Before he could finish, the waitress cut in. "The same Mr. Devlin who's been dead for three years now?" This had to be a bad joke. He had come in, talked to Mr. Devlin, told an eighteen-year-old Phoebe that he loved her, and she kissed him good bye. It wasn't a joke though. The waitress pointed to a photo over the grill. There, plain as day, was the man Evan had talked to. Under the photo read the caption "REST IN PEACE: 4-3-00". Evan was dumbfounded. He knew that he talked to the old cook. He knew that the eighteen-year-old Phoebe had been here. He didn't really know anything. "Hey" said the waitress "I don't know how you got in here but nothing is missing or damaged. Plus you were just sitting. Maybe whoever closed forgot to lock the doors. You could have thought the place open. I won't call the cops this time." Evan smiled weakly as he got up from the booth. "Can I get a sweet tea to go?" He was thirsty and maybe the tea would wash this all away. The waitress walked behind the counter to get his drink. Evan got his wallet out to pay the lady. Opening it up, Evan stopped to look at the photos he carried. On top was one of he and Phoebe with their three kids. A smile spread across his face as he gave the lady money for the drink. Pulling out his cell phone, he dialed home. It rang three times before a voice answered. A voice that belonged to Phoebe. "I was just calling to let you know that I love you and I am on my way home." Strawberry Fields Forever I have an obsession. Shall I let you in on it? Well, okay. My therapist always told me that it was best to get things out into the open. This just happens to be one of them. One of many things I've worked out of my system. My proclivity for female flesh was supposed to be one of them, but I've decided to hold onto that obsession, along with this one. And so with great finesse and the sound of a dramatic drum roll, I hereby announce my obsession, the one thing that drives me absolutely crazy. I love redheads. Sounds simple? Well, it's not just redheads, it's the thought of the pussy. A beautiful strawberry field of cunt hair that stretches across creamy skin as far as the eye can see. Pink pussy lips trimmed with flame. Sweet asshole puckers lightly furred with crimson. If a woman with red hair walks by me, I become Pavlov's dog. I slobber in the sweet anticipation of burying my face in her pussy, of tonguing her asshole until she screams my name. Unfortunately, I've never been able to find my perfect redhead. Shall I describe her? First, of course, hair like molten flame. Hair that shines like pulsing lava in the sunlight. Creamy white skin to contrast against my African-American skin. A dusting of freckles across a small nose and a full mouth with soft lips and a tender tongue. Nice, big tits, a large B or small C would be perfect, along with nice curvy hips and soft thighs. That sort of perfection always brings Angie Everhart to mind. I've met her several times and while she never ceases to make my mouth water, there's something missing. Maybe it's innocence or inexperience. I don't know. And that's something that's almost impossible to find in my world of modeling. As I'm typing this to you, I'm on the last Concorde flight, heading to Paris for a fitting and a show. I could say that I was lucky to get this seat, but I won't. Pierre Rampal would be scandalized if it got out that he let his models fly on anything less than the Concorde. I disembarked with the rest of the passengers, heading for the baggage carousel and that's when I saw her. She was standing just off to the side, holding a card up that said, Stasia on it. That just happens to be my name. When she looked my way, I gave her one of my patented smiles, turning on the charm. "I'm Stasia." "I can see that." Whoa! I hope that she didn't see the look of disbelief on my face before I could correct it. I'm Stasia Markington, supermodel. I make more money in one circuit down the catwalk than she probably does in a decade. She turned green eyes with amber flecks towards me, her wet pink lips pinched in a line. "Better grab your gear." "Uh, you aren't gonna get it?" The woman looked at me as if I had two heads. "Do I look like a servant? No, don't think so. You'd better get a porter." She turned her back on me, heading toward the exit. "And make sure you tip them." I was so stunned that I could barely breathe. Of course, my first idea, after I recovered the little bit of brains that I possess along with my bottom jaw which was rolling about on the ground, was to call Pierre. He answered on the sixth ring. "Pierre!" "Stasia, my darling girl! Have you arrived?" "You might say that." I huffed, running my fingers through my hair and ignoring the gents that were salivating around me. "Pierre, who is this ... this chick that you sent to fetch me?" "Oh, that's Lorryn. Isn't she fantastic?" "No! She's rude as hell!" I swear that I heard him laugh. "Oh, you must be mistaken, Stasia. She's my best girl!" "Well, I hope you don't mind it, but I plan on taking a taxi to the studio on your dime. I'm not riding in a car with her." "What? Oh, come on, Stasia." "No, Pierre. I've had a long flight and I was already emotionally scarred because it was her majesty's last flight and now, I have to deal with this! I think I'll just go back home. At least my dog appreciates me!" "Oh, now, Stasia, don't get so testy! Sometimes you're nothing but a drama queen!" "You don't think that ... that I'm acting, do you?" "Dear Stasia, you always act. It's something you supermodels are prone to do and something that I overlook because I love you so dearly." Pierre sighed. "Take the limo with Lorryn. If you decide to take a cab, you'll have to pay for it." "Pierre!" I shouted into a dead phone and reluctantly put it away, knowing that she had seen the entire exchange and could probably guess the outcome from my body language alone. I grabbed my upright with wheels and the heavy square Vuitton and tried to set it on the floor without falling headlong with it. That bitch just glared at me, a smile desperately trying to escape her smug mouth. "Could you help me out?" "Sure." She offered a brilliant smile. "I'll have the limo pull to the curb outside the main door." Lorryn headed up the walkway. "Don't take too long. We don't want a ticket." It took me 20 minutes to drag the two bags to the front entrance. The porters were too busy to help and the only one who stopped wanted ten bucks to haul my stuff. I, of course, replied, "No." He, of course, left in a hurry. I was furious! I'd never been treated like this! The limo was waiting just outside the door and Lorryn was arguing with an airport police officer. "It's her fault!" She was saying, pointing at me. "I told her that we'd get a ticket if she didn't hurry up." The officer glanced at me and continued writing the ticket which he handed to Lorryn with a flourish and a gentlemanly tip of his hat. At least the policeman seemed to have some manners. "Jesus, I really hate you fucking models!" Once again, I found myself speechless. How could that bitch think that she was anything better than me, Stasia? My praises are sung the world over in as many different languages as there are countries. She's merely a glorified gopher. "How dare you!" Her pretty, freckled nose scrunched up in anger and her eyes flashed. "Oh, fuck off!" With those final words to me, she slid into limo and slammed the door on her side. I just stood staring for a moment, truly unable to contemplate her words. I bit back my anger and again thought about a cab. However, I don't have a gazillion dollars in the bank because I've paid my way. Better to let Pierre foot this bill, especially after the way he'd treated me on the phone. I slid into the seat and glared at her. "What the fuck is your problem?" "You." She bit that word off like it was a disease instead of a pronoun. "Fucking models like you who expect someone to every little fucking thing for them." "Well, someone should do everything for me. After all, I'm Stasia." "So?" That single word was accompanied by a deep scowl from her. "Ninety percent of the people in this world don't give a flying butt fuck who Stasia is." "You're wrong!" "No, I'm right, and you know it." Lorryn continued, spewing her vitriol at me. "You may move in a few exalted circles but in reality, no one has any use for a model. Unless, of course, you're a football or basketball player." She paused for a second, feigning deep thought. "Or a rap star and then, you're not even marriage material." God, I hated this bitch! I wanted to strangle the breath from her and shut her up. Why? Because she was right. Because every date I'd had in the last two years had been as eye candy. Even when I dated that chick from Queer as Folk, I was used as a prop. But I didn't need to hear painful self-analysis from a bitter, frigid bitch like this. No matter how cute she was. "Who said I wanted to be married?" "All you models want that. You marry a rock star or soccer player and expect instant legitimacy. But from those of us in the know, you'll never get it." "Fuck you!" I hadn't realized that I'd shouted until the silence that followed sounded like a vacuum. I also hadn't realized that I was crying until she shoved a tissue under my threatening-to-drip nose. "Here. I can't stand to see people cry and let their snot drip." I took the tissue, turning away from her and continuing to cry. Four long ball-breaking years on the road had finally caught up to me. The quick, unsatisfying fucks, the ensuing rejection and the hectic pace of being an international model had reduced me to a heap of tears. If my enemies could see me now ... I guess she felt sorry for making me cry and offered me a glass of champagne, which I accepted warily. She really was so pretty. Those strawberry fields tiptoed across my tongue again. "Why are you a model?" I thought for a moment, sucking back the champagne. It wasn't that I was solely interested in catching a good buzz. It was just that I'd never been asked that question before. "Because I'm pretty." "There are plenty of other women who are pretty who don't feel the need to exploit their looks at every turn." "Like who?" I spat petulantly, draining the glass. "Maria Bartiromo. She used to do financial news for Fox, I think. They call her the 'Money Honey'." "So that's only one person." "What about Madonna?" "Too fucking old. And boring to boot." "Sherry Lansing. She runs a movie studio." I stewed in my anger. I didn't want to make friends with her. She'd ripped me open to the bone and now that she knew what buttons to push on me, I felt that I couldn't trust her. I thought about the damage she could do to my reputation and I grew even more despondent. "You really aren't a regular girl, are you?" Her lips on my cheeks were cool and completely unexpected. She leaned over from her seat and pressed her mouth against my skin, holding the contact for a long, uncomfortable moment. I twisted my head and looked at her, angry and now confused. "No." I held my glass out for a refill, unwilling to give up my persona. Even for a connection. "I'm far above the regular girl." I could see Lorryn study me out of the side of her eyes, steadily searching for more chinks in my armor. "Heidi Fleiss. She was a madame." "Okay!" I exploded. "I get your point!" "Do you?" I could only watch in blessed awe as she unbuttoned her blouse, slipping her hands inside her shirt. "How about you touch these points?" She was strawberry. My anger dissipated into a worthless ball of wadded paper looking for a trash can. I dropped my tissue to the floor, spread her shirt open and nearly swooned over the sight of her fat, rosy nipples perched atop mounds of freckled coconut. My mouth didn't heed my head. My lips went straight for her chest and pushed her tit into my mouth, sucking for all I was worth. Lorryn rasped out a response, her hands grasping my head and pressing me into her body. She was so tasty that I couldn't help myself. My obsession took over full force, falling into the autumn wheat roast of her hair and becoming mesmerized by the smooth cream of her skin. Model or not, it was impossible to stop me now. I used the muscles that Pilates had provided me with and pushed her onto the leather seat, ruthlessly tugging at her pants and wrenching them down over her ample hips. I was a hunter and I smelled the scent. Tangy and musky. A perfect combination of femininity and sexuality. That was Lorryn. I pushed her legs open and buried my Lancôme face into her perfect pussy. She was everything I've ever wanted. Sweet, wet, arching to meet my tongue and tight enough to be modest about it. Her pussy hair was trimmed and her skin was soft. I was in strawberry heaven. "Oh, yes." Her light but fervent whisper met my ears. "Fuck me with your tongue, you bitch!" I could only obey her. I ardently tongue-fucked her, listening intently as her cries arose in their tenor, signaling her orgasm. She didn't disappoint me. She came in my mouth, a tiny bit of pee mixed with the tasty juice of her clutching cunt. She came thrice more before I let go of her hips, forcing my tongue into her mouth and grinding against her. "We don't have to go right to the studio, Stasia." No, we didn't. My mind was filled with fruit blossoms and pussy musk. "My name's Gwyn." I said, smiling into her eyes. "And no, we don't have to go to the studio." I saw my first smile from Lorryn all day. "Michael, "She spoke to the driver through the intercom. "Can you give us a half-hour ride?" Our driver just grinned. Strawberry Fields Forever Okay. I've never told anyone about what happened that day, but it remains the best experience of my life. And if I don't tell someone, I'll burst. Me, Laura and Helen were all bored one afternoon and, it being the height of summer, we decided the only way to alleviate the boredom would be to go strawberry picking. I have no idea where the idea came from. I can't even remember who suggested it. There was a 'pick-you-own' place a few miles out of town, so we piled into the car and off we went. The place was quiet considering how beautiful the weather was. We walked into the giant barn that served as the main shop, grabbed a couple of baskets each, and wandered into the surrounding fields. To start off with, we stayed together. There were the usual girly chats and giggles about men, and what we could do with strawberries on the men, but as time wore on, we drifted. Each looking for the best selection I supposed. It was probably a good idea to move apart, to stop the stealing from another's basket as we tried to out-do each other's hauls in a fit of competitiveness. For some reason, I moved back towards the barn, scarcely noticing those around me. I'd got a bit pre-occupied thinking about what I was going to do for the rest of the summer, and I didn't notice anyone else until I reached down to grab a huge strawberry I'd spied, and my hand hit another. I looked up into the most intense brown eyes I'd ever seen. They were full of warmth, and I could feel myself starting to stare. 'Oh, I'm so sorry!' I said, my own eyes beginning to take in the rest of the (handsome) face, and the (slim and attractive!) body. I also realised the man had the sort of hair that made you want to run your hands through it, and it took a monumental effort to not do just that. He smiled, and I nearly died on the spot. 'No, it was my fault. Don't apologise.' He declared, a soft Scottish accent issuing from his perfect smile. I felt myself blushing. 'You have it.' I said, to cover my obvious embarrassment, handing him the fruit. Another gorgeous smile appeared, along with a glint in his eyes. 'Why don't we both have it?!' he suggested, one eyebrow raised. Without waiting for an answer, he held the fruit to my mouth, and I bit into it. At the same time, he moved towards me and bit the other side, looking into my eyes as he did so. We began an intense kiss, his hands holding onto my waist as we knelt in the straw. I could feel his tongue hit mine as the berry slid down my throat, and suddenly the scent of the strawberries was overpowering. As he pulled away, I felt stupidly disappointed. I'd just met the man. I didn't even know his name, but here I was, feeling disappointed because he'd stopped kissing me. It must have registered clearly on my face, 'cause I saw a cheeky look on his, before he jumped up, grabbed my hand and pulled me to my feet. He dragged me behind the barn where there were no fields and pushed me up against the wall, pinning my arms before kissing me hard. I could still taste the fruit in his mouth, and it somehow made me want him even more. As he kissed me, he looked in my eyes, looking for any indication that I didn't want this, but at that stage, it was all I wanted. He released my hands and moved his to my top. I had a sleeveless shirt with popper buttons, and he seemed to take great delight in pulling them open. His mouth made it's way down my chest, pausing only to graze his teeth on my breasts, before reaching my jeans. He was on his knees now, and I tool the opportunity to run my hands through that fantastic hair. His hands pulled off my belt, and began to undo the buttons on my jeans. His tongue began to trace a line downwards, and I felt my hands tighten in his hair. He winced, and looked up, that eyebrow raised again. I grinned, and pushed his head down. His hands did a fast job in dropping my trousers and pants to the floor. I was glad of my flip flops, which were easily kicked off, along with my trousers. As I moved to get them off, his tongue began its licking once more. I did have a guilty thought about Helen and Laura, but the licking gave way to sucking, and the thoughts didn't last long. I grabbed his hair again, moaning softly as his mouth did its work. I felt his tongue enter my pussy, before a finger joined it. He bent his finger towards him, and it hit my G-spot hard. I moaned harder, slightly louder as I came, the sensations tipping me over. I caught another whiff of the strawberries, and I needed more than just his tongue inside me. The hands in his hair pulled him upwards, and he kissed his way back across my body and breasts. His own hands were fast undoing his own trousers, and by the time he'd got to my mouth, they'd hit the floor. I don't know if he'd planned getting a quick shag, or if he was just very well prepared, but he'd managed to get a condom on too. I had to admire his technique! He looked me in the eyes, before kissing me deeply. He held my hips and lifted me slightly. As he did, I wrapped my legs around his waist. He entered me, my back hitting the barn as he pushed his hard cock forwards. I moaned louder again, and he kissed me, clearly worried someone would hear. He fucked me again, harder this time, and faster. I bit my lip as another scream threatened to get out, and he grabbed my shoulders, pushing his hardness into my cunt further. He was thrusting really fast now, and I was reaching my second orgasm, and loving every second. The fuck got harder, and harder, before his, and my body stiffened, both of us coming at the same time. I could feel his cock stiffen inside me, before he relaxed, and I must have done the same thing, as my legs unwound from his back, and he lowered me so my feet touched the floor once more. Weirdly, there was no embarrassment. I pulled my trousers on again, as he pulled his back up, and he kissed me softly, before winking, and walking off. I walked back round to where I'd left my basket, and not before time! Helen and Laura were just coming to find me! I had to really struggle not to grin like a muppet. Of course, they were amazed that I hadn't got more strawberries. I told them that I'd not found any, which they believed! To be honest, I still can't believe it happened!!