Destination Allure — An Erotica (Short Story)

At this height, the balcony is slightly concealed from the public gaze. I purposely asked for the top floor, to look over the city and beyond. And also, to become a witness to this Cuban pink-orange sunset. The atmosphere was a little humid during the summer months, so I removed my clothing, took a cool shower. Then, I threw on an emerald green satin robe while my dark copper tone figure was still damp and dewy. My dark brown hair was dripping wet, with kinky, coil ringlets going down my neck, back, and breasts.

At first, The soothing West Indian breeze made me close my eyes as I stood up against the balcony. I inhaled the air and I was filled with the awakening of all my senses. The smell of Latin foods and spices, the light chatter from passerby’s below me, and the touch of the stacked stones that made up the balcony conjured something seductive about this scenery. At the moment, I was at a loss of words as to what it was that was guiding me–but it made my hands move sensually. They made a trail starting from my face, down to my neck, and cupping my buxom bosoms before I softly pressed my nipples with my fingers. They became erect and it made my honey pot throb. I found the chair closest to the glass sliding doors of the balcony and sat. With my mouth slightly agape, I took in an intense breath. I dared to touch my central part, under my robe, and between my lean and curvy thighs. My right hand and fingers found their way to that incited area and my eyes slid half-mast, as I am aroused.

A gust of wind caressed my robe and nudges my breasts delicately. The robe’s fibers grazing the nipple, as my right breast became exposed to the elements. I whined, at first and tried to cover my curvaceous bust, but an assertive force revealed my physique undoing the thin sash of my wrap. At this point, I should be alarmed but I was so impassioned that I pressed my fingers against my bud and massaged it even further. Elevating my breathing, in swells and falls as I came close to climax. This made me thrust my hips up, my buttocks tightened and raised from the seat, as I fervently peaked in satiated ecstasy.

This original blog post was written and copyrighted by Juana M. Gumbs. All rights are reserved by her in January 2021 (C)

DREAMSCAPES: HEXED BY THE PAST (Short Story, Nightmare)

No matter how far into the future you run, you cannot escape your past. All that talk about leaving behind the past and starting anew makes no difference to the past, especially if the pasts still remembers you. Especially if the past is fucked up, alive and has vengence in its heart. Its coming for you.

This dream, actually, this nightmare begins in a two-story home. The home I llived in as a child. It was dark and dismal, natural since nothing really good happened in that house. It was a place of living nightmares at times. From time to time I can actually recall a memory that was light and lifted.. Often if I “dream” about this house it is often a nightmare. This time was as no other.

So, I kinda left my ex and his family behind some years back. Let us just say that I was very close to his mother and sister, and as time went by and I separated from their son and brother, our relationship was broken as well.

In this nightmare, my ex’s sister was performing a damning ritual against me. She was in my childhood home, willing malice into being and preparing it to seek me out. As she mixed a concoction on rats blood, petrified wood shavings, baby’s breath, a sizable portion of my kinky hair and castor oil to bind, she hummed a tune to herself. In this nightmare, I hovered in my astral body while she invoked this spell upon me. I was terrified, but at the same time understanding. Probably part of my guilt. As she mixed and ground the spells contents with her mortar and pestle, I felt myself let go of the guilt I felt from those past entanglements. For some reason, at first I thought the spell was to hex me, damn me for eternity, but instead it was one that freed me, healed me and sent me on my way to make a better future for myself in relationships that I have presently and for the future.

We remember dreams for a reason.

Thank you for reading about my dream I had this afternoon. I figure my dreams or nightmares make light to things I probably don’t want to reconcile within myself. I remember in order to bring light to some things I need to grow out of and consciously face.

This original blog post and short story was written and copyrighted by Juana M. Gumbs. All rights are reserved by her. April 2020 (C)

SHORT STORY: Trouble Travels Down De Road

Ivy came out of her house and exclaimed, “dis day so hot and steamy!” Then, she sighed and faking a faint, she set her sights on the open road. She thought to herself, no child in the neighborhood would dare run on this burning road without slippers today. It was late in the afternoon on the island of St. Croix and unless you were sitting near the beach or waterfronts on either side of this tropical island, you would not feel a breeze bless your cheek nor forehead right now. Even the candy lady, Ms. Bernadette, down the road ran out of lemonade as well as soursop ice-pop! With even the slightest of movement, beads of sweat would rise upon the thinnest skin in places to give pause…

Here comes Big Marjorie, walking down the road with her large brown purse, silver hoop earrings and can be seen from a distance with her colorful display. Her updo and waterfall curls with her bangs were swooped to the side. As she marched downhill, all of her extended belly and curves bouncing as she hasten her steps. Ivy met Ms. Mary on the porch of her house. With a scowl on her face, Ivy said, “Whey she tink she goin’?” As Marjorie came closer with footfalls as heavy as a mighty juggernaut, you can see her pink and yellow “Sunday’s Best” dress shuffling in the breeze…

Ivy couldn’t help herself, she said to Ms. Mary, “Buh wait, whey da breeze come from?” Swiftly, Marjorie passed the neighbor’s houses on both sides of the road.

Again, Ivy blurted out to Ms. Mary, “Meson, she lucky no minibus was passin’ ‘cause she tek up the hole road like ah float in ah parade! She woulda geh bounce down foh sure. Marjorie ain geh no sign on she sayin’ ‘butt meh down please’!?!” Ivy laughed loud and hard. Ms. Mary only look at Ivy over her bifocal glasses, nodding her head.

Marjorie continued on her way to her destination, a big bright smile on her face, her lips were cherry red. In truth, Ivy nor Ms. Mary could guess what was the final destination of Marjorie this summery evening. They sat on the porch most days to “pung melee” or gossip about their neighbors around them. They would mostly make up tales from heresy or create their own curry to the mix. This evening it was to make up a story behind the mood of Big Marjorie.

“Well, she look well swell in she dress, mama. Maybe someting goin’ on down de road we don’ kno’ ‘bout?” Ms. Mary began. “Maybe we ain heh ‘bout it?” She offered to Ivy. Instantly, Ivy frowned. She was still wearing her sleep bonnet on her head, she frowned hard with her cigarette butt hanging in the right corner of her mouth. Then her lips pursed hard now as she took another puff from the ciggie. Ivy’s chestnut eyes turned dark and narrowed, then she cusssed. “Deh bettah not be havin’ no party I wasn’t invited toh, cause I neeeeeeeeeeeed toh be dey. How she more importan’ dan meh!”

Like a cyclone, Ivy whisked her way into her room for 10 minutes. There was all sorts of sounds that come from it, such sounds a small storm would make. When she emerged, she was wearing her long red thin strapped sundress, hugging her slim figure. The bonnet hid her thick and long brown, sun-touched locks. Those locks now drizzled down her shoulders and back. On her narrow feet, her gold sandals shone as though they were from mount Olympus and her smile, though her teeth slightly yellowed from her constantly smoking, were straight…her lips painted with bronze.

“Aye-Aye,” Ms. Mary croaked. “Yoh ain geh meh ah chance toh come out.” So she ran in her own house as quick as a mongoose and sprint back 3 minutes flat with a short pixie-cut wig and an eggshell colored daring pants suit. “I ready!” She bellowed out. So now, both ladies hurried down the road wondering who was having fete without them. They both were vex but excited to see who is going to want to dance with them. In their own minds, they fantasized about who else will be there. If they will have cruzan rum or Hennessy to drink with they coke? They even wondered who they will cuss and fuss at for not inviting them. Ivy let out under her breath, “is ah dam shame!” Then, her mimic, Ms. Mary squeeze out through her missing teeth, “Issa dam shame, foh true!”

They both hot on the pursuit of Big Marjorie and this party…but lost Big Marjorie’s trail. Then, they both found themselves standing in the middle of a cluster of several homes. Ivy looked at Mary, Mary looked right back at Ivy…there was no way for them to figure out which house Marjorie duck in and out of sight! This made Ivy’s face turn red with embarrassment. “She gave us deh slip!” They then walked by all the houses in the area listening for music, not a jam in earshot!

Both ladies were vex, roaming along the road, sneaking from house to house…eventually, they quietly moved through the now dark street and came upon a small white house. It was so tiny, but there was faint soca rhythm sounds filtering through the air. They followed and got up really close to the house to listen. The soca music grew louder the closer they came to the front porch. Ivy started excitedly swinging her hips already in anticipation, Ms. Mary started to get on bad, throwing her hips and wide bottom in a swaying motion. “Dis is it!” They both thought. They were working up their waists, following the music and advancing up the white steps onto the porch. The door was unlocked, so they both swing on through, their eyes tightly closed and faces in passionate expressions while they worked up and danced. They came in the house bawling, “PARTY!” and then opened their eyes to now find Big Marjorie naked in the living room on top of a very old and skinny gentleman. “Oh shit!” Ivy and Ms. Mary bawl out in unison.

Thank you for reading this short story. It was inspired from my upbringing in the Virgin Islands and my Caribbean background. I wanted to share a bit of our dialect with the world. Please leave comments and constructive criticism or critiques.

This original blog post and short story was written and copyrighted by Juana M. Gumbs. All rights are reserved by her. April 2020(C)

SHORT STORY: POUR MY HEART

This was their first valentine’s together and Laurie was careful in choosing every item with precise detail. “Everything in love,” she repeated to herself as she went about purchasing balloons, cupcakes, chocolates and even a jar to put sweet messages to honor him. When she arrived home, Laurie was so ecstatic while putting all the items together and carefully writing a letter to him so that he knows why she invented the “Pour My Heart” jar.

Before he left for work that morning, she quickly slipped into his vehicle to create the display of items. In the passenger seat of the car she put the cupcakes, gift bag with chocolates and all five of the helium balloons. The balloons were an assortment of stars, hearts and one balloon that said “You are Special”. He always let her know as long as they were together that he was not into celebrating holidays, but she wants him to always know that he is loved. One more thing to make the display complete, the “Pour My Heart” jar! She forgot it in the house!

Her love is in the shower when she races into the bedroom and into their walk-in closet to retrieve the jar. As she slipped out the room while he was in the bathroom and she closed the door quietly behind her. Finally, she got to the car and laid the jar on the seat, in front of the cupcakes. Laurie stood back to admire the display on his passenger seat. Then, there was the ringing of a phone somewhere within the car, nearby. She was stunned because her boyfriend’s phone is always on his nightstand near his side of the bed whenever he is in the house. Where was the ringing coming from? She looked around the front seat as well as the passenger seat of the car and could not find a phone. The ringing stopped momentarily, but then started again frantically. She looked in the back seat, then stopped again to listen carefully as to the location where the ringing possibly came from. Laurie checked the compartment between the front seats, nothing. Then she looked in the glove compartment and heard the ringing intensify. There was papers and other objects in there, even a gun. She had not known about a gun that he owned, though suspicious, she did not touch it. While digging around in the compartment she found a pregnancy test and dropped it instantly…when realizing what it was. The phone started to ring again, and this time she saw it. It was a flip phone, black and it flashed furiously as it rang. It felt like five minutes or more before she picked it up, then put it to her ear to listen.

The person on the other line spoke first. It was a woman’s sultry voice that whispered from the phone.

“Greg, I’m so glad I got you. Happy Valentine’s, baby!”

FROM THE AUTHOR: Just practicing my creative writing. Please use the comments section to give your thoughts, criticisms on this short story. I write on different genres and haven’t found my niche, yet. Thank you for reading!

SHORT STORY: NOCTURNA TOUCH

The mundane ringing of the door alerted the store keeper, Travis, to the presence of another customer. It has been a long day, with few curious folks entering and exiting without purchases. Perhaps he may be lucky this time, so he perked up and offered salutations to them.

“Hi there, look around and let me know if you need assistance,” he uttered the same script as he did for anyone that crossed that threshold. At first he thought it was genuine, but time has made it habit.

“Okay,” they would usually reply. This time there was no response, just a nod of the head from a woman with wide almond eyes, heart-shaped face and black bangs with a ponytail. She had not looked at him, just nodded while she looked at the first product near the door. This made him curious, because it was the dildo section. It would be a lot to say that this was not the type of store most women would come to alone to peruse through sex toys and novelties. In his experience, most women would come with a man or other femailes. It wasn’t always the case. He looked from his booth, follwing her with his questioning eyes. Something about her…her stark ivory colored skin, in contrast to her obsidian hued hair brightedned up the room even in the dull lighting. The features of her face he analyzed, starting with her cheekbones, high and youthful. She carried herself in a way whereas she seemed older…but he was not sure. Observing her clothing, he noticed she wore all black, even her stockings, black fishnets. Finally she made her way to him after looking at the bedroom candies and handcuffs.

“So, what do you think,” this Aphrodite spoke to him for the first time. The lilt in her words offered that she may be foreign.

Travis mouth was caught open for a bit, being that he was taken by surprise and roused from his thoughts of her as she turned her attention on him. Unknowingly, she was the best thing he saw all day, probably all week at this business. Even as he closed his mouth, he had no words for her in that moment. Before he could blink, she was in the booth with him. She closed the door and now she was in his world walking toward him before he could think to refuse. To his surprise, she held his face before he could protest or even react, and kissed him so deeply, that every hair on his body rose electtrified around him. It scared him a little at first and then he became compliant, soft limbs except for one. His pants bulged and she welcomed him into both her hands, caressing. Taking in his hurried breaths, then low moans, he even almost closed his eyes because the escatasy was all encompassing. At this point he wanted to know more of these emotions, this higher vibe provided in her delicate hands, stroking and cuddling. Before he knew it, she unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants through her power. Her will be done, the obsidian haired maven, alluringly licked the palm of her hand and massaged him as he was ripe and extended. Travis gasped then sighed as he felt the wetness against him. That feeling was everything and his head felt as though it was going to pop. The only thing that kept bringing him back to awareness was that he remembered that anyone can just walk in at any moment. That thought made him more eager, anticipating the next sensation, the waves of delight was out of this reality. While he knocked his head back as the electricity coursed through his back from her hand job, he gave into her wildness. In a swift movement, she was on her kneess and he looked down at her charcoal hair in that high ponytail and she grinned up at him at first, then burried her head in his lap.

“Why,” he spoke softly, “It…” He couldn’t finish his words only fell off a cliff as she performed this art. He closed his eyes and she sucked and wet his tender head, so he thrusted his hips as a response. The lights behind his eyes, they flickered and danced while he slipped into this mist she took him into. Instantly he thought of holding her ponytail to get a better hold of her pacing. Just as he thought so, he found that his hands made the movements as quick as his thoughts.

Brief Narrative: DRUNK TEXTING…

After a long day at work on a Saturday…what a way to whine down than to take a sip of something that makes you lose yourself for a time. For a time, the thought was not there to drink…for drinking sake. Just a little sip, that makes you open up but while you are musing you decide to text your lover. Then, you find yourself uninhibited and professing things. Sure, you are trying to keep your senses about you, but with more sipping and clicking…well. Things go down a path unintended…maybe, you sent some pictures that were not intended to be seen by a living been, but it happened. The evidence is on the phone and well, on his phone too. Maybe, maybe I didn’t press send. I began to lose my senses and the absence of time, ever present as my head seems like it’s bobbing in a bucket of water, or liquor?

I exhale, and inhale, putting another sip of the drink to my lips. A margarita in a bottle…eight percent alcohol, but potent to my system. My tolerance for the drink is low. My body already giving response to it. I continue to text my boyfriend. Some things I write…well, I had not thought about what his response would be for some of it. My intentions was to be sexy, wooing…but not sure how it landed on his side of the phone.

Brief Narrative: IT ROTS IN THERE…

It was said that Malisa’s grandmother, Irene, was a witch and that she dealt with majic that was treacherous and unnatural. Irene would gather in secret sessions with other men and women with similar dealings in her small hut, behind her home. It was rumored that she would summon bad luck and creatures to swallow souls of anyone she deemed a threat to her or her family. The majic of many was born in those secret sessions. Majic from all of Africa. Not that majic in Africa is dark or evil, no. Not all majic was bad, but Irene only wanted it as dark and as black as the space between stars. During these sessions, the majic they conjured would emit an odor of burnt wood, decay, putrefaction and they would say, “it rots in there…”

The remembrance long past, but it lasts and lasts.

The church itself was made of stone, that was laid, between them was cement. I recall the smell of Frankincense and Myrrh and Ms. Ana’s dewy floral perfume as she rocked in her seat before the service began. As a twelve-year-old, I felt helpless and uneasy being that this was my very first funeral. For comfort, I invited Malisa, my best friend, to lay her head on my shoulder. Ms. Ana, Malisa’s mother, slid her eyes close, humming the tune that the congregation sung at the time. “How great though art…” they sung, their voices rising and falling throughout the hymn. The funeral began without mourners want or permission. The catholic priest, Father Mitchell, came down the aisle first dressed in his robes. Malisa’s mother stood up, but her knees buckled, and her forehead beaded with sweat. Mr. Ben, Malisa’s father, along with his brothers emerged from the back of the church to accompany the dark blue coffin that entombed their beloved mother. All five men surrounded the casket, walking solemnly alongside it with their hands at their sides.

I was moved to emotion when I saw how this event affected my best friend. Malisa was usually the brave one between us, my protector at school when anyone would trouble me. She would defend me better than I could myself. So, I vowed to be there for her and attend the funeral to support her. She was my very best friend. I was brave for her now. Unfortunately, she had not had a relationship with her grandmother.

It was said that Ms. Ana was not favored by Irene. Malisa’s grandmother was very vocal about her distaste when Ms. Ana and Mr. Ben first made known that they were in a relationship. She worked hard to sway the union in other directions. When that did not work, she used unconventional customs in order to divide the two lovers. When Malisa’s oldest sibling, Castiano, was born he was tormented in his crib nightly, up until the age of five. His parents took him to doctors to find out what was making him cry with violent fits from the day he was born. Even the doctors did not know why. They said he was having night terrors. Then her second to eldest sibling, Arthur was born, but he was blind and deaf. The third child was born, Leslie who was a bright and beautiful addition to the family. As she became older, they noticed that her hair began to fall out on her head, brows and even eyelashes. Ms. Ana was convinced that her children was all cursed by Irene. She was so convinced, after she gave birth to Malisa, she had not shown Irene the child or allowed anyone to touch or take photos of the child. This saved her though, because she had no ailments or defects.

As the years passed, Mr. Ben was still close to his mother and she was also able to manipulate his emotions and actions. Ana and Ben’s relationship suffered from infidelities and abuse. Irene would spin stories and give a driven purpose to Ben to put Ana in her place. She even whispered lies into her sons ears and passed off deceptions to cause conflict between the couple. The children also suffered from these quarrels and disagreements.

Now, we are witness to Irene’s funeral. There were many mourners, some bawling, distressed and saddened. Ms. Ana eyes were wide and frantic as they opened the casket so that mourners can view the deceased. Viewers lined up, perhaps to see if the death was credible being that many believed her a mighty and powerful woman in her possession of majic, black majic. Other family members and mourners crossed themselves as they got in front of Irene and then quickly moved on, back to their seats while whispering to other mourners. Finally, Ms. Ana looked at us beside her, held Malisa’s face and kissed her forehead which was still wet from holy water. Then she whispered to us, “we will go to view the body, it cannot hurt you now. Don’t be afraid. She cannot hurt you now.” I was afraid…I have never met Irene before, especially when she was alive.

On the way down the aisle, we walked holding hands to comfort each other. Malisa was not crying but she was deeply saddened. Ms. Ana was steady with her footsteps towards Ms. Irene’s casket, where her body laid. She looked like she was sleeping, I thought. Her loosely curled silver-gray hair was shiny and styled with ringlets around her caramel colored face. To me, she seemed like she was alive, but just sleeping in her royal purple dress with frills. Her hands were clasped in front of her, with her fingers mingled together. Irene’s lips were the color of a blushing pink and her eyelashes curled. We all sighed…not sure why, but Ana said, “I’m relieved. Rest in peace.” Then she made the sign of the cross and she quickly left to go back to our pew. Malisa and I running to catch up behind her. As soon as the funeral was over, the burial site was ready and waiting to accept her. The undertaker ensuring that the casket was lowered to its destination.

All family and friends followed to the home of Ana and Ben to mourn the deceased. Her children thanked guests for attending and bringing food and comfort. All the little children and teens our age gathered and played scrabble and card games. Some of the teens Malisa knew as her cousins. She never met her cousins before. Because her mother believed that Irene was a witch that cursed her and her family, her children was not allowed to meet and play with her cousins. Until today. Ana said to us in the car on the way home, that any majic that Irene placed on others would cease after she was buried. Hearing that, Malisa and I just looked at each other.

The remembrance long past, but it lasts and lasts.

Later that evening, Ms. Ana drove me home. Malisa stayed behind because she was not feeling well. I was curious and asked Ms. Ana, “Why were you afraid at the funeral?” She smiled, then she was serious immediately after. “You do not understand. Irene…Ms. Irene, never liked me. She did some terrifying things to me and my family for years. I was afraid of her. Now, well, she has passed on and we are blessed to have probably, better luck.” I replied, “Oh, okay.” Looking back, I didn’t understand at that time, what she meant. But what happened next terrified me to my core. When I looked at Ms. Ana as she drove, behind her head was the head of a familiar smoky figure, wearing a semblance of a royal purple dress with frills. The figure had an icy smile that was clear as the day bright. Chills ran through my body, I looked away immediately shaken. Ms. Ana had not noticed a thing. She continued driving. I dared to look again, behind Ms. Ana’s head where I saw the specter. It was still there this time; the figure became more solid the longer I looked until I could see the bulging eyes with irises pitch black and the facial features as though Irene was coming more alive before me. The curls and ringlets about her head, the blushing pink lipstick against gnarled lips, with browned teeth revealed. I closed my eyes and squeezed them so tight tears rose up and gathered at the corners of them. “What is wrong, Laura?” Asked Ms. Ana. I never opened my eyes to look.

I screamed.

Brief Narrative – Ms. Onna’s Plight

Nightfall in a mystical meadow, inhabited by creatures of the mystical nature. The guardian of that meadow was the Leaky-Eyed Pixie called Neferu. She was born of pure love and pure wonder and laid between the lines of both raw emotions. Neferu managed the meadow throughout the day, but in the evening time, a little after six, she would retreat to the tree of Good and Evil. This tree was known for its duality, being that it was neither good nor evil but a part of the realm of nature that knowledge of all things lived.

Neferu discovered other immortals there that lived comfortably in this place, not good or actually evil. Neferu came upon a woman, her name was futakuchi-onna, who had two mouths…the woman, she discovered was cursed and found refuge as the other inhabitants of the tree, lived in the tree trunk itself. The woman spoke to Neferu in Japanese, but one of Neferu’s powers was that she understood any language spoken in the realm, no matter what it was, and she was able to understand everything the Japanese creature articulated. Ms. Onna, as she referred to herself, was absolutely famished and was concerned fore she would get terrible headaches that were triggered by her starving second mouth.

After expressing her plight to Neferu, Ms. Onna asked for Neferu’s help in satiating her second mouth’s curses. Ms. Onna and Neferu both set out to find either delicious fruit or vegetation in order to keep the mouth from devouring Ms. Onna’s brain. The second mouth lay under her hair in the back of her head and all about her head were thick black silk tentacles wildly dancing forty inches off her head! The tentacles were used to feed Ms. Onna’s second and sometimes even her first mouth, which had lips and fit upon her face in a fashion that was a perpetual frown. The second mouth had serrated teeth that fought upon each other for space, were yellow and sharp, but had no lips, and just a slit in the back of her head. She actually gave it a name and she call it Grub Grub, since it is always hungry, always.

The journey commenced to find Grub Grub some sustenance to relieve Ms. Onna and Neferu was a local guide all throughout the realm. They ventured beyond the meadow at night to enter the Garden of Everlasting which had plants for everything and would have fruits and vegetation of every nature. Once in the garden, they came upon a lush and leafy vine of fleshy fruit, somewhat similar to a plum, ripe and desirable to Ms. Onna’s eyes. Her eyes lit up and her mouth on her face actually perked up and smiled, it was a gorgeous smile that vivified the night. Neferu was pleased that she was able to get that reaction from Ms. Onna and encouraged the woman to pick one of these fruits to see how she liked it. The woman paused, surveyed the area, as though she was prey, and then swiftly plucked one of these juicy flesh-like plum fruit from the tree. As soon as she picked the fruit, that portion of the vine quickly wilted and browned then turned to ash. They both gasped. Looking at each other, together they slowly looked back at the fruit, but the fruit did not change at all, it was still glorious and desirable. So, one of Ms. Onna’s hair tentacle reached for the fruit and brought it to Grub Grub’s lipless grin. There was an immediate reaction from Grub Grub. Moans at first, then crushing sounds as it got to the core of the fruit, with nut inside. Ms. Onna also sighed in relief. And oddly enough, Grub Grub was satiated. In all Ms. Onna’s curse, Grub Grub has never eaten anything that has it satiated, it always wants more. This must be a magical fruit!Neferu encouraged Ms. Onna to take two more of this fruit just in case. The same process occurred whereas, the fruit was plucked, the vines died and became ash and the fruits were intact.

On the way back to the Tree of Good and Evil, Ms. Onna thanked Neferu. No one has ever been this kind to her since she arrived in this realm. As a gift, she gave Neferu a large ball of silk tangles from when her long black silk tentacles would shed. She told Neferu, that the silk tangles are the strongest thing in the universe and that she can use it for anything that she would want to keep in place, put together or climb. Neferu thanked the woman and did not realize that their adventure took them throughout the night, and that it was soon sunrise time in the realm. She sauntered off to the meadow, bidding goodbyes to Ms. Onna and Grub Grub’s satisfied grin.

Brief Narrative: Hands of Wonder…

From a distance, not to interrupt him from his present task, I observe as he draws a character of his own imaginings with his hands of wonder. These hands that I admire, silently as we work. It is rare that his hands are still or quiet. They are constantly hard at work, busy cutting items, moving product, lifting and pulling. Watching, I admire them in silent.

Without his permission, I gave adorations to what his hands are made of and who molded them. Those blessed hands probably have the whole universe in one hand, while the other hand is holding onto a ledge. Because the reality, apart from my imaginings, can shed light on the deep and intense understanding of what has affected him throughout his life. Being compassionate with him, not knowing what shaped him and made him who he in currently. From time to time, I would see his fists clench with possible tension from everyday wear and tear. I worked alongside him to chance upon a close encounter. His fingers long but thick, his palms, I discover are broad providing support and care. With all my imagination notwithstanding, I try to envision something just as simple as how his hands would feel around me in an embrace.

Without his knowledge, I doubt he is conscious of my thoughts and intentions of his hands. He may believe them to be insignificant, coarse and large, but his hands through my eyes are powerful, potent and secure. Also, he molds, crafts and impress upon everything he handles with his hands. His wrists are never nude and always have a watch. Sometimes his watches have intricacies, whereas the inner workings of the mechanics of the watch is visible with knots and bolts as the hands on the face of the clock moves through seconds, minutes and hours. As I work alongside this man’s hands, which sometimes graze mine, our electromagnetic fields collide. A static jolt would make our hands quickly separate, but I daydream of a time whereas both our palms would touch and our fingers comingling in unison. Secretly, a soft smile curled upon my lips as I form thoughts of these hands of wonder. Yet, he goes on about his handiwork and I look on still adoring his fingers as they tirelessly did this and that and moved along technology. Again, covertly longing for those hands to caress and passionately rouse me.