OMG, OMG, OMG… OMFG #cherrypiecure

posted by susan-oh-susan / march 24 at 8:20 pm / uncategorized / 24 comments

OMG, OMG, OMG.

He came.

Repeatedly. ;P

Ok, I’m going to tell you the whole story. Because…

I want to.

Ok.

So I really wasn’t that frazzled. I got up. I showered.

I shaved.

My legs, I mean.

I’ve never, ever shaved my… well, and I didn’t that time. I don’t know why I even wrote that.

Ok. And I made tea. And cranberry lemonade.

And I baked some scones.

White chocolate scones, with cranberries. Because I had cranberries. And white chocolate.

And I ate one.

And I didn’t smoke.

And he rang the doorbell.

You know, I didn’t realize how incredibly ugly those Safeway uniforms were until I saw him out of one.

I mean, he was wearing clothes of course. Jeans. A dark purple T-shirt—I could see it was purple through the slit in his jacket, and that it was a T-shirt when he took the jacket—it was green—off.

Ok, I realize none of that matters. And you probably don’t want a description of the sneakers he was wearing. Although they are very much imprinted on my eyes because I stared at them a lot.

“Soo-zaaahn, am I a very ugly man?” he asked.

“What?” My head snapped up in shock, and I met his eyes.

“Am I a very ugly man?” he repeated.

“No,” I stammered. “You are very beautiful.”

Yes, I actually said that, because… well. I did.

“Then look at my face and not at my feet,” he said. Kind of commanded. I tried. And blushed.

He laughed.

“Would you like some tea? A scone?” I asked. I was still chewing. I probably had crumbs around my mouth. Running down my cleavage. Oh. God.

“No,” he said. “Once I start eating your food, I will not want to work. Let’s do the yard work.”

I took him to the backyard, where I had prepared the rakes and garbage bags and things. By things I mean, you know, gardening gloves. And hedge clippers, although I don’t really have any hedges. One crazy lilac bush that I planted when Tyler was born. We moved into this house just before Tyler was born, John and I.

I did think that. But then I stopped.

Reza looked around the yard.

“What are we doing?”

“Raking,” I said. And explained.

I’ve never seen a grown man’s face… fall. You know what I mean? My kids, yes, when they’ve experienced a huge disappointment. A grown man’s? No. But that’s what his face did. It fell.

“Oh,” he said. Looked around. “I was thinking… we’d be building a fence? Or maybe a greenhouse? Or flower beds. Would you like me to build you some flower beds, Sooo-zaaahn? I’m good at that.”

I laughed.

“Just raking and cleaning up today,” I said.

He sighed. Very dramatically.

“Not real work,” he said, shaking his head. “But I do it, for you. Let’s rake.”

And we did.

Oh-god, we did.

And… he sang.

Pretty much the whole time.

Mostly in…

“What language is that?” I asked.

“Farsi,” he said. “The language of angels. Do you know any of our poetry?”

“Only Rumi,” I said, thinking about the book Marcella dropped off last week… that I haven’t read.

“Rumi is the only Persian poet people in the West know,” he said. “He’s good. He has some beautiful poems. But he is not my favourite. Listen…”

And he recited a poem.

In Farsi.

For ten minutes.

I stood there, leaning on the rake.

“That was beautiful,” I said when he was done—or stopped for a breath. “What does it mean?”

“Untranslatable,” he said after a pause. “But it describes this moment, very well.” And then he scooped up a pile of leaves and threw them at my head.

And we had a leaf fight.

And then we raked some more.

And my hands and back started to ache, and I started to move slower.

“We need a break,” he said.

Do you see? He noticed I was getting tired. Does it make sense, do I have to explain how happy that made me?

“Let’s go see your kitchen, Soo-zaahn,” he said. “And you can feed me, a little.”

I poured two glasses of the cranberry lemonade.

“Should I make tea?” I asked.

He shook his head.

I gave him a scone.

He… he pulled me into his lap.

And broke off—a piece of scone for himself. A piece for me, into my mouth.

It was so… so incredibly sexy.

His left hand was around my waist, very loosely.

His right hand was feeding me.

I wanted to stay in that position forever.

“I get the last piece, for all my hard work,” he said, holding the last crumb.

I laughed.

“Ok,” I said. “There’s more, you know.”

“No more for now,” he said. “But do you know what I need right now, Sooo-zaaahn?”

“What?” I asked. Was he going to kiss me?

“A shower,” he said. “I am filthy and sweaty and I smell, and I can’t believe you’re sitting on my dirty lap like that.”

I blushed. Because it sounded… I don’t know.

“Ok,” I said. “Come.”

He followed me upstairs. I wasn’t sure… the main bathroom, which I call the boys’ bathroom, or the master bedroom en suite?

I wasn’t sure… because suppose he just wanted a shower, and then I walked him into my bedroom?

So I took him into boys’ bathroom.

He took off his shirt.

“Where are you going, Soo-zaahn?” he demanded as I turned around.

“To get a towel?” I said.

“Later,” he said.

And…

Yeah.

OMG.

I want to describe… but I can’t. I really can’t. But, shower. And soap and suds, and kisses. And he didn’t kiss my mouth first. Almost last. Almost every other part before my mouth. And… OMG.

And when the shower water ran cold, we…

Ok, I’ve lived in that house for eighteen years with a man. I’ve never had sex on the bathroom floor. Or bent over the sink counter.

Or on the landing.

Or on the stairs.

Or against a closed bedroom door.

Or kind of hanging from the frame of the bedroom door…

Or…

Wow.

OMG.

It was so good.

So, so good.

So I know you will want more description, but I can’t tell you more.

It was just good.

“Should we do more yard work?” he said after.

“No,” I said, snuggling tighter into his arms—that place, you know? My face in his neck. He smelled like heaven.

“Should we have more sex?” he said.

“Is that possible?” I asked.

He reached a hand under the covers. I felt it touch my thighs. In-between. Then, in-between his legs.

“Yes,” he said.

I laughed.

“Ok.”

And this time it was just in bed, and it was slower and less crazy, and still so good.

“Now Soo-zaahn has so much sex she needs a nap,” he yawned.

“Doesn’t Reza need a nap too?” I asked.

He shook his head.

“But I will stay here until you fall asleep,” he said.

Swoon.

Sigh.

Delight.

*

24 comments on OMG, OMG, OMG… OMFG:

BeautifulThingsEveryday: My girl got laid. I’m so proud.

ilikeherbooty-full: Why are you proud? You had nothing to do with it. She did it all herself. Well done, Susan. Now don’t fall in love and don’t freak out if he doesn’t text you again, ok?

BeautifulThingsEveryday: Why would you say that? Why would he not text her again?

ilikeherbooty-full: Because men are dicks. Don’t you know that?

ilikeherbooty-full: Also, Susan, the shower scene—you really could have at least described what he did to your breasts. Or what your breasts look like. I have this vision in my head…

FemmeFataleFun: So she shouldn’t describe them. You already see them. Why spoil it?

ilikeherbooty-full: I believe they are even more marvellous than I imagine.

codyatschool@goodmail.com: OMFG. Mom. What the hell are you doing? Why are you blogging about shit like this?

susan-oh-susan: Cody? What are you doing here? Nika! You said you wouldn’t tell him!

goddessofvictory: I didn’t, Mama Susan, I didn’t!

codyatschool@goodmail.com: Fuck, Nika, you knew? You’re reading this shit?

ilikeherbooty-full: Brother, it’s not shit, and be nice to your mother.

codyatschool@goodmail.com: Dude, fuck off and stop thinking about my mother’s tits.

ilikeherbooty-full: Breasts, brother. I never called them tits. You did. Now apologize.

susan-oh-susan: Jerome, stop. Cody, call me.

codyatschool@goodmail.com: Delete this fucking blog. And stop having sex with strangers!

BeautifulThingsEveryday: Stop freaking out, Cody. He’s not a stranger. She’s been trying to seduce him for weeks.

codyatschool@goodmail.com: OMFG. Stop it. And this is probably all your fault, Marcella.

Caspian00XO: Dude, take a chill pill.

codyatschool@goodmail.com: Who are all these people?

susan-oh-susan: Cody, they’re my friends. Now, love, calm down. Call me. Nika, can you call too?

codyatschool@goodmail.com: I’m calling Tyler.

alvinblogmail: WOW just what I was looking for. Came here by searching for best roadtrip games. Check out my recent post at Road Trip Fun For the Whole Family by Alvin.

*

mommyshidinginthebathroom3: Wow, how did I miss this part? Susan, what happened? Everything ok?

Find out more: Cherry Pie Cure: Cast of Characters and More

GET BOOK in ALL FORMATS for any DEVICE at ALL RETAILERS
(including fabulous paper)

mjanecolette
TellMe@mjanecolette.com

PS A Table of Contents of the Cherry Pie Cure/Susan’s Writing Cure Blog posts can be found at the Cherry Pie Cure landing page.

Feature image source: https://www.pexels.com/photo/air-bubbles-berries-blow-bright-533312/

About mjanecolette

Writer. Reader. Angster. Reformed Bohemian (not). Author of the erotic romance TELL ME, the erotic tragedy (with a happy ending) CONSEQUENCES (of defensive adultery), the award-winning rom-com (she's versatile) CHERRY PIE CURE, and the just released TEXT ME, CUPID--a (slightly dirty) love story for 21st century adults who don't believe in love... but want it anyway. A sought-after speaker and presenter, Colette is also the author of the non-fiction collection of essays ROUGH DRAFT CONFESSIONS: not a guide to writing and selling erotica and romance but full of inside inside anyway, and the curator of the fab YYC Queer Writers anthologies Queer Christmas in Cowtown and Screw Chocolate. Coming in 2019: Once Upon A Queer Summer Night's in Cowtown.

One comment

  1. Pingback: Cherry Pie Cure–the real time Blog Edition | m jane colette

Tell me...

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s