Jun 2018
Carrera was scrawling notes for his ‘War for Terra Incognita’ beneath a lush fruit bearing tree. Bob’s plan for the boy seeming to be in effect despite his abandoning the plan, Charlotte putting the boy in shorter skirts and baggy bloomers, matching lavender fabric with purple stockings and red garters. The boy’s bustier barely staying on his flat-chested frame she had to pull the laces straight and true on his skinny torso squeezing the breath out of him to give him cleavage where none was to be had.
Pinning his long hair into pigtails, washing and scrubbing his skin with astringent lye soap and applying powder to his smooth face over which she painted rouge, eyeshadow and lipstick. Seeing Carrera writing busily below the glistening arctic apples, Nancy approached the distracted author. Carrera was lighting his ***** pipe when the boy whom for all the world resembled an attractively winsome female in flouncy lavender skirts came over and sat with him. “Excuse me, sir, may I ask the greatest favor of you?”
Not recognizing the boy despite having never seen a teenage ******* ship Carrera hastily pocketed the smelly pipe and turned his attention to the big aquamarine eyes batting wispy lashes. The lips were thin squiggly lines speaking in a whiny rasp that was not entirely unappealing.
“Yes, my childe, what can I do for you?”
“I would certainly love to eat the fruit of the tree that is growing above your head, sir, but alas, my arms are too short to reach the sweetest fruit. Would you be so kind as to put me over your head so that I might gather a few you would perhaps like to share with me?”
“Why, of course, mon cheri. Here, get up on my shoulders,” said the poet kneeling to allow the slim fellow to plant a hobnailed sole onto his burly shoulder. Carrera couldn’t resist lifting his head once the boy was up and reaching for the ripe apples of a new sort, using his lifted skirt as a basket to catch the fruit he could swat from the high branches.
Carrera was staring straight up the wispy petticoats to the stocking rolled stockings and dangling garters, Carrera’s mind awash with fantasies of derring-do and adventures of which he assiduously avoided any first-hand experience. His ****** gaze locked on puffy wet spot beneath the short baggy breeches, Carrera thought he’d been struck by something like love at first sight.
Pinning his long hair into pigtails, washing and scrubbing his skin with astringent lye soap and applying powder to his smooth face over which she painted rouge, eyeshadow and lipstick. Seeing Carrera writing busily below the glistening arctic apples, Nancy approached the distracted author. Carrera was lighting his ***** pipe when the boy whom for all the world resembled an attractively winsome female in flouncy lavender skirts came over and sat with him. “Excuse me, sir, may I ask the greatest favor of you?”
Not recognizing the boy despite having never seen a teenage ******* ship Carrera hastily pocketed the smelly pipe and turned his attention to the big aquamarine eyes batting wispy lashes. The lips were thin squiggly lines speaking in a whiny rasp that was not entirely unappealing.
“Yes, my childe, what can I do for you?”
“I would certainly love to eat the fruit of the tree that is growing above your head, sir, but alas, my arms are too short to reach the sweetest fruit. Would you be so kind as to put me over your head so that I might gather a few you would perhaps like to share with me?”
“Why, of course, mon cheri. Here, get up on my shoulders,” said the poet kneeling to allow the slim fellow to plant a hobnailed sole onto his burly shoulder. Carrera couldn’t resist lifting his head once the boy was up and reaching for the ripe apples of a new sort, using his lifted skirt as a basket to catch the fruit he could swat from the high branches.
Carrera was staring straight up the wispy petticoats to the stocking rolled stockings and dangling garters, Carrera’s mind awash with fantasies of derring-do and adventures of which he assiduously avoided any first-hand experience. His ****** gaze locked on puffy wet spot beneath the short baggy breeches, Carrera thought he’d been struck by something like love at first sight.
