A New Leaf

by Cheri Crystal

  A New Leaf

  By

  Cheri Crystal

  A New Leaf

  © 2014 By Cheri Crystal. All rights reserved.

  THIS ELECTRONIC ORIGINAL SHORT STORY CONTAINS EROTIC CONTENT AND ADULT THEMES. READERS MUST BE OVER 18 TO PURCHASE.

  PUBLISH DATE: July 2014, First edition.

  THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION. NAMES, CHARACTERS, PLACES, AND INCIDENTS ARE THE PRODUCT OF THE AUTHOR’S IMAGINATION OR ARE USED FICTITIOUSLY. ANY RESEMBLANCE TO ACTUAL PERSONS, LIVING OR DEAD, BUISINESS ESTABLISHMENTS, EVENTS, OR LOCALES IS ENTIRELY COINCIDENTAL.

  SCANNING, UPLOADING AND/OR DISTRIBUTION OF THIS BOOK VIA THE INTERNET, PRINT, AUDIO RECORDINGS OR ANY OTHER MEANS WITHOUT THE PERMISSION OF THE AUTHOR/PUBLISHER IS ILLEGAL AND WILL BE PROSECUTED TO THE FULLEST EXTENT OF THE LAW.

  GRAPHIC DESIGN: CHERI CRYSTAL

  FIND CHERI CRYSTAL ON THE WEB AT www.chericrystal.com ,facebook.com/chericrystal, and http://www.amazon.com/Cheri-Crystal/e/B002VG3738

  It had been hard to believe the day after my fiftieth birthday, I woke up and despite being at the pinnacle of my career I made a drastic decision to give up corporate chaos for greener pastures. But even more incredible was when I gave my termination notice and ultimately went through with it. That was a year ago and I still had no qualms about kissing city life goodbye in exchange for a more satisfying occupation, keeping our parks pristine for everyone’s enjoyment.

  My newfound serenity, coupled with a sense of genuine purpose, rejuvenated me. The trees breathed life into the area and the area breathed life into me. Bliss was gardening while communing with park visitors who were good for a laugh whether feathered, furry or human. One lovely lady ate her lunch on the same park bench, rain or shine. Though we had not exchanged more than pleasantries, I looked forward to, enjoyed, and somehow felt whole in her presence. It was weird that she affected me so; as I said, we had never spoken at length. Perhaps it was how she complimented the scenery sort of like a bronze garden sculpture would when strategically situated to attract attention. Only she was way more colorful and very much alive.

  The moment she sat down, the flower bed nearest her usual spot drew me closer as if begging to be weeded, forcing me to dash over with a bucket and Hori-Hori knife in hand, purely to get high on a whiff of her sweet earthy scent. A weed didn’t stand a chance in that part of the garden.

  Occasionally a breeze caught her white hair that held the last remnants of stubborn gold unwilling to lose its natural color. Her bangs always seemed in need of a trim or a hairclip, and when the wind blew the hair away from her face, I was rewarded with a glimpse of her full forehead, clear blue eyes, cherry lips and skin adorned with character lines that hinted at years spent smiling. She had an eclectic assortment of blouses, in various colors and patterns, and looked sensational in outfits that accentuated her perfectly placed curves.

  After a year of chit chat mostly about the weather, or my planting prowess and her appreciation of my efforts, I still hadn’t summoned up the courage to ask her out. I convinced myself it was because I preferred a solitary life as a park warden who was too engrossed in bedding plants. It was a labor of love that sated my every need.

  Or so I thought.

  I rarely gave sex a thought unless it involved the bathtub or my vibrator, until the day I decided to clear the public footpath leading deeper into the forested area and stumbled across a couple going at it like rabbits. In broad daylight! Sheltered by greenery thick with tangled prickly shrubs, it’s a wonder they didn’t suffer scratches on delicate places, but then they didn’t seem bothered, too busy getting naked. The sight of them, all hot and sweaty…and I couldn’t look away. Had there been flies around I would have ended up with a mouthful!

  They were voracious, erotic, and alluring to the max. The lithe blonde had her top off. I dubbed her Pixie. With her tight skirt hitched up around her waist; anyone would have ogled her skimpy lace panties and long shapely thighs. Her butt and the tell-tale stain in her crotch awakened my clit, moistening my pants. She turned slightly, her profile divine. I chewed on my bottom lip, admiring her perky breast with its pale pink nipple, the color of clear-glossed lips. I audibly sighed, admiring such fetching nipples hardened in response to her gallant knight.

  As Pixie’s lover, suckled her nipple, I admired his broad shoulders and muscular arms. From what I could see he was a slender hunk of a man, and I’m not even into men. When he lifted his head, he looked straight at me, our gazes locked. I sucked in my breath, prepared myself for flight, but was too stunned to move. He had breast bumps, not man-boobs, and a smooth chocolate complexion that could only belong to a woman.

  This tall, dark and handsome knight taking his lady in broad daylight was more of a Rogue. Watching Rogue worship Pixie created a void in my life I hadn’t known in years. When had I stopped desiring the joys of bedding a woman? Passion ignited, I was consumed with want. Visions of park bench lady fuelled my fantasy. Was she waiting for me? Was she calling my name? Astonished glee heated me up, followed by a myriad of emotions, summoned in response to the wild throes of passion this couple were dishing.

  How could two women be oblivious to the fallen leaves rustling, the crows cawing, and children playing on swings, out of sight, but still only a short distance away? I envied them, in more ways than one; their youth, for starters, but mostly their freedom to express their love freely and openly with risk of being arrested. Last time I had checked, having sex in public was against the law, but here they were communing in nature. They cast all thoughts aside, like finding a room, and gave into hedonistic pleasures. They didn’t let grass grow under their feet the way I did where my love life was concerned. Could anyone ever hope to make up for lost time? Erring on the side of optimism, I sincerely hope so.

  As a drizzle began, the feverish pitch of their lovemaking was so hot it evaporated the raindrops before they hit the ground. Pixie and Rogue. My body warmed in response to the privilege of sharing their intimacy. Rogue, with one look from those hot chocolate eyes of hers, practically dared me not to move. It was odd that I hadn’t run away. Pixie reeled me in as well. They wanted me there. I was sure of it. I became a part of their dance as I watched with keen interest.

  Rogue’s tight-cropped obsidian curls complemented her skin tone. I practically fainted from lust when Rogue removed Pixie’s panties using her teeth and then cast her own clothes aside. I shamelessly watched them making love. Making love was an understatement. They were actually fucking each other senseless. I wasn’t a prude after all. After Pixie came, quickly followed by her shuddering Rogue, I scurried off in such an unrequited state of arousal, it’s a wonder I didn’t stumble. I barely made it back to the nearest park bench before I collapsed. It was mid-afternoon by then and the lunch crowd was long gone, including my favorite patron. I was sorry I missed her, but knew she’d be back the following day.

  Spring ended abruptly with a heavy rain that knocked off the last of the bright pink blooms of the Weeping Cherries, left pink and white petals on the ground beneath the magnolias, and greened up just about everything else. Most of my time was spent planting annuals for added color between the masses of bulbs I’d already put in place, and pruning the weeping cherry trees to maintain the desired size and shape. Typically, I spent the summer mostly weeding and cutting grass. Before I knew it, September turned into November, don’t even ask where October went, and I still hadn’t summoned the courage to get to know the park bench lady any better. My vivid imagination had placed her on a pedestal higher than nosebleed territory at a sporting event; I doubted I could breathe up there, no matter how badly I wanted to get a closer look. Was I that petrified to allow reality to burst my fantasy bubble? Apparently, I was, and the realization irritated me to no end. Getting nowhere fast in the lo
ve life department, I needed another outlet.

  This sounds perverted, but it had been a long time since I played the ultimate voyeur, reminding myself it was completely with their blessing, as Pixie and Rogue got their rocks off while I observed. I fantasized about being a threesome plenty after that, which ran down the batteries of my vibrator. A fleeting thought about the salacious nature of such a harmonious coupling made me want it more. I needed a Pixie-Rogue fix like a drug addict needs Morphine and ventured into the woods. Surely there was some urgent gardening that needed tending. Besides, it would be good to know if they had a onetime fling or if they regularly had sex there.

  I disregarded the niggling in the moral part of my brain that shouted, “Peeping Tom,” over and over. I was surely not that, just curious…and helpful. They seemed fuelled by my very presence. When I grew closer to the same spot as last time, they were already there. Ready to run the other way, their smiles captivated me, holding me fast to my place. They did all but invite me to join them, so I stood still as stone. I had to remember to breathe as they discarded clothes, getting completely naked despite the chill. This time, the closer they were to consummating the act, the closer I was to exploding too. Very close to coming in my pants, I ran and ran until I was too winded to go on.

  I was a fifty-one-year-old woman, a certified prude, and now a peeping Tom. Not that prude-hood and voyeurism were remotely synonymous. I fell onto the nearest bench, deflated.

  Just then someone sat beside me, leaned over, and warming my arm with a firmly placed hand, the woman asked, “Are you having a hot flash?” I was breathing so heavily, I hadn’t heard her footsteps, but her voice superseded all. I turned to face my inquisitor.

  It was her. My lovely lunchtime park bench lady.

  “Not exactly,” I said, at once feeling exposed, yet lost in her welcoming smile, my clit still pulsating, making me flush even more.

  “What then?”

  How could I explain? Words spilled out all at once, no time for censure. “I’ve wanted to ask you out for ages. I know this sounds sudden,” my need grew urgent, I’d already behaved out of character back there in the woods; it had to be something stronger than I was, making me say this, “But will you please have dinner with me?”

  “I’d love to.”

  “Of course, we could get to know each other first.”

  “No need, I feel as if I know you already.”

  “Really? How?”

  “I’ve been coming to this park ever since you started working here.”

  “You have?”

  She nodded.

  “Saturday then?” I said, unable to contain my glee.

  “That would be perfect. How about a nature walk?” She glanced towards the direction I had just come from.

  My face turned a deep red hue in response to thoughts inspired by the scandalous, but totally sensational, scenario similar to the one I had just witnessed. We both smiled.

  “How about I meet you right here at two p.m. this Saturday?”

  “We could make it noon and have a picnic, first?” she suggested. “I’ll bring lunch.”

  Suddenly, courage seeped into my voice. “Great. I’ll bring wine.” She had this power over me that felt comfortable, real. There was no need for pretence with her.

  “It’s a date.”

  Beaming, I thought, hating to get back to work, but having no choice, I’m turning over a new leaf, and I can’t wait.

  After she deposited her trash in the can, I was tempted to run after her. I forgot to ask her name. What an idiot I could be! Oh well, I finished up the day, raked the vibrant autumn leaves, shovelling the fragrant piles of red, yellow, orange and brown, second to the scent of burning leaves, which was nice too, into huge black bags, and headed home. Monday was over, it grew dark earlier each day, but thankfully, just four more days to go, and it was like the sun was still shining.

  It’s rare to train anyone this late in the year, but one of the park wardens needed an immediate replacement due to illness. As it turned out, my supervisor had elected me to teach this totally clueless young man, who had never mowed a lawn or taken care of a house plant in his life, how to tend the grounds of a neighboring park. Where did they get these kids? At twenty-something he was technically an adult, but I sure wish he acted like one. So from Tuesday through Friday, I had little opportunity to speak to the lovely as ever park bench lady, working straight through my lunch hour, but we somehow managed to exchange polite greetings and the shared disbelief at my trainee’s utter lack of competence as we rolled our eyes behind his back. I had to stop myself from laughing out loud, but the enjoyment we both received at his expense made his training most welcome after all. By Friday, I had no idea how, but I had whipped him into shape, until he almost resembled a real gardener, and received a hearty seal of approval from my favorite patron.

  Saturday morning I woke before the birds. Although my room still pitch dark, I threw back the covers and padded out. Clad only in sleep shorts and t-shirt, I stepped onto the wooden deck off my kitchen to see what needed to be done in the yard that couldn’t wait. The moon still hung low on the horizon but I was too impatient for this day to begin to bother with sleeping late on my day off. I prepared hot cereal, chopped up fruit and had my first cup of coffee while waiting for the sun to rise. It finally arrived hindered by clouds with a biting wind that reddened my cheeks and numbed my bare feet and legs, but I didn’t care whatever the weather. I was going on a picnic with a beautiful woman I had dubbed Temptress, abandoning park bench lady, because that is exactly what she was to me, a temptress. Not knowing her name was only a minor inconvenience that I planned to resolve.

  All week, I had imagined lying beside her bathed in her beauty, among other things I dared not hope for, afraid I’d jinx it. Social norms sure had changed while I busily avoided dating. This picnic was a date and not just two women having a friendly lunch. I never thought I’d live to see the day same-sex marriage became legal in more than a few states, but there you go!

  I glanced up at the sky; squinted as the sun insistently poked out from behind fluffy white clouds for more than a few minutes at a time; and knew things were definitely looking up. It was the kind of clear, crisp, pre-Thanksgiving day, apparently holding back winter for as long as possible and barely succeeding. The squirrels noisily cheeping like angry birds and chasing each other up and down the branches of the old oak that had weathered more than its share of storms. I reached for the bird feeder and took it indoors to the slop sink in the laundry room. The warmth of the tumbling dryer was delightful as I scrubbed and refilled the feeder with top-notch bird seed and two kinds of suet. My temptress had mentioned hot flashes.

  I had not started my changes, but if I had to guess, I would say she probably had. She was obviously older than I was, but I could not be certain by how much, nor did I care. There was little I knew about her, but I was dying to find out. The hour hand moved much too slowly. With the feeder ready to go, I put it back on its pole and retreated to my spot behind the sliding glass doors to wait for the birds to feel safe enough to feast. I planned to help fatten them up before winter set in.

  After the sparrows had their fill, I noticed a new family of dark-eyed juncos I hadn’t seen the year before. They preferred to eat their seed from the floor, rather than from the feeder and were adorable, but my favorite was the active little Downy Woodpecker with his red cap and black and white wings that looked like the sleeves of a white-breasted sweater with a black and white back. Once all the birds had gone, I dressed quickly and headed back outdoors. I raked and bagged the leaves, hopefully for the last time, showered, dressed, and grabbed a vintage bottle of Shiraz, noted for its dark licorice and plum flavors; I was saving for a special occasion.

  By noon, not to appear overly keen although I was rearing to go from the moment I opened my eyes, I walked into the park, feeling more at home there than I had in any office I’d ever worked. One glance toward the now barren Weeping Cherries, not long ago dripp
ing with striking orange foliage, I breathed a contented sigh to find her comfortably seated on her bench. I spent a few minutes basking in my admiration of her before venturing on. She wore a hand-made sweater befitting the season woven in red, purple, orange, yellow and brown with a scarf and hat to match. A few strands of her wispy white and golden locks peeked out around the crown of her head. I’d watched as she crocheted and knitted, but it was the first time I witnessed her wearing one of her own creations. She was a walking advertisement for the resurgence of pursuing needlework as a hobby. Accustomed to seeing her in the colorful blouses and plain skirts or slacks she wore to work, she practically shouted, “Come adventure on the wild side with me,” in play clothes. As she had promised lunch, there was a wicker picnic basket and folded plaid blanket at her feet. I hoped she liked red wine.

  “Hi there.” Her face lit up when she greeted me, and then she unabashedly checked me out. It had obviously been a good choice I’d chosen tight jeans that showed off a body that hadn’t completely gone to pot after I noted the twinkle in her eyes as her gaze lingered on my legs. She couldn’t see beneath my bomber jacket, where I had on a long-sleeved polo shirt, but she gazed briefly at my chest before returning to glance into my eyes.

  “Hi,” I said, a sudden shyness overtook me for no reason I could fathom. “It’s a perfect day for a picnic,” I added, when nothing else to say came to mind.

  “That it is!” She patted the seat beside her and I sat. We spoke at once.

  “Where shall we go?” she asked as I said, “I love what you’re wearing.”

  We laughed. “Thank you. I have a present for you.”

  My heart dropped. I hadn’t brought anything for her. “You didn’t have to do that.”

  “It’s nothing really.” She took a small wrapped package out of her bag and handed it over. “I noticed you could probably use this since the Farmer’s Almanac predicts a really brutal winter.