Cherry Blossoms

by KT Morrison

  “We’re gonna have to get you a step stool, eh?” he laughed, loud and deep.

  “Maybe I shouldn’t wear skirts,” she laughed back for him.

  “No, you should definitely wear skirts.” His huge hand grabbed her ankle and he guided her legs in, he said, “Make sure those pretty little feet are in there.” Then he closed the door for her.

  When he was in, bouncing his enormous bulk around in the driver’s side, making the truck shake, he said, “Get your computer out.”

  “Computer? Where—”

  “There, there,” he said, kind of impatiently, jerking his thumb towards the back seat. She looked over her shoulder and saw a leather notebook bag back there. She reached around, had to get to her knees on the seat. She could feel Rocco’s eyes on her ass. She let him look, stuck it out for him for a second. Then she was back to work, plopping back down in her seat and zipping the bag open. He pulled the laptop out for her like she wasn’t moving fast enough. He showed her his accounting program, showed her where they were at, showed her how to get in the cloud and where they kept all the copies of receipts and how to scan them on the road. She was so glad she’d kept up with this stuff, doing Geoff’s books all these years. All this technology would have passed her by.

  “Got it?” he said.

  “Yeah,” she said, “Let’s go, I’ll learn as we work.”

  “That’s my girl,” he said, and she was glad to see him smile.

  He said, “Hey, you had breakfast? Tim’s?”

  “Geoff made me breakfast this morning.”

  He grunted, looked at her legs, down into the footwell and she resisted the urge to adjust her skirt. Then he leaned towards her and she felt her hair raise up on her arms. But he went between them, leaning himself into the back seat. He had a powerful musky man smell already, not even seven in the morning yet. He had to lean way back between the leather seats, reaching for something. His shirt had come up and she could see his stomach, his belly hair. She looked between his legs while he wrestled, the soft denim bulge there bigger than her spread open hand if she were to lay it out over him. She rolled her eyes and smiled, turned away, thought about telling Geoff.

  “Hey,” he said, heaving himself around again to face her, he held a thermos in his hands, same as the one Geoff got her, just in army green instead of plaid. “I like your thermos.”

  She laughed, gave him a big open smile, said, “Geoff got me mine.”

  “My wife got me this one. We got two at home really look out for us, eh?”

  GEOFF

  All morning his breaths were coming short, his back was tight and he had one possessive thought: Nia.

  It led to him getting an enormous amount of work done. No CBC on in the background, no music, no distractions. His mind was taken with this overwhelming anxious notion of his wife away from him, out in the world, out with real men. He’d been on autopilot for hours now—worked through lunch, he’d been a machine. Two whole large-scale drawings done in four big sections, eight full sheets of pencils had been transformed into fully inked perfection. He was ecstatic with the results. Didn’t even remember really doing it. He’d just thought of his wife and his hand had impulsively dipped brushes and nibs held in French pointers into his custom blend of ink and scratched and swiped away until he was done. He’d been half-hard the entire time, grabbing himself occasionally through his sweats and absently squeezing himself.

  Now it was 1 P.M. and all the art was done. He had to scan the pages and then open them in Photoshop, chop them up and piece them together as one big image. One day he’d switch to digital. But right now there was great joy at scratching ink to paper and plus he could often sell original art too, sometimes for quite a good chunk of change. He’d got fifteen grand for all his work from Little-Choo. So, for now he was still hybrid, part traditional, part digital. Meant that his afternoon would now be laborious and mechanical.

  Shit, this was exactly like when he was twenty. In art class wondering what his precious friend Nia was up to. Wondering what she was going to do this weekend. Who was she dating, where was he going to take her? The whole while Geoff was planning what he was going to do when he saw her when she was home. Texting her, sending her pictures of something he was working on, waiting with trembling hands for her response. She would always respond. For a long time he thought she was just a nice girl who would humour a boy like him. But she turned into a good friend. A real friend. His best friend. And she wasn’t nice. Not all the time. She could be mean. She would have no trouble telling a guy like him to go fuck himself if she felt like it.

  So they got tighter and tighter and even though his heart twisted up like the wringing out of a wet cloth he never did shit about it. He’d sit in her apartment or his apartment when she got home and then they’d watch a movie, do a heart to heart, sometimes she would literally cry on his shoulder.

  Suddenly, heaven-sent, his phone buzzed and lit up right next to him. A text from Nia.

  Nia: fuuuuuuuuck

  G-Force: you OK?

  Nia: tiiiired

  Then a sleepy Emoji.

  G-Force: Aw, baby, I’m a rub them little footsies when you get home

  She sent him a picture of herself. Nia’s pretty face, comically tired, eyes barely open, perfect lips sleepily parted. It looked like she was in a vehicle, seatbelt over her shoulder.

  G-Force: Ha ha ha, still beautiful, baby

  Nia: thanks G-man

  G-Force: when U home?

  Nia: gotta go boss coming

  “Bye, Nia,” he said and he gave the screen of his phone a gentle kiss.

  NIA

  “You’re gonna eat that whole fuckin thing?” she asked him.

  “Huh? Yeah. You watch me.”

  They were sitting in his truck, just after 1 P.M., the day bright and sunny now. They’d stopped for lunch in a luxury subdivision in King City, just down the street from the house they were supposed to go visit and make a bid on for a boatload of landscaping. Rocco said it would be over a hundred grand. He was eating his lunch his wife had packed for him. Two chicken parm sandwiches stuffed into tupperware. They were covered in cheese and dripping with sauce. Nia could have got away with eating a third of one and been satisfied.

  “Geoff made me a salad.”

  “Shit. You want some of this?" he said, holding the second tupperware container over to her.

  “No, no, I don’t want to eat your lunch, thanks though.”

  “Hey, I insist. My wife makes the best chicken parm, seriously, try it just to try it. It’s the fuckin best.”

  She took it from him, said, “Psshht. No offence. Second best.”

  “Second, huh?”

  “You should try my chicken parm.” She popped the lid on his tupperware and it smelled pretty fucking good. Being on the road and active and alert all morning then punched in the face with the aroma of tomato and cheese and oil made her stomach instantly growl. She’d worked up an appetite.

  “I’d love to get a taste of your chicken parm,” he said, looking out the window.

  He was being dirty, probably, and she let it go. Didn’t play along. He was friendly and all but she still wanted to keep it professional. “Shheeesus, this is really fuckin good,” she said, her mouth full of sandwich. She had to wipe her lips with a napkin.

  “Better than yours?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “It’s pretty damn good. I’ll make mine, you tell me.”

  He looked over at her, said, “No offence, you don’t look like a wife should be in the kitchen.”

  “My mom taught me a thing or two.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure. You’re just not the kind of woman a husband cares what she does in the kitchen.”

  “I have many talents,” she said, handing him back his sandwich, trying to slough off the piggish compliment but kinda making it worse.

  “Mm,” he just nodded, shoving his sandwich into his mouth.

  “Hey, who’s your wife? I know her?” she asked him.r />
  “Maria. She was Maria Mastrocola.”

  “She go to Baywood?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I know her. Not know her know her, but I know who she is. She was fuckin gorgeous.”

  “Yeah, she was. She was a fuckin smokeshow,” he said, looking at the sandwich.

  GEOFF

  It was almost twenty degrees out but it felt colder than that. The sun was out though and that was all that mattered. Geoff went out for a walk at two-forty-five, went down Garden Street out to Queen and along to the grocery. Now he was on Elmwood at Green Leaf picking out some things to cook Nia and Odele for dinner tonight.

  He was still jamming on that crazy thrill, thinking of his beautiful girl out on her own, talking to other men, maybe flirting, knowing, for sure, that they were flirting with her. He could picture them, seeing her as he saw her, that feeling when you made her smile, made her laugh. They would see her long pretty neck as she tossed her hair. She would make them hard.

  He laughed out loud, unexpectedly, enough that a stone-faced Chinese lady looked at him across a pyramid of carefully stacked cantaloupes. Probably thought he was a mental patient. Maybe he was.

  Thinking those thoughts had swelled him between his legs, he could feel his cock pressing against the front of his jeans, his junk filling out his underwear til he felt it tighten. He gave the lady a friendly nod, looking to ease her wariness. She gave nothing back.

  He grabbed some steaks and some greens, some broccoli, some potatoes. Then a great and overwhelming nostalgic urge washed over him when he turned down the baking aisle. He grabbed a few more things from those shelves that he needed and cashed out.

  He stood on the sidewalk off to the edge as people bustled past. There was enough time. And it was why he headed out early, wasn’t it? He smiled to himself and took a deep breath and headed east instead of west if he were to go meet Odele. He had a little time.

  One and a half blocks along, up four stone steps in an old Victorian town home, was an upscale shop meant for couples. He tucked his head down and went for it, trotted up the stairs and in to the sex store, worrying but not caring if anyone he knew saw him. Once he was inside he was fine, no one even gave him a look, everyone here for the same thing anyway.

  What was once the parlour of the home was now where they kept the sex toys. Elegant to brutal, phallus shapes in chrome, rubber, transparent acrylic, red ones, blue ones, even garishly flesh-painted—all arranged, carefully, on polished gleaming wood, tips pointing up to the ceiling. Some of the more realistic shapes drooping a bit, pointing more to the corners. Geoff surmised them, wanting to surprise his Nia with one of these kinky toys for them to enjoy.

  He was drawn to one obelisk, perched on a glass pedestal above neatly lined boxes of its compatriots, a halogen spot on it. A red starburst on a card next to it said it was New! A careful painstaking cast of some gay porn star’s tremendous erection. There was a small cardboard stand-up next to it, complete with photo of said porn star—one leg up, wrist bent over knee, massive dong hanging. The dildo was fucking huge. Probably tweaked on the computer. A cast, modelled and scanned, then scaled up ten percent, maybe, fuck, hopefully, fifteen percent. Guy had an image to protect, a career, probably an agent even. An agent looking out for him, making the dildo company ensure his artist’s money-making was protected. There was no way a guy could really have that weapon hanging between his legs.

  His sweet Nia, loving wife, mostly faithful mother of his child and his constant companion, if he were honest, had slept with a lot dudes. She’d tell him. She wasn’t shy, or ashamed, She liked sex. She liked men. She’d seen a lot of cock.

  Was one of them like this? Her biggest—her Dino—was this the size she had been with? It looked, like, as big as a can of bug spray. So much bigger than his own. Thick and gnarly, veins like cables wiggled around it. The head of it was bigger than a hard-boiled egg. Even the dildo’s sack had been rendered accurately, every dimple and wrinkle included, even a wrinkled seam zigzagging in between its massive nuts.

  He tried to imagine his Nia out with some dude who had that—a sudden vivid picture of her with Dino. Stroking that thing and watching it squirm in her pretty long-fingered hand. God, he bet she fucking loved it. She practically said she did. It was hot when a guy had a big one and he knew how to use it. She’d said that. Words to that effect. That was apparently Dino. Fuck me, what if it’s also Rocco? He hardened again, the image of Nia getting it from behind, squeaking and laughing while this Rocco guy slammed something this big into her tight pretty pussy. Hooo. He had to walk away. That Chinese lady thought he was crazy, what would somebody think seeing popular kids book illustrator Geoff J. Kane standing mesmerized by the world’s biggest cock while the front of his jeans stretched out noticeably.

  Nope. As much as he’d like to buy that for Nia and watch it go in her maybe he wasn’t really ready for that. Probably best to start in the shallow end in case it turns out you can’t swim.

  He strolled along nonchalantly, hands in pockets, looking at some of the other fine products they offered that he intended to stick in his wife. Nia was a lady. She was elegant. She liked heels, bubble baths, expensive purses, make-up…she deserved something classy.

  After some debate, some comparisons, he settled on a chrome dildo, a vibrator, slender, maybe seven inches long. Longer than what he had but not as thick. Make sure she’s grateful for his cock when she got it. He went quickly through the novelty section, then through to the books, not staying long, it was getting late. He did look over some of their top sellers, faces out, sitting in the stands, looking to see if one said something about sharing your wife. Nothing. Not a big market, huh? He looked at his watch and he had to get going. He had to skip the lingerie section, he preferred his wife completely naked anyway and grabbed a small bottle of massage oil as he headed to the cash. Pretty girl at the counter, lip ring and neck tattoo, checked him out and he couldn’t make eye contact.

  He stepped back out into daylight, head still down, like if he didn’t see them they couldn’t see him. He got into pedestrian traffic heading back west towards Odie’s school. It was a quarter after three, his timing was perfect.

  Odele went to Alastair Lessing Public School, a low, one-floor brick public school behind tall chain-link fences. It was a good place though with lots of big oak and maple trees and a brand-new playground with brightly painted forts connected with bridges and slides and a climbing wall. Kids were out now and he saw Odele, supervised by her teacher with a bunch of other kids, playing on a four person rocker, the sides of it in green metal, the cutout silhouette of a cartoon frog.

  “Odie!” he called to her, waving to Miss Jessop, her fourth-grade teacher. She waved back and whispered something to Odele before she sent her on to her dad with a wave to Geoff over Odie’s shoulder.

  “Hey, baby,” he said as he squat down to hold her and hug her as she got to him.

  “Hey, Daddy,” she said. “Can we go to Real Scoop and get a gelato?”

  “Really taking advantage of your mom being away, huh? We can’t go, I got steaks here, we shouldn’t let them lose their chill, I’ve been loafing around too long already.”

  “What else did you get?” she asked him, pulling the sides of the shopping bag with her little fingers.

  “Uh, broccoli…”

  “Ew…”

  “Potatoes…”

  “Mm-hmm, what’s in this black bag?” she said and he could hear the distinctly different sound of the black sex store bag being handled.

  “Oh,” he said and pulled the whole thing up to his chest now, crossed his arms under the bag. “Just some, uh, personal things for mom,” he said, glad now, real glad, he didn’t purchase that life-like monster cock.

  NIA

  She’d watch Rocco sometimes when he was turned from her. She could see Dino in there. She could see that familiar Dragonieri DNA. Rocco was like Dino with sixty plus pounds more muscle. And some padding too. He made it work though, he was s
exy. He had a thick neck that swooped out into traps that she’d put her hands on when he’d lifted her one time. He was solid, like he wasn’t even made of flesh. Dino had been lean and muscular. He played hockey and lifted weights, took some steroids. He had an incredible body. She was in love with that body. Rocco was power.

  They’d been on the go all day. Rocco wasn’t lying when he’d said it was hectic. They bounced from job to job. From construction bids, to repairs, to ongoing landscaping projects. They drove all day. It was nice in the truck when they were stuck in traffic, she could catch up on inputs into the software and also go over the books up to date and try to get a feel of the company. Made her a bit car sick but Rocco was not one to favour complaints, she could tell, so she made not a peep. She was also getting the distinct impression that she might need glasses.

  She’d seen Rocco today yell at four different employees. Young dudes all four of them, they stood and cowered and shrunk under his onslaught. Rocco had an effect. A powerful presence. When he yelled no one gave him a look, no one talked back, they wilted. She’d seen him run a jackhammer, run a bulldozer and a tractor, climb into a tunnel under a concrete pool deck upside down, the tunnel barely bigger than his body, and he pulled apart a pump motor, turning bolts with his bare fingers, not using a wrench. His hands were enormous. Thick-fingered and work-hardened, criss-crossed with fat veins. She’d love to hold her hand up against his to see the difference.