Strawberry Fields Forever
Barefoot and frolicking in the fields of Andrew’s Scenic Farm, I found the one.
She was exquisite — the star pupil that never made it into my basket of berries and I refused to interrupt her finish by indulging in another.
“Pick me,” she called from beneath a canopy of vibrant green leaves. I brushed them back to reveal a small, glistening ruby gem and carefully reached down to pluck her from the vine. Ripe and round, swollen from baking in the sun, she radiated heat resting in the palm of my hand.
I popped her into my mouth, and my eyes grew wide with shock. Her sourness stung my inner cheeks, tightening my face and triggering a flood of saliva to pool under my tongue. Gently, I pressed her to the roof of my mouth and as she burst open, I closed my eyes to soak in the sensation of her juices running freely down the back of my throat. I let out a pleasant sigh that relaxed me as it swept through my body. She tasted as though she’d been stewed, reduced to a sweet strawberry coulis with a prickling acidity that made me pucker. She was exquisite — the star pupil that never made it into my basket of berries and I refused to interrupt her finish by indulging in another.
