Every time I cook mushrooms I think of this story. I cooked some mushrooms for gravy yesterday and there it was again. In my head. Vida Bailey's lovely story. I asked her (sweetly ;) ) if I could run it here and she said yes. This story originally appeared in my short work anthology Dirtyville. I'm so pleased Vida let me share!
The Sweetshop Owner’s Daughter
by Vida Bailey
The basket huge of huge flat field mushrooms Matthew got up to pick lay on the counter. Gina ran a light fingertip across their velvet skin and thought about their juicy, steaky texture. A treat. A celebration breakfast.
She raised the frayed cuff of her husband’s soft, bleached out shirt to her mouth, and chewed on it abstractly. The shirt didn’t come far down her long thighs, and as she moved around the kitchen, setting the table, flashes of her lacy pink panties were visible. Against the chill of the old stone cottage, she wore cream, woolen stocking socks, that pulled up well above her knee, and ruched sweetly. Her red brown hair had a wave to it, and was twisted into a casual knot at the back of her head.
Though the small, ivy framed window she could see the sun was gaining height, and the dew in the grass sparkled. The train would be getting in soon. She fetched the bowl of eggs, brown and speckled, and cut thick slices of her brown bread for toasting. Strong hands wrapped around her waist and a freshly washed and dressed Matthew pressed against her, pushing her thighs into the counter. She leaned her head back against his shoulder and closed her eyes as he held her left hipbone and palmed her breast with his right. The old shirt material was soft and thin, and he could feel the texture of her hardened nipple through it.
‘Train’ll be in soon. I should go over…’ he flicked her nipple gently with his thumb, and she could feel him smiling into her neck. She nodded, wiggling against him.
‘Oh, yes. You wouldn’t want to be late.’
Gina watched him walk off out the gate and heard the whistle of the train in the distance. She cracked the eggs into a bowl, marveling at the rich orange of their yolks, and listened for the chugging wheels to come into range of her hearing. Gus is coming Gus is coming Gus is coming.
Gus had been the town bike. Not that they would have called him that, but this was a more enlightened era. Everyone had been Gus’, and he had belonged to no-one. Wide shouldered and laughing, he’d won all the women over, even Gina.
It seemed like he’d left her ‘til last. Years of teenage frustration, she’d waited. The girl in the sweetshop, as untouchable as the boxes of expensive chocolates wrapped in silk bows that no-one ever bought. Her mother’s delusion of grandeur.
And then, one evening as she was locking the white doors, he wandered in the back, leaned against the door jamb and winked at her. He asked her for a quarter of apple drops and she’d measured out the little red and green spheres with anticipation. Grazing her fingers with his, he’d taken the paper bag from her and smiled his full lipped smile. Popping a sweet into his mouth, he’d kept eye contact with her, reached out and taken the metal scoop from her hands and tilted her head up to his. Dropping his face to hers, he’d kissed her; his tongue a tart, sweet surprise, his lips tangy with the shudder of the sour. Her hand came up to touch the stubble on his cheek and tangle in his rich brown curls and he’d pushed the apple drop into her open mouth, passing it to her with his tongue.
He took her clothes off and took her virginity that night, on the wooden boards of the sweet shop floor. He
traced sugary apple drop trails all over her newly bared skin and then licked them off again. And taking the sweet from him, she did the same to him. It was a night of sucking and tasting and touching, and for her, learning. Dusting it with powder from a Dib-Dab bag, she made his sugar-coated cock her lollipop and he licked and sucked her slowly, rolling the sweets around in her wetness, sucking them out of her, sucking them alongside her clit ‘til she screamed into the arm of her baggy wool jumper and came with raspberry fizz-bomb flashes exploding against her closed eyelids. And then he held her on his lap and worked her down onto him, letting her shift, and adjust, and set the pace while he bent his head to her nipples, and licked more sugar and flavouring, tasting chocolate and cherry and the treats of his youth as she said a sweet goodbye to her youth with sugar on her tongue.
The summer neared its end all too soon. She tried not to dwell on it, and looked forward to each knock on the door without counting how many remained. One night he appeared, once more as she was closing the shop, and sauntered towards her with a happy, promising grin. As he bent to kiss her hello, she saw someone else standing in the doorway, leaning on the frame and smiling.
‘This is Matthew,’ said Gus, ‘A friend of mine.’ Matthew advanced slowly, black hair tousled and his knowing eyes clear and blue. Gina looked between them and wondered if Gus had brought her someone she might lay claim to.
And now, there they were, living back in the village, and hadn’t seen Gus in years of marriage. He’d travelled and tried to settle, and travelled again, and now he was risking a trip home; to his parents, the gossiping mainstreet, to Gina and Matt.
Gina fried the buttery mushrooms slowly, waiting until they juiced to add salt and pepper, the chopped parsley. She thought about the freshly made bed and how they’d eat together first, scrambled eggs and freshly toasted bread and the big pot filled with tea.
She heard footsteps ringing in the porch, and looked up to see Gus filling the low doorway, stepping towards her, all shoulders and curls. And as he bent to scoop her up and kiss her, there was Matt, leaning on the doorjamb, grinning.
About the author: Vida Bailey is an occasional writer of smut from Ireland. You can find her at www.heatsuffused.blogspot.com or enjoy her tumblr at http://suffusedwithheat.tumblr.com/