"Quick" barely begins to describe this, but it was fun to write and there's more to the story I haven't written yet. Anyway, if you don't want to go to the story itself, here it is:
Whoa, kiddo, easy with the name "Emily." I've known Emily since we were in Mrs. Gillette's third grade class together, and we were best buds until about eighth or ninth grade when we were wrestling and I grabbed her tit and she hit me and grabbed my balls and I pushed her away and then jumped back at her and grabbed her head and kissed her. She bit my lip and shoved me and started running but I'm faster and I caught her and threw her down on the grass and she twisted around and I fell between her legs and jammed myself against her. And then we were kissing and kissing and I was hard and she was wet and we were ripping our clothes off and if you've ever tried to rip your clothes off while you're kissing and fighting you know how hard that is. And then it was all skin and kissing and tongues and really warm and wet and sticky and oh, so wonderful.
So that's Emily and she's my wife and we've been married 40 years now and if we're talking cherries I took her cherry and she took mine and your camera's cherry, too. So be careful with Emily and treat her right. Or write. Or something.
bb
{notice}
{c}The cover image is "The Embrace," by Auguste Rodin
{/notice}