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The day was far too hot to be making jam. She perspired and I sweated as the hot jam bubbled. It’s a time consuming business, picking the apricots through to putting it in jars and sticking on the labels. After the apricots we hesitated, wondering whether we’d start the figs or go to the city to count in the New Year with the crowd.

Conscience got the better of us, we thought about the trading table and the cause. We chose to do the figs, picking them, cutting the ends off, cutting them up, hurrying so that perhaps we could do both. The heat continued into the evening, a forty five degree day into a thirty nine degree night. It was prudent to wear long sleeves, as the hot jam bubbled and spat while we stirred. When it was my turn not to stir I opened my shirt to allow some air flow. Cheryl left for a moment and returned without her bra and all but the one most strategic button on her shirt undone.

We’d met only two nights before at a quiz night sponsored by an environmental group and during a break we started to talk. I guess I had been attracted by her vivacity when she answered questions and there was no doubt about her being a woman; she was so alive and beautiful. While talking it was difficult to avoid being lost in her cleavage, it looked so warm and deep I was tempted to jump in, and I think she noticed my dilemma. She told me she was the president of an organization devoted to planting native trees in her district.

We talked of global warming and of how our grandparents led lives that we should emulate; they kept things that we now throw away, like balls of string and the pencils they used to the very last piece of lead. We also talked of making our own preserves rather than waste the world’s resources transporting things unnecessarily around the globe. I told her of my apricot and fig trees, both full of fruit but not enough jars and no recipe. It seemed that everything I needed she had and we were both enthusiastic about helping the earth, along with ourselves, particularly as the trees were organically grown.

She thought that selling jam would help her tree planting club. On Earth Day they were always looking for things they could sell. We swapped addresses and phone numbers and set the date for two days time, New Year’s Eve. Perhaps we could join the revelers in the city to see in the New Year after the jam was made. She would bring a change of clothes.

Jam making is always unexpectedly slow. At first the bubbling brew is interesting but the luster soon wears off as the boiling jam spits up on to one’s hands and arms. Sweat was a problem as it gathered to drip off my nose and chin. As I stirred, Cheryl mopped my face with a damp flannel and the relief was wonderful. When she took her turn at stirring I did the same for her, the sensuousness of both giving and receiving was beautiful.

The boundaries of my face seemed to extend with tender understandings, especially after I took my shirt off. The flannel found its way around my neck and later included my chest and back until my whole upper torso was mopped. She kept her shirt on and I wasn’t nearly as adventurous. I extended to mop her neck and gave a quick stroke down her cleavage. We drank lots of fruit juice and water. Later she raised her shirt so her back and belly could be mopped.

It was easy talking to her. Cheryl was surprised by my neighborhood of tall trees, lots of bird life and she loved the parrots and corellas she’d seen as she drove her little car up my drive. She was also surprised by the rain water tanks I had in my front and back yards, they were my effort to combat the prevailing drought, cope with a bush fire and keep my trees alive. I showed her the trees I’d planted with a view to harvesting them for firewood. She asked if they were manna gums, I’d told her of the koalas in the area. We’d both seen the pictures of desperate koalas accepting drinks from people in the recent heat wave.

So many concerns, with the economy crashing around us and the River Murray becoming a salt water trickle, we both thought that soon self sufficiency would be necessary. Happily, we were making a start. Best of all was that the recipe she brought had all natural ingredients with no cane sugar! I had to promise not to give the recipe to anyone.

Cheryl wanted to know whether I had a spade. She asked whether I had experience in growing native trees from seed, and whether I’d be interested in joining her organization, it was free to join. In three years they had planted twelve thousand trees and next year they were hoping to more than double it.

As the organization only had sixteen members she thought they’d done extremely well. They planted trees on farms mostly after being invited by farmers, and as it was a free service the farmers often provided food and weekend accommodation. Sometimes it was very rudimentary because they often planted along fence lines that took them well away from the farm house, but it was ok because they had portable showers and slept in a big tent. There was no privacy but it was a lot of fun and the work wasn’t forgotten. She said that they really needed more male members. Underneath the conversation was a comfortable tension of double entendre and an unspoken understanding that we would deal with the jam first and wait to see what happened second.

While I stirred the jam I watched as she moved around the kitchen tidying up, getting the jars ready and doing other things. Her breasts moved under her shirt, they swung as she stooped and turned, it was hypnotic. That single button stayed closed and I wondered how it could, especially when she bent over and her breasts hung to stretch her shirt, strain that button and show a very deep cleavage.

She didn’t mind me looking and at times I wondered whether I was being encouraged to look. Her nipples pressed their forms into her shirt and as they moved with her breasts they left a trail of stretched fabric in their wake. I could see the shapes of the little bumps on her areolas too. Frequently she leaned over me to catch a little jam to test for set, with her hand gently on my shoulder and her soft breast pressed in to my back. It was tantalizing when she reached up to open cupboard doors and I was able to see her shirt ride up and the sides of her breasts were exposed.

My cock was hard and erect. It throbbed insistently and its shape was clearly visible through my shorts as it stretched up my belly. I thought I saw her looking at it a few times. I tried to hide it as I didn’t want any embarrassment. Stirring the jam was my best refuge because I had a good reason to be facing away from her. When we changed roles we rubbed up against each other and my cock would sink into the soft flesh of her bum as she backed into me. Sometimes I made sure that I was in front of her and felt the softness of her breasts on my back as we exchanged places. Neither of us moved the chair that took so much space and made it necessary for our passages to be so close.

At half past ten we become concerned about whether we had enough time to go to the city. As we filled the jars with jam I offered to finish while Cheryl went to shower. She went out to her car and returned with a change of clothes. It wasn’t long and I heard the shower running. I hurried to fill the jars.

A moment later she called for a towel. I took a towel and called to her as I held it out. The door opened a little and I put the towel in her hand. As she took it a breast came into view, her nipple large on a big areola. I resisted the temptation of taking her breast in my hand before it swung out of view again and she moved away. She didn’t close the door and I wondered hopefully whether it was an invitation. I left to finish the jam.

All the jam was in jars when she returned to the kitchen with tousled, damp hair looking beautiful and refreshed. She told me to go for my shower while she finished the jam.

I was quick, thinking half an hour to get there and half an hour to park and walk, it would be a challenge. After the sweat and stickiness of jam making it felt delightful to be clean, the clothes with their soft, washed texture felt luxurious against my skin.

I went out to the kitchen and saw Cheryl put on the rubber bands, a difficult job because the jars were so hot. Carefully she held the jar with a towel, so she wouldn’t get burnt, then with one hand she stretched the rubber band, caught it on the lip and pulled it over to seal the cellophane.

For some reason, there was a quick scraping noise as the last jar slipped from her grasp and boiling hot jam flew from it to land on her shirt. Very quickly Cheryl tore her shirt off, the jam had gone through it and as she moved to the sink she ripped off her bra. Leaning over the sink she ran cold water over her breast. I was horrified and for a moment stood watching, amazed that she should be so quick to start treatment. I eventually recovered my senses, found some ice cubes and wrapped them in flannels for her. She put them over her breast.

“Stupid thing to do,” she said. Her face was flushed and I wondered whether it was embarrassment or something else.

Don’t worry, these things happen,” I said, keeping my thoughts to myself, wondering what the something else could be.

“Still stupid!” She looked at me, as though she had an unspoken question too.

“As long as you’re ok.” She looked so vulnerable. I knew she wanted more than words. I leaned forward and kissed her cheek. Nothing needed to be spoken, words were meaningless and the message of endearment was understood.

She continued to clutch the ice to her breast, running cold water over it at the same time. I went to get a towel and a tee shirt that she could wear and on returning put them on the bench beside her. I wondered if jam making for the trading table was worthwhile, surely it would be easier and possibly cheaper to simply donate the money. She held her breast up and looked for signs of a burn. It looked cold to me.

“You think it’s burnt?” she asked and I came closer for a better look. I could see her nipple, large and turgid, it stood up from the centre of her large, brown areola. I looked at the skin around the areola, milky white with large blue veins that had seen little sun, a pale triangle surrounded by tanned brown skin. She held her breast up so I could have a better look. I asked if she could feel anything because I couldn’t see anything. She held her other breast up for me and after careful comparison I said they looked the same, having discounted the effects of the ice cube treatment.

“I can’t feel anything either,” she said.
With my hand shaking I ran a finger over her breast, feeling for a raised edge, then more than one finger, the tips gliding over the soft skin, avoiding her nipple and its areola.

“I can’t feel anything either,” I told her, my mouth was so dry I was barely able to speak. “Well, not a burn I mean,” and she laughed.

”I think it will be ok! Lucky I was quick!”

She pressed her breasts together and her nipples and areolas swelled, then she grinned and dropped them. I watched as they bounced to their natural positions. Looking at the towel she indicated that I should dry her and slowly I patted the skin with the towel in one hand as I moved her breast to gain access with my other hand. It was a strange feeling drying her breast, I didn’t think it would be so heavy and its almost fluid nature made it difficult to hold. When finished I held out the tee shirt and her breasts rose as she raised her arms to put it on.

Cheryl looked down at the tee shirt. It stretched to accommodate her breasts, her nipples clearly protruded and it being a white tee shirt we could see them and the areolas through the fabric. She raised a finger to the breast that had been at risk and touched it, then traced her fingers around and pinched her nipple. Reaching for her other nipple she pinched that too and grinned at me.

We both looked up at the clock. Three minutes to midnight!

“Come!” I said and taking her hand we were going in different directions for a moment, she seemed to be heading towards the bedroom, but I led her outside and standing away from the house we stopped and listened. In the distance we could hear someone counting down.

“Twenty three, twenty two,……” I reached for her hand. She passed my hand to her other hand and stood in front of me.

“Fifteen, fourteen,……..” She leaned against me and I reached forward to link my arms around her. The smell of fresh shampoo was beautiful and I inhaled deeply, catching the scent and tickling my nose with errant wisps of hair. I kissed the back of her head and then the back of her neck.

“Eight, seven,……..” She looked back at me, her face beaming. Her body was stooped a little and I felt the bottoms of her breasts, as they molded around my arms which were linked around her.

“Three, two, one! Blast off! Have a Happy New Year everyone!!!!!!”

We heard the shouts of Happy New Year, the whoohoos and merriment. I leaned forward as she leaned back and we kissed. She turned and our mouths meshed together, open with tongues exploring. Her hands were on my chest while I caressed her breasts feeling her nipples. There was another noise in the distance and we both looked, she turned away and I held her breasts as she pushed back into me, my cock hard and erect, nicely nestled in the crack of her bum.

I put my hands up under her tee shirt and fondled her breasts, felt her nipples, traced around the areolas, touched, kneaded and teased. With one hand I circled her belly and with each circle extended down. I stopped a moment to slowly undo her belt and reassured, when she didn’t stop me, I continued with the feather touches which extended into her pubic hair and further down until I felt her slit. I stopped, kissed the nape of her neck, and undid the button and zip on her jeans.

She pushed her pants down out of the way and with high steps trod her way out of them. We walked to the brick edging that lined the garden, she stood on it and spread her legs. With her elevated on the bricks I had a lot more access. It felt so good, her soft lips separated and wrapped around my finger as it moved down the smooth centre of her sex.

Cheryl was breathing quickly. She tried to reach behind to access me but after some fumbling she stopped and wriggled back to trap my cock in the crack of her bum. I found the nub of her clit and with one finger explored that, while my other finger continued to explore her soft folds. As I pushed her hood away and touched her clit she trembled. I caressed it separately and as I continued to stroke she began to breathe deeply, quickly, and her knees buckled.

She started to moan, with both hands she covered mine and kept them in place. I kissed and sucked her shoulder. Her hips thrust forward, her knees bent further and I had more access to her wet, swollen sex. My fingers quickened their rhythm and extended their soft touch to tease, caress and explore her.

Suddenly, from a few doors down the street, a sky rocket whispered its way up into the sky. She screamed. The sky rocket exploded. From nearby trees corellas were startled. She tensed and started to shake. The corellas screeched their protest. The sky rocket explosion arced out in a circle above us. The corellas, with a cacophony of noise took to the sky. Her whole body clenched and she shook with so much force I held her to stop her falling. The red orb of stars from the sky rocket grew larger and then began to dissipate. Thousands of corellas wheeled above us, their white feathers stark against the black sky and they screeched and flapped as they circled above us. Cheryl gasped for air and her hands held mine still as her body shuddered, her head was supported on my chest and as it lolled her hair, in its disarray, tickled my face.

There was another whispered whoosh as a sky rocket raced into the sky to burst among the birds and then another, the two, one bursting over the other were blue and yellow. The colors shone from the corellas with a green iridescence that was brilliant. I held her as the tremors diminished and her breathing returned to normal, as more sky rockets exploded to release their stars. I caressed her breasts again, kissed her neck and rolled her nipples between my fingers. The corellas looped and flapped, they called to each other with hideous screeches, lost and bewildered as they tried to avoid the sky rockets. Cheryl watched the sky in wonder as she recovered. Sky rockets raced into the air from many houses into the swirl of the raucous cockatoos and the puffs of smoke left by previous color bursts.

“Talk about starting the New Year with a bang!” she said after a time and laughed. She turned, reached up and held my face to kiss me, she sucked my lips and her tongue parted them to sweep around inside my mouth.

“Mmmmm,” she said, “Beautiful man!” She let go of my face and withdrew from our kiss to stoop. I watched her pull at my belt, then the button and zip on my jeans and quickly they slumped to my knees. The explosions of color above us, mixed with the smell of cordite and the wheeling cockatoos, continued. With her foot she pushed my pants all the way down as her hands found my cock. On her knees she took my cock in her mouth and sucked as I watched; the colors of the sky rockets reflected in her hair and as she moved they moved around her curls. Then she stood and pushed me up on to the same brick edging she had been on and from behind she started to stroke. My cock was so hard it throbbed.

The corellas continued to screech as they swooped and soared in chaotic patterns. Sky rockets shot into the sky to burst with a bang, their colors spread in circles of glittering stars against the black sky and clouds of swirling grey smoke, scattered the birds again. I turned my head to kiss Cheryl, she was watching too, and our lips lingered.

“Cum for me,” she whispered and changed hands to speed up her strokes and add more pressure to her velvet grip. My cock felt beautiful as she rifled the skin up and down the hard shaft with an insistent rhythm. I felt her kiss my shoulder and with her free hand she reached around to pinch one of my nipples. It felt delicious, my other nipple was pinched and I could feel her breasts bobble against my back as they moved with the rhythm of her strokes. She stopped a moment and I knew she was stripping off her tee shirt so I took mine off too. It felt primal and so good to join the corellas with our nakedness, our unspoken message of empathy for them. Crushed against me she started to pump again. I could feel her breasts and nipples dance on my back as she slicked the skin of my cock up and down and massaged my balls. Both of her hands were busy with their rhythms and quickly the pressure built.

We could hear voices, people at the parties nearby who began to disperse, a car door banged as they started to leave. A couple on the footpath walked past, hand in hand, and between the explosions of the fireworks and the screeching of corellas we heard the young man ask if she’d sleep with him tonight. It added to our excitement that they would have seen us in the light of the fireworks if they had looked. Cheryl continued to pump me, as we waited and hoped to hear the young woman’s reply.

We watched as she stopped and pulled him in behind the olive tree that was a feature of my front yard, not far from us. Hidden from the view of the street they were perfectly displayed for us, and if they had looked, we were for them. She reached up to kiss him, drew him to her and their arms went around each other, their kiss slow and deep. His hands reached up under her shirt, he fumbled with her bra and they moved apart as he sought her breasts. Her bra cups were pulled away as she unzipped him and pulled his cock out. She knelt before him.

My hips thrust forward and with a muted shout I started to come, thick ropes jetted out, glowing red with the reflected fireworks and splashed the return of my fertility to the soil. Cheryl continued to stroke, more semen glowed blue in the light of a different sky rocket as it arced in the air and fell to the ground. We could see the young woman’s head bob up and down as the arcs of my semen grew smaller.

Soon Cheryl withdrew her hands and I turned to watch as she licked some of my semen off her hand. She grinned as she tasted it and then thrust her hand to my mouth for me to taste too. After I licked some from her hand she began to quietly rub the rest over her breasts as we watched. The young woman continued to suck and his hands held her head. Soon we saw his hips bend and we heard him stutter, she started to swallow and then coughed. Her hands went to his cock to continue the harvest, we saw a jet fly from him to hit her face and with her coughing controlled she went back to suck as his semen pulsed from him. We watched as she put a hand inside his pants, pulled his balls out and fondled them as though trying to squeeze out the last drops.

When the flow of his semen ended she stood in front of him, they kissed, his hands pulled her shirt up to bare her breasts and he stooped to kiss and suck her nipples. She held his head in her hands, watched as he muzzled her and then scanned around to look and listen carefully. I could feel her eyes search and suddenly they stopped. I felt Cheryl freeze, as I froze, but we’d been caught like naughty children. I hoped that she would see that we were both naked and somehow deserved forgiveness, but we watched as she pushed him away and pulled down her shirt. We heard her urgent whisper,

“Come on!” and she started to walk, almost run while he followed, confused and disappointed, saying,
“What?” Both of his hands were busy as, hunched over and trying to run, he tucked himself away.

Quickly they were gone and we reached for each other. Cheryl locked her arms around me as I cupped her face in my hands and we kissed. It was quiet, the corellas had gone and the air was acrid with the smell of fireworks. Puffs of grey smoke left by the sky rocket explosions hung in the still, warm air. The display had come to an end. I had a thought that though this was New Year’s Eve we’d had a very earthy day preparing for Earth Day.

“I want what she had!” Cheryl said with a giggle.

“I want what he wanted” I said and we both laughed.

“Let’s go to bed! You don’t have to ask me!” Hand in hand we went inside, past our jam factory to the bedroom. As we passed the toilet Cheryl said,

“Wait for me,” and leaving the door open, sat and peed.

“It was good watching wasn’t it?” she asked, as the torrent slowed to a dribble and stopped. She wiped herself and we changed places. Cheryl watched as I peed. For me watching each other gave a sense of wholeness difficult to explain but good. It was a first for me and in the bedroom, after having washed, we felt comfortable and ready to further our exploration. We lay on top of the quilt with our arms and legs spread in open invitation to each other for a while as we enjoyed each other’s company, before I started to caress her with butterfly kisses, slowly, all over her delicious body.