The day was ending, colors were flooding the western sky. Tomek and Venecia climbed down their trees and looked over their baskets of peaches, plums and pamplemousse collected from the orchard. Then Venecia stood looking out over the vista at the unusually beautiful sunset this evening. Tomek went to join her, standing behind her, his arms around her, as they admired the panorama of reds, pinks and oranges in the sky, casting their glow over the lush farmland below. Don't sunsets make people romantic?
Normally, when you hug and kiss a woman, you do it face to face. But it's just as good when you do it from behind. Maybe better. This way, they both can admire the view, while he lands kisses slowly down her cheek. He circles his tongue in her ear, and then continues down her neck. She began to 'ooh!' and 'ahh!', and not just because of the sunset. Finally, she had to turn her head so their tongues could mingle.
Hugging her from behind, one can't well pat her fanny, this is true. But a woman has many delights to explore. He said: “you know, the fruit of the orchard we gathered here today are beautiful..." Then nuzzled her and whispered in her ear: "but I like yours better...!"
"You know, every woman is like a tree in this orchard, full of fruit. Hanging from her body. Ripe...." His hand went boldly to a breast, cupping it, lifting it, jiggling it a little. "This...!" Then his other hand crossed over to do the same with the other breast. "And this....!" Holding both breasts now, fully in his hands.
He whispered closely: "You do have the loveliest fruit in the orchard...!"'
Then tried to whisper sing a line of an old song:
"♫ You're the cutest thing that I ever did see.
Ohh baby..., I really love your peaches,..
Ohh baby... I just wanna shake your tree.. ♫ "
@1.40 The Joker -@Steve Miller Band
~
You harvest and pick a peach by holding it firmly, but not too firmly, in your hands, giving it just a little squeeze, then twisting it, until it snaps off, and the branches jump all around, as the tree seems to give a little cry at letting go.
You harvest a woman's peaches in much the same way. Holding them firmly, but not too firmly. Giving them a little squeeze, a little twist, as she arches back, and snaps back with a little moan as her arm branches go fluttering all around you, and the peach is yours.
It never leaves her body, it doesn't need to. Bosoms are the horn of cornucopia, always there, always giving more. Milk and love and sustenance.
~
Her mouth dropped open in shock. She couldn't believe that he was actually doing this. Squeezing her bajoobies. A man's hands shan't go there!
When a good man's hand first touches a woman's breast, he's a little bit timid. Dare he be so bold? After all, this is not like caressing her arm, her back, her hips... This is her fruit. A most sexual part of her. An erogenous zone. Many a lass has reached up and slapped a man across his face, when he first reached for a breast. When he first 'copped a feel'. Courting her is fine, but don't touch her lady parts!
Gentlemen shan't do that. (Though, like any man, he'd often longed to squeeze the breast of every sweet woman who passed him by.)
He breathed heavily, his heart pounding. And then it dawned on him. She was not resisting!
He nuzzled his lips in her neck and her ear, and then found her lips for the sweetest of kisses. She couldn't say no to the way he was kissing her! And frankly, honestly, it kind of felt good the way his big hands were encompassing and holding her bosom so completely. They fit so well, that it felt like his hands were made for this. He had quite the handful.
~
''A man needs to touch, to feel his woman", he whispered. "A man is a feeling creature, more than a woman might guess. Whereas a woman feels first with her heart,... a man feels first with his hands."
He kissed her. ''Just let me feel you.''
~
His hands just held her breasts there, as he felt the feminine energies of her bosom flow into him, and she felt the masculine energies of his hand cradling her. It was buzzing for both of them.
He is slowly kissing her, loving her;... he'd lift one breast, then the other, feeling their perfect weightiness. He'd toss and jostle them a bit, almost as a juggler, juggling the perfect pair. Men are always amazed by the way a woman's breasts feel, so soft and spongy and bouncy, and a man's hands just like to play with them a while. Bounce them.
Hold them in all their full magnificence, like he'd wanted to do for so long.
Then gave them a little squeeze. The fruit vendor in the market tells you, 'don't squeeze the fruit!' But when you have the holy fruit in your hand, a man can't help himself. So his fingers encompassed a breast fully and gave it some soft, good squeezes. His tongue was in her mouth, but his mind was on her breast. And she didn't complain! When you wait until the middle of a deep, passion kiss, to make your move and grab her bodangles, a lady doesn't complain. Instead,... she moans....
Because let's face it, a lady's breasts are meant to be squeezed. She's his lady, she is his ‘main squeeze’. He likes to squeeze all of her; they hug every day. But no part of her is so ripe for a good squeezing as her breasts. Not too hard, because she's a bit dainty, and you don't want to be a brute. But not too soft, either, because she's going to love a manly squeeze. A man's hands have got to get to know his lover's breasts. And then he can give her the perfect squeeze. The one that's meant for her. Again and again.
He whispers in her ear: ''You are very womanly, aren't you...? I can feel it...''
~
She began to swoon. Her head rolled around and fell back, against his shoulder. Her mouth opened up and she let out a soft, soft, magical moan. Like she'd been waiting for this, all her life.
To make a woman fall in love with you, all it takes is a good hand. One that clasps and grasps her, in just the right way, to hold and uphold her, and to move her. With that balance of strength and tenderness; protection and cherishment.
Her breasts are, of course, the offshoots of her heart. Come puberty, they emerge right out of her heart, to show she is ready to give love to the world. And finally when one day, a man's hands clasp upon them, she can feel the hunger in his hands for the love a woman has to give him. And when he cradles and warms her heartstrings, her head just naturally falls back and thinks: yes!, this is what my dairy bells are meant for, to feed the world with love!
This is the way a woman feels his love. From his hands. It's why women have always loved men who are good with their hands. With handiwork.
So let the love flow, betwixt hands and bosom and back again. A circular current.
For a good, long time, as they stood there watching the Sun sink away and stars come out, he went on massaging and working her breasts, so they could feel the love. He kissed her too; nibbled her neck. She became rather weak kneed, and was half dependent on him to hold her up.
Tomek had studied the arts of massage, and nothing is so divinely meant for a lover's massage as a woman's breasts. Soft mews and mewlings kept fluttering out of her like little butterflies...