by Susanne Mathies
(01/27/10)
"Let go!" he cries. I smile, lashing out just a little bit. Ouch! That must have hurt.
"Shall I crush a part of you?" I taunt him. "Just one of your lower little berries?"
"May fruit worms perforate your saucy flesh!" He scowls and pretends he's trying to shake me off. But I can tell he loves to be ensnared by me. I've got him firmly circled in my thorny tendrils.
"You've been trying to hide from me, you gorgeous bush," I whisper. "But you knew I'd seek you out, didn't you?"
He shakes his leaves in mock denial. "Go back to your pals at the front," he hisses. "I'm not keen on your attentions, thank you very much."
How I love a coy piece of plant. I let one of my shoots weave itself into his twigs. Mmm, was that fresh green leaf of his just brushing against me on purpose?
"Let me touch your berries, you wild untamed thing," I try to tempt him. Is that a quiver I feel in my embrace? He still acts as if he didn't like it.
"Leave me alone, you hussy. I'm not your plaything." He twitches, tearing a leaf in his impatience. The movement shows his figure to an advantage. His sturdy stem branches into a thicket of slim boughs. I want to circle every one of them. My twigs reach out.
"Let's tango, my many-limbed love," I say to him softly, "Let's sway..."
He gives a small impatient shrug, not strong enough to shake me off. His tiers of soft pointy leaves contract and move backwards. He wants me, he's begging me to conquer him. But I want him to show it to me. I lower the cluster of berries on my longest twig. The fine hairs on top of my moist redness brush against his upper berry. And again. His fruit quivers a little, but does not draw back. Does not come nearer. I touch again. His cluster of tiny juicy pouches lingers for a delightful moment.
"Let me taste you," I sigh, unable to hide my passion, "Let us mingle our soft soggy inner pulp."
A faint tremor passes through his twigs. He must be shocked. I'm sure nobody has ever said that to him before. I give him an encouraging nudge. "You're too delicious to remain untasted," I murmur to him. "Too soft, too graceful, too perfect."
As if by magic, his bulging berry rises up to mine. I collect my strength. This is the moment I have been waiting for. My many-berried fruit pushes against the softness of his. I feel the little juicy bolsters parting, bursting, their thin protective skin tearing. My fruit lashes itself against his stem, rises greedily to receive the sweet tangy trickle of sap from his wound. In my frenzy of delight, I cannot keep my hold on him any longer. I stagger off, watching his berry dropping apart, wetly sliding off its core, slipping to the ground. Seed to the earth.
