Candy Dreams Really Do Cum True

One day many a planting season ago, the emerald Ribbon Earth shook violently and shivered, when the great lemon orb of sugar sun syrup was struck by a hard-boiled atomic fireball, and lavishly dribbled down into the Milky Way, causing the marmalade sky above Lollipop Lowland to rain down Mrs. Butterworth's heavenly drizzle. The slow moving river, Bon Bon, then commenced to increase in its flowing stream, since now it had more volume. The confection bunnies, the cupcake groundhogs, the gummy bears, the Licorice Heckets, and elderflower squirrels, all scampered about wildly throughout the forest valley of Lollipop, since an inexplicable near excitement saturated the luscious wisteria-soaked spring air.

High upon a butterscotch ledge overlooking Lollipop Lowland, stands a pleasant but quaint gingerbread cabin. This cabin is owned by a rather inflexible knick knack man named GI Joe. Now GI Joe had spent years serving in the army of King Jawbreaker. He performed well in his duties by causing the dear king's enemies to shed rivers of cherry sweet and sour sauce, and assisting to incorporate many defeated Snicker kingdoms into King Jawbreaker's delicious Smores realm. It was said where he earned many a Hundred Thousand Dollar Bar for his extraordinary deeds.

GI Joe was delightfully intelligent, and invested his entire career Payday Candy Bar collection into choice- gameboard real estate, building holly houses and renting them out to different, but enticingly interesting characters. One of these characters is none other than Mr. Goodbar himself.

Mr. Goodbar in turn, since GI Joe lives outside of Lollipop Lowland, way up in Rhododendron Retreat, decides he would rent his home out at a glittering profit margin to the nectarous Venus of Urbino, who transforms it into a lolly house for the new madam guardians, Barbie Handler Schoop and Miss Betty Boop; who dutifully employs the Cinderella girls, while these sweaty spaghetti string girls silently pray to be rescued by none other than beautiful Glendita de Luna Gasstar, their good guardian fairy Godmother.

After Mr. Goodbar accumulated vast savings in couverture gold and thousand dollar wafer paper bills from his enterprise, he wisely decides it is time to do something different from his usual occupation of raking in wheatgrass, hunting cocoa-covered Cadbury Cream eggs and confectionary bunnies to fit inside Red Riding Hood's line of hand woven maple wood strip and corn shuck Easter baskets.

So one champagne sunrise Mr. Goodbar commences walking down the butterscotch mountainside until he reaches the great lollipop forest. Soon he nears Mrs. Spenser's narrow Olde Pepper Candy trail, paved in brand new skittles and stimulating kratom. He ambles along feeling cheery O, wrought with a sensation of newly discovered confidence in himself. He gleefully daydreams of frivoling fairy folk, with a Snow Cream princess surrounded in amongst them, imagining himself dancing upon cotton candy clouds above, complacently ignoring his own surroundings while being absorbed into his own creative thoughts. Seemingly soon, he makes it to the Black Forest cake edge of Bon Bon river, at the confluence of gently moving Coffee Creek, where still stands the classical doric mansion farm estate of Lord John, and the mysterious reclusive virgin maid, Lady McDowel.

He passes the river bend, moving back up the bank toward the tall Grandy's Grass, and the lollipop woodland. As he walks near the thickest part of Grandy's Grass, he comes upon a veiled superbly made rapadura-cane pirogue, no doubt commissioned by none other than Lord John himself, at the request of his virgin maid, Lady McDowel. At least, she was always said to be pure as the driven snow by those in the valley locked away behind closed doors.

If he couldn't do anything else, Lord John often boasts in private braggadocious with the men during fall of the year around the outdoor fireplace out back by the lowland woodshed; that when virgin McDowel sashays so charmingly down the dirt road and gets shockingly inebriated off Loonatic Lucy Millennium's splendid homemade muscadine wine she loves to drink so much, she has two rather scrumptious wormholes that are always winking their eyes at him and very convenient to find, strangely enough; where he can simply slide his thumb and his middle finger into, pick her up and carry her back home like a high gravity twelve pack! Mr. Goodbar secretly knows better, however, and dares not speak a single disparaging word, anywhere to anybody. He entertains these still yet alluring thoughts, smiling as he poles the pirogue along with a swizzle stick freshly cut from the frothy mint hedge on the bend of coffee creek.

Way back when, on many a somber morning when he was a raw prickly lad of maybe eighteen, he would saunter down beside Bon Bon river quietly at day break, gradually moving into bourbon tinted Coffee Creek, stepping up on the side where the yaupon and blue lotus grow, only to be swallowed up by the cat-claw berry bushes and Grady's Grass. On feline-like feet he gradually made his way through the peanut butter cluster tickets to this intriguing doric mansion estate. His heart races wildly as he recalls lifting the brass lion's heavy ring in the center of its massive ironwood double doors. When the door eventually snapped open he expected a fine tuxedoed butler, or a plain smock covered milk servantess, but the person at the door was none other than the reclusive aging virgin maid, Lady McDowel, herself. She was wearing a dark version of a linen night cap and a Woman's Caged Crinoline Petticoat. She breathed heavily, licking her drying lips all around rather nervously with what he recalls thinking was an unusually vivacious tongue.

"I'm here to answer your call, my Lady," he recollects saying to her on this special day, while almost chuckling.

"Who sent you word?," she firmly inquired of him, "was it Rufus Waldson, the skittles and kratom layer, son of the Grand klutz, George Wald, the fourth?"

"Now you know me, my dear Lady," he recalls replying to her so subtly and fox-like. " I never was the type to kiss and tell," he recalls saying with a cagy glance and polite parting smile. "Let's just say word was delivered in a timely fashion by a good looking tiny hiney on a splendid tossed salad day-breeze, and here I am at your kind service, my dear madam! Most assuredly, your every desire is my personal command."

"That's so nice," Lady McDowel smiled with a cozy cagy sigh and a slight, barely noticeable chuckle.

He recalls her slowly glancing over his person, from his brogan booted feet, back up into his young but probably very noticeably anxious prickly face. An inviting smile smoothly streaked across her face all of a sudden.

"I have plenty to keep you busy around here, my dear son."

"That's good," he told her as he recalled swallowing hard. "I've been diligently searching for employment," he struggled to tell her as his breath fled. " Finding such a thing doesn't seem to be very commonplace in these parts this day and time." He takes a deep breath. "So, dear Lady McDowel, I hear you need some new Royal Icing spread o'er the edges of your enchanting gingerbread estate."

"That, I do," she replied to him in earnest. Another smile jerked across her face. "Oh, that I most certainly do, dear one."

"I was told your Regal Crown brick walkways needed a few hard-boiled horehound bricks replaced, and your favorite set of glass slippers was in desperate need of a good polishing," he told her as he recalls swallowing hard again.

"So right you are," she smiled as she spoke to him. "Was there anything else? You almost have it all summed up perfectly."

He hesitated before speaking. He breathed inward deeply, nervously licking his lips. A thin smile inches across his white hot face.

"Was it your grand tester that needed stabilizing, Lady McDowel?"

"That it was, my dear boy! You have it all caught up tightly right there inside the bang bag now." She smiled again as she glared deeply into his eyes. He will never live long enough to forget her soul piercing glare. " So I guess you had better hop to it now, big boy, this day 's-a winding away quickly."

He recalls every exact specific detail in perfectly clear form. It had been many a year since then now, but he still held tightly onto these most private reflections, shall we say. It was worthwhile for him to. One day he would be a famous writer and showman, and these secrets would give him something to write-script about that nobody else would ever possess. He recalls sweating profusely while laboring beneath a strawberry sun that afternoon. He licked his lips, tasting the Jasmine scented nectar condensating so profusely from somewhere deep within his flesh. He recalls counting a hundred Regal Crown hard-candy bricks that were dutifully changed out that sultry day.

Then he retrieved the cinnamon wood step ladder from inside the sugar cane barn. Once he made it outside, Lady McDowel met him at the front door of the house with freshly opened gallon sized hedonium cans. She was now wearing a short skirted petticoat, crafted from blush rose satin. He recalls suddenly breathing in deeply as if he'd suffered an electric jolt of some type. He also recalls never pondering much on the matter prior to the time, but her form and hour-glass figure really fit nicely into that, shall we say, almost vapor-like rose petticoat. The perfume she exuded when she moved about was ultra-seductive pussy-peach and lovely lavender... He simply couldn't believe his eyes or his nose. He laughs now in reflection as he poles the pirough along the Bon Bon.

" I have these cans of Royal Icing," She told him as she turned her back toward him, bending down to set the cans upon the ground at the foot of the Cologne Cathedral cinnamon wood stick ladder. "These are not the low grades here, let me assure you honey, these are nothing less than Royal Diamond Icing."

His heart raced wildly as her evening tinted short skirted dress seemed to stick upon her racy body, as if it too were painted on with an expensive fleece roller of some type. He felt jittery on the inside, he recalls, but battled the sensation with every ounce of strength he had, fearing she might notice and deduce his most confidential risque thoughts. He subconsciously commenced biting his fingernails. She suddenly stood, turning to catch him doing so. She never made any reply, but a smooth smile eased across her rather clear pallid face, as she stood so eloquently, focusing directly on him. He never would forget that specific scene as long as he lived.

Before he realized it, he had the corners of her classical gingerbread mansion home covered in Royal Icing. He was always careful to give the icing a cordial swirl by artfully twisting his wrists as he labored so dedicatedly to put it on. This swirl revealed itself in the artistic elegance of the icing application. A nice white sugar glaze rolled out upon the walls of her mansion home, simply would not fail in making Lady McDowel almost overjoyed at the sight. His inner intuition always did faithfully shepherd him along.

"You didn't need to go over and beyond, my Goodbar boy, now. I appreciate the extra effort, and don't you dare worry now honey, I shall ne'er forget thy kind deed done," she said to him.

He turned to see her smiling that same almost ravenous smile he saw her wearing earlier on.

If he lives to be a hundred years old he will never forget what he felt like as he petitioned her into allowing him to polish her gossamer-like glass slippers. He approached her with a silk cloth she had laid upon a mahogany table over in the barn for him to use. According to her, linen or cotton cloth would scratch her delicate precious slippers. He was close up to her now, directly before her in arms reach. She smiled broadly as she glanced at him from his face, down to his feet, then back up again, smiling that same wonton smile she had periodically displayed all day long. A red velvet tongue suddenly flicked out, then gently stroked her rather tasteful seeming lips.

"And now big boy," she said to him as she suddenly breathed heavily, "I want you to take that spray of Sea Breeze, soak your cloth well, then drop down," she ordered him, as he sensed her gentle right hand placing itself autonomously atop his head. "Go down, boy," she purred to him, "all the way down to my teeny tiny quartz slippers, and start shining your young little spiny hiney away."

So he did. He dropped down. He could clearly discern her rather voluptuous mush melons through the near misty veil of her rose petticoat. The succulent nipples were standing straight out. Subconsciously his tongue licked out, flicking as it gently caressed the dark bimali rings around the nipples through her thin dress. His breathing, he gleefully recalls, was near uncontrollable. What if he were to hyperventilate?, he recollected thinking to himself on that day. He expected her to push him away with a raging outburst of opposition, but she never did, to his utter astonishment.

As he continued working his way down, among the alluring singing of the Savannah belle birds and rustling of May Phylox breath, he thought he heard her moan like a highborn feline overwhelmed in the utter ecstasy of a big Tom's saddle straddle and reaming ramrod. He gently kissed her stomach through that thin veil of a dress while gradually moving downward, skillfully licking his tongue inside and around her pearl pierced navel, then up and down across it with an occasional seasoned smack. He recalls feeling as though his bibbed denim overalls might abruptly explode down where the zipper was.

"Hmm," she moaned as she gleefully shook her stomach from side to side, laughing out loud rather hysterically in a bewitching kind of manner as she did. At the time he didn't know how he knew to do such things. "My gosh!," he mutters to himself out loud, "look at my age and innocence of youth back then." All he knew was he did, and he seemed to well know how, judging from Lady McDowel's unsettling mysterious, if not shameful reactions. This was a near elderly individual who was a deacon inside the local rectory, for crying out loud! To this very day he still can't shake the glowing recollection from his mind.

Finally he moved down upon her two thighs, smacking and licking them fully and gently all the way up to the crease, then back down all the way to the sides of her flawless knees. A mysterious taste of honey covered her dainty flesh. Why would she have poured honey on herself?, he recalls asking in silence as he labored away. He paused slightly to marvel at the fact, then carried on with his assigned duties. Finally, after what felt like hours, he found himself face down at her superbly crafted quartz slippers. To his own astonishment, she never once uttered a single word of protest at anything he did that day. He recalls sensing intuitively where somehow she viewed his actions as being both of their silent woodshed secrets. Untold numbers of devout people possessed them, no doubt, he recalls thinking he heard her whisper as bumble bees buzzed and the spring zephyr breathed so delightfully on that day.

He carefully polished the woman's glass slippers, or quartz slippers as she politely referred to them.. These slippers were hand blown at the old Elf Land glass blowing company across the valley over by Thump Keg Ridge. When he sprayed the Sea Breeze and rubbed them with the cloth, the slippers polished up extraordinarily well, regardless of what it was they were crafted from.

He squatted down before the woman, laboring away with the silken cloth. When he felt the job was flawlessly done, he recalls glancing upward, glaring directly inside that peach and lavender scented short skirt. The scene appeared as a mysterious fuzzy darkness, and she very noticeably did not wear any type of undergarments. He was numbingly stupefied again. What was with this woman?, he recalls asking himself. His over-exhilarated breathing was almost out of control by that time, as he now so clearly evokes.

"Are your slippers polished to your liking, my dear Lady?," he stammered in asking her as he struggled to get his breath.

"Your entire job is to my liking, Goodbar boy. Your undertakings are nothing less than a job very well done, my dear son," she somewhat stammered as she said.

"That makes me very happy, Lady McDowell," he replies to her with a gasp for breath.

"And now, my dear Goodbar boy, you are going to stabilize my canopy bed," she spoke to him through salaciously clenched teeth.

He recalls her escorting him throughout the charming mansion estate, yet almost directly into her bed chamber simultaneously. The old doric chateau was huge. The rooms seemed like massive inviting chambers with high ceilings. The general sensation throughout the home was one of great gilded antiquity. He knew the home possessed a rich history, but at this moment he didn't feel compelled to inquire about it.

"Back when the purple and pink Boom-Balloons down the overgrown hard-boiled railroad bed in ye olde Scuffle-Town area did our work for us, life was really good in those days, and very prosperous to say the least," she turned around and said to him as he stepped across the threshold of the room. "Now the Boom-Balloons are all free to fiddle away decent time and precious life itself, since all they do is aimlessly flint around and fret about the world surrounding them."

"But now you have me!," he recalls replying and stammering with his upturned palms wide apart to emphasize his words, as his wild heart nearly leaped from inside his breast.

Eight wooden shims conveniently laid upon her elegant holly-wood night stand. He grabbed the bed, shaking it, feeling it rock. It felt to be most unstable at the cinnamon pole on the left side, up nearest the birthday candy head. He gently tapped in a single shim underneath the foot on the bed pole. The bed firmed up completely, almost instantly. Lady McDowel stood temptingly quiet behind him. He arose to his feet, turning to face her when the job before him was reconfirmed and completed.

"You are such a fabulous male servant, Mr. Goodbar boy," she struggled for breath as she said to him.

She then walked up, immediately facing him. Both of her slightly trembling hands gingerly arose to grasp his overalls along the edges of the bib.

"You know," she said to him, " I don't have much money to pay you with, but what I do have to give are grandiose memories few others ever have, or ever will. Do you understand me son?"

"Yes, my dear lady," he heaved as he struggled to say.

She approached him, he still vividly recalls, kissing him deeply, shoving her dolphin slippery pink tongue almost completely down his throat. She commenced warmly kissing his neck, going down, gravitating downward, all the way down upon her knees. She irresistibly unbuttoned his denim overalls, reaching with a delicate right hand inside the wiz gap to take out his now mega-extended succulent bockwurst.

"My God, look at that one eyed monster snaking straight out at me!," she smiled and stuttered as she gazed upward into his face.. "How on earth can one so young be so blessed? I can't wait to see how this thing tastes, since it's obviously been so well prepared!"

She struggled as she moved forward. Up and down the sweet shaft she licks, smacking the sides deeply as she skillfully caresses it with her blood red lips. She then moved directly down on the tip, flicking her warm but exhilaratingly rough tongue across the eye and around the curved head like that of a mad venomous serpent. Once she established a smooth bobbing rhythm, she held to it steadily, artfully, and keenly.

At first there wasn't anything over dramatic in the experience for him, but as she held to the motion, eventually his stomach commenced drawing inward. His breath left his body until he was finally near hacking. Then he felt something gradually rise on the inside. It soon felt as though he had to piss, but he knew better, he recalls thinking. All of a sudden an explosive sensation gripped him to a point of shaking him outright. Lady McDowel moved up and down faster at this very instant, absorbing the entire massive shaft nearly down to the knick knack sack, as if doing so were instinctive to her. Then out of nowhere it abruptly happened.