I come from a family of carnivores. I used to be one myself, so I really can't judge or condemn, now, can I? I don't remember when it exactly happened. But just the thought of eating something's blood, of eating body parts, of gnawing on bones...it makes me ill.
Take ribs for instance. "Ribs." I shiver at the recollection of how I would sit at the dinner table with my brothers and parents and help devour racks of "baby back ribs" without a problem. Now my stomach turns, and I have to fight off the nausea just thinking about it... The same goes for chicken. Chicken legs, chicken breasts, chicken wings...chicken thighs... Eggs--little unborn baby chicks...
So, I live a peaceful existence, alone with my two cats and my herb, vegetable and flower gardens. That's how I make my living, selling my produce. I live in a quiet country community on the north shore of Long Island.
My house is set on a quiet lane, not at all typical of the suburbia molding the rest of the Island. There are lots of trees: Maple, Sasparillo, Oak and Dogwood. Lot's of birds; grackles, morning doves, starlings and chickadees. Squirrels, bunnies. I even have a family of raccoons living on my property that I feed each night. Although I'm sure they would stop raiding my garbage cans if they realized I'd put out the bread and cheese on purpose...They seem like a very proud lot.
My neighbors are very nice also. But for the most part I keep to myself, except for an occasional chat in the middle of the lane or while doing yard work. Or when they come over to buy my vegetables and flowers. Conversation usually scrapes the surface, "Boy, it's hot!" or in the winter time: "Can you believe all this snow??" And that's about it.
My flowers and vegetables and herbs are a hit Island-wide. My medicinal herbs are harvested and dried and stock the shelves of local natural food stores. Oh, all right. I have to confess. I sell recreational herb as well... But even that is considered the finest in the area. It isn't even classified as homegrown.
For the most part, my life was (past tense) fairly simple, very peaceful and not at all cataclysmic--up until last week. The change occurred as I sat in my front yard flower bed, knees and hands stained brown by the fresh earthy soil. I watched in stupefied fascination as "the new family" moved into the empty house located just diagonally from my little cottage.
Their's is a big house, with a wrap around porch and white picket fence. My dream house, so to speak. I watched a bit dejectedly as the movers pulled out twin beds, bedroom furniture painted white and trimmed in gold--the kind I had when I was a little girl. Three bicycles--the black one larger than the other two which were painted purple and pink--also surfaced and were rolled into the garage as I watched on in wistful fascination.
Finally, the "new kids on the block" pulled up. It was near dinner time and I was calling it a day when the gold Volvo wagon rolled up to the curb in front of the house. I swallowed thickly as I watched the man I assumed to be the father (although he little resembled anything my dad ever looked like) step out from behind the drivers side door, one long, jean clad leg at a time.
He stood up and seemed to tower over the car, stretched his arms out ward, as if unfolding his cramped body after his long drive. He wore a black t-shirt that clung to him like a second skin, accentuating the muscular ripples of his finely chiseled torso. I felt myself grow warmer than I had been all day sitting beneath a hot sun as I watched him. I don't remember if I closed my gaping mouth before or after he turned towards me and smiled.
I only know that when his blue eyes settled on me, my body temperature raised another ten degrees. He nodded and offered a very confident grin before focusing his attention on his two children as they clamored out from the back seat and shrieked with glee at their new home. I watched as he walked away, blushing as I settled my green eyed gaze on the way his jeans molded his firm behind. Then, God help me, I had a vision of him, naked, his long hairy legs as muscular as they promised to be, his arms, biceps promising strength reaching out towards me.
Then and there I almost fainted.
I waited until the trio entered their new home before I attempted to stand. It was a good thing too, for if I had tried earlier I wouldn't have made a good impression at all with my new neighbor. All of my strength had been sapped, just by gazing at him. I sighed as I struggled to my feet, wondering how in the world one smile could leave me so weak-kneed. And what, I thought wickedly as I entered my home through the side door, would happen to me if he ever touched me?
Little did I know how close I was to finding out.
Monday started out the same as any other day. I harvested flowers and vegetables from the gardens and placed them on the wooden stand by the side of the road. There were nice lush bunches of romaine lettuce and spinach. Beautiful deep orange carrots, thick cukes and zukes, juicy red tomatoes--beefsteak and plum. There were only a few eggplants I felt were ready to sell, a few peppers and some scallions.
It was then I thought of him again. Putting out the cucumbers. For some reason the meaty vegetables made me think of my new neighbor, and I blushed profusely with the thought. Lost in the daydream of what it would be like to make love with this man, I didn't even realize I had been caressing the cucumber, almost lovingly. I don't know how long I stood there, gazing down at the vegetable not seeing anything but my neighbor's blue, blue eyes, practically feeling his breath on my neck, my body as he kissed me, touched me...
"Excuse me?"
I jumped and dropped the cucumber, whirling around to greet the first cucumber of the day. I mean customer.
"Cucumbers are my favorite too." Laughter warmed the deep voice of my new neighbor as he chuckled. I almost fainted for the second time in two days as I turned to stare into the most beautiful pair of blue eyes I had ever seen. My knees nearly buckled as one of those eyes closed slowly, thick black lashes caressing my entire person as he winked at me.
I gulped audibly and nodded, speechless. For him to confess such a thing at that moment was more than I could bear. The sensation causing my weak knees traveled upwards. I was now weak thighed as well...
After stammering some incoherent greeting I bent down to pick up the cucumber, making sure to set it on the stand to avoid any further fondling on my part.
He introduced himself, needlessly explaining that he and his two daughters were now my new neighbors. He may have given me their names, I'm not sure. All I know is that I shoved three cucumbers, a few tomatoes and a head of romaine lettuce, scallions, peppers and an eggplant into a paper sack and handed it to him along with a bouquet of wildflowers. "Welcome to the neighborhood," I managed to croak out.
Speaking was the wrong thing to do, obviously, because that drew his attention to my mouth. Which isn't by any means my best feature. But he obviously thought so. I say obviously because he couldn't take his gaze from my lips, even after I finished speaking. I licked them nervously, feeling dryer than the Sahara Desert and he smiled again, blinking very slowly. Very slowly. When he opened his eyes again I could see there was more than neighborly friendliness glowing there.
And that weak kneed feeling traveled right up past my thighs.
He took the bag of goodies and waved at me, then turned and sauntered slowly back across the street, never looking back. He was wearing black jeans today, and a loose Hard Rock Cafe tee shirt with the sleeves ripped off at the shoulders. I drank in his image, from the top of his head, noting with appreciation the pony tail of brown hair resting at his nape, the broad shoulders, cute buns and strong legs. And then I caught a glimpse of his shoeless feet. Nice, strong looking feet. That weak-kneed feeling melted the rest of my body.
Never before had I laid my eyes on such sexy feet...
The rest of his body turned me on as much as his feet did, I learned the next day, when he appeared at my kitchen screen door just after 7 a.m. I was sitting at my butcher block wooden table, reading the newspaper and drinking a cup of herbal tea: still dressed in only my sleeveless cotton shorty night shirt.
"Hi, neighbor."
I nearly dropped my mug, sputtering a greeting back to him as he shaded his eyes to peer into my kitchen. I saw his shadowed form, outlined by the bright sun behind him and felt myself grow numb and hot and cold all at once. I stood up as he apologized for startling me and I said something stupid back. I can't remember what it was exactly. Oh, yes. I believe I asked him if he needed more cucumbers...
He laughed and said no, what he needed was milk for his daughter's cereal. I hesitated for a moment, then invited him in as I walked to the refrigerator in answer to his request. I felt his blue gaze watching my every movement as I opened the fridge, got the milk and then poured some into a pitcher I pulled from the cabinet over the sink. I felt his eyes as if he were actually touching me! I felt him caressing my naked feet, my calves, the backs of my knees (always a sensitive spot for me), my thighs...And then I froze. At that moment, as I was reaching up to get the pitcher, I realized how short my night shirt was. It was very short.
I also recollected that I wasn't wearing any undies. My body grew hot immediately as a blush colored me from head to toe. I whirled around to find him leaning against the door jamb, arms crossed over his hairy naked chest. He was wearing a pair of swimming trunks, a baggy blue pair. Nothing more. Except that damned smile. It was my undoing.
I handed the milk over to him, and of course he had to go and touch me with his finger tips, didn't he? His long tanned fingers caressed mine ever so slightly as he accepted the milk. Then he smiled at me again, a warm friendly smile. "Thanks neighbor. See ya later."
And then he was gone.
I sat at the kitchen table for quite a while. Unable to move, unable to read, unable to drink my now tepid tea. I sat there unable to do anything but think of my nameless neighbor, the one who ate cucumbers and gave his daughters cereal and milk for breakfast...
Luckily, one of my regular customers Mrs. Casini came by an hour later, tapping lightly on the door and hollering for me. I jumped up from the table and faced the door, where she stood with a concerned look on her wrinkled, loving face. She had come for her herbs and was surprised the farm stand wasn't stocked yet.
"You feelin' alla righta?" She still had her Italian accent even though she'd lived here most of her life.
"Just wonderful," I muttered, angry with myself for wasting the whole morning. I pulled the herbs from the store room, gave them to her, accepted her payment of three dollars and waved goodbye.
Then quickly I ran into my bedroom, scowling at my unmade bed, yanked off my nightshirt and threw on the first article of clothing I touched hanging in my closet. A gauzy Indian-style sundress. Since I'm not overly endowed I could get away without wearing a bra, and I didn't even think to put on undies. I just had to get out there to stock my stand before the customers started coming.
I loaded up my cart and headed around to the front of the house. That's when I saw him. My stomach instantly filled with a flock of butterflies, Monarchs, from the feel of things. You know, the big ones with the black and yellow markings?
He was working on his motorcycle in his driveway, just cleaning it, from the looks of things. His back was facing me, and I noticed (with a strangled gulp) that he had not added anything to his attire. He must have heard the cart because I had barely made it across my lawn when he turned and waved. I nodded back at him and put my head down, concentrating on not dumping my precious produce.
He dropped the grease stained rag he had been using to clean his bike and headed down his driveway, across the street and straight to my stand, joining me just as I stopped the cart. "Late start this morning, hm?"
He threw me one of those lazy grins and I just nodded, attempting to avoid his gaze by staring at the empty shelves. He picked up the three heads of romaine lettuce and put them on the top shelf. Then he placed the spinach next to the romaine. On the bottom shelf he placed the tomatoes, onions, eggplants and peppers. I just stood there, staring dumbly as I watched how he lovingly placed the vegetables in their new resting places.
