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There is a very small shop in the village that no one knows about except people like Jenny and myself: people who are comfortable with sex and want to find others who are like us.. Everything about the shop screams sex. There are creams and oils, clothing and handmade tools designed to heighten the sexual experience. But there is nothing in that shop that can hold a candle to seeing Martin Turner’s cock spurt for making you want to find the nearest person to fuck. I felt a heat that I’d never felt before when I saw that and I came so hard in that closet that I lost consciousness.
When they went to sleep, I climbed out, pausing to look at them cuddled together and I knew that my original idea, to seek out Withers, was worth the prize I was seeking. I visited the shop early the next day and secured a number of sheepskin coverings because if it was going to happen, I didn’t want to wait or for Withers to have an excuse to change his mind. As I spent the rest of the day preparing my assault, I made a startling discovery. I was in love with Withers. Maybe it would turn out to be just an extension of my crush, I didn’t know but I was as sure of my feelings as I am even gaziantep escort today. I am in love with our blacksmith …
* * * * *
Cassia sat at the window at the end of the hall and spent the early morning watching Withers work on Turner’s carriage. By noon, everything has been repaired and Martin Turner left after lunch, a smile on my mother’s face and his vehicle in almost brand-new condition. When he had turned the corner, my mother gave my father a long hug and kiss and a bone-weary Withers returned to the smithy.
Plan in hand, Cassia decided that it was time to confide in someone and she chose her second best friend: Cook. Cook’s real name was Edithe but no one called her that. Her mastery in the kitchen overshadowed everything else and the orange-glazed duckling she made during her interview dinner had clinched her place in culinary history. Yesterday’s dinner had gone perfectly and she was using the leftover chicken to make a dumpling dish that was Arthur’s favorite.
“Back again?” Cook handed her a small cup of chicken dumpling soup, garnishing it with a peeled scallion. “I don’t know how you stay as skinny as you do babelan.net with as much food as you beg from me.”
“I need to ask your advice, Cook.”
Cook gave her a sly smile, turning back to stir her pots. “You’ve never asked me for advice before. Why don’t you ask your mother?”
“Because I know you’d understand.”
“And your mother wouldn’t?”
“Cook, I need the same kind of understanding that you gave the visitor last night.”
Cook stood and looked at Cassia for a moment. “The same understanding?”
“Yes, ma’am. The same.” Cassia didn’t risk saying anything more. She had a deep friendship with the woman but she was teetering on either side of a thin line. On one side was concern and on the other was loyalty; Cassia was basically asking her to choose between her and her parents.
“Who is he?”
“Withers.”
“Withers? That old man?”
Cassia noticed that Cook smiled when she said that. “You may think he’s ‘old’, but I don’t.”
“I know you don’t.” The woman chuckled, taking the empty bowl from Cassia’s hands. “You’ve been mooning after him since you were little.”
“He’s a wonderful man.”
“Who has never married.”
“Is there a problem with that?”
“Maybe.”
Cassia gasped. “Do you think he likes men?”
“No, can’t say that I do.” Cook handed Cassia a handful of cheese biscuits, then pulled a roasted suckling pig out of the oven. “Pete is most definitely a man.”
“Pete?”
“That’s his name.”
“Oh.” Cassia smiled. “I’ve always called him Withers.”
“That’s his last name. I don’t know anyone who doesn’t call him that.” Cook turned around and took a seat across from Cassia, watching her eat with the proud smile of a chef. “So what kind of understanding do you need?”
“I want to make love to him, Cook, and I want to make him feel like he’s more important than the breath in my lungs.”
Cook’s eyes twinkled, her voice soft. “So it’s like that, is it?”
“Yes, ma’am. I want him to be my first and I don’t want him to ever regret it.”
Cook stood up and stirred another pot, removing it from the heat. “Does your mother know about this?”
“No, and I don’t want her to. I’m eighteen, Cook. I’m a grown woman. This is my choice.” Cook shook her head and before she could speak again, Cassia added, “I have protection for him. I am all ready.”
Cook shook her head again, wiping her hands on her apron and smiling at Cassia. “So what exactly do you need from me?”
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