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Of vegetables, women and men- A tale of supermarket possession

When the summer heat starts to bake the pavements of my town, I become a big fan of cucumbers. They are crunchy and refreshing. They can be chopped into little bits, mixed in with some garbanzo beans, dressed with some mayo and spiced to taste; my taste calls for a dash of lemon juice and a sprinkling of pepper. You can also make slivers of them, mix them with some sliced tomatoes, maybe add some mozzarella or other cheese of choice and collect the ensemble into a slightly toasted hot dog bun, top it off with olive oil, salt and vinegar. Or you can of course just enjoy them in an act of simulated fellatio; the worse kind of fellatio, that which ends with teeth and a bite. Do not get me wrong, I am not a vegetarian. I love meat as well. Little beats the sensuality of a slice of roast beef that is still warm, the juices slowly releasing from the meat, the darkened exterior contrasting with the red-pink of the interior. A side of cucumber is a great complement to a slice of roast beef.

I had just returned from the grocery store with multiple bags of groceries. It was a rather warm day in June, not quite an El Alamein sort of day but if you had left an ice cube out in the yard it would have melted in a couple of minutes. Upon completion of putting the groceries away I fell into a deep suspicion that I had mist something. My hands probed deep into my right pocket, to no avail. Then in my left pocket, wherein I felt the jagged edges of my crumpled grocery list. Upon unfolding this most hideous origami and reading through the list I reckoned that the one item missing was my weekly supply of cucumbers. I had no real desire to get back into the car, but a boy needs his cucumbers.

I drove back to the store and parked in my usual spot. The one that is out of the way of the rest of the parking lot, behind the grocery store and next to the garbage disposal. The one that allows you to feel like a furtive shopper who disappears behind the building with their full cart; out of sight of the rest and can load their groceries in peace and quiet without cars zipping by, or older drivers taking 15 minutes to back up their car as they attempt to leave the lot before the reaper decides otherwise.

The store had cleared out somewhat from just a few minutes prior. I always try to go as early as possible to evade the crowd, but today I had to go mid-morning. As I made my way to the vegetables section, I locked eyes with my favorite check out guy, who had just checked my first load out, and he hollered “what did you forget?”. I shot him a regretful thumbs up (who does that anymore?). I heard the words “My wife sent me back because she needed a dildo” try to make their way out of my mouth, but managed to hold them back. It would clearly have been a jest, but a most inappropriate one for the time and place. I refrained and instead replied “uh… vegetables”. Where the notion of bringing up a dildo in response to his question came from puzzled me on the spot. Maybe it was because I had cucumbers on the brain… but a dildo? I shook the thought off and moved onto the remainder of my quest.

As I turned from the cereal aisle into the vegetable section, I was taken aback as adorning the cucumber section was a most rotund and firm set of female buttocks. This wonder of the natural world was contained, barely, by a short skirt revealing firm legs that served to support the afore mentioned splendor. Those legs terminated into shapely calves and feet with well-manicured toes peeking out of open toe high heel shoes. Rescuing my eyeballs from their gravity driven downward position, I soon discovered there was more to this glorious spectacle. As the proprietor of the buttocks raised herself from her arched position best fit for selecting vegetables, I came to appreciate the fullness of this woman. Her breasts heaved forth from her chest barely contained by her short-sleeved T-shit, that was adorned with the motto of a local Catholic school. Her blonde hair flowed just over her shoulders unto her back, its slight wave having a somewhat mesmerizing effect on me.

But I was here for cucumbers, and she was right in front of the cucumbers. Indeed, she had just picked up a cucumber and seemed to be inspecting it for potential flaws, soft spots, evidence of fungal growth, etc. Her slender fingers manipulated the cucumber in time and space, rotating it, palpating, she even ran her finger down the side of it. That is when something very unexpected happened. I found myself walking up next to her and hearing a voice in my head say; “That’s a nice size isn’t it?”. Except the voice in my head was what I had just heard myself actually say in the grocery store reality we all shared. Upon hearing me she froze for a second and then slowly turned her gaze in my direction. “Ooops” I thought, this time with my quiet internal voice, “I overstepped the boundary of common decency”. But instead, a coy smile slowly drew itself upon her lipstick red lips as her blue eyes locked with mine. “Yes, that it is” she replied. “Except for this small hole at its tip, it might be a worm hole”. She had indeed performed a skilled inspection of the cucumber, maybe she shared my fondness for this bit of nature. “Well then, we can’t have that” I replied. She placed the cucumber down and picked up a slightly larger one, inspected it, nodded her approval and said; “This one will do, don’t you think”. I could but agree. “Have a nice day” she said, with a cheer in the blue of her eyes.

I must admit, I did not have the tenacity to spend too much time picking out my cucumber at this stage and simply grabbed one, gave it a preliminary feel, a brief sniff test, and I was off to the checkout line. Due to some electronic problem the self-checkout lanes were currently out of commission. An annoyance as all I had was a cucumber, but ended up having to wait in line behind one of the afore mentioned geriatric members of the community who was apparently buying supplies for the next month, including an ungodly amount of preparation-H.

Having finally made it through the checkout and making sure that my aged acquaintance was not heading anywhere near where I parked my car, I rapidly made my way back to the parking spot. I immediately became annoyed when I noticed that my parking supremacy had been usurped by a SUV that had parked right next to me. Cucumber in hand I scurried over to my vehicle. As I approached the vehicles, I experienced déjà vu, as there once again was the round buttock and its lovely supports in the same position I had first experienced it. My fellow cucumber aficionado was bent down picking up items that had fallen out of her bag. Putting my cucumber in my left front pocket so as to free my hands, I asked, “May I assist you?”. Our eyes locked once again and she gave a brief nod and said “thank you”. Among other items that had found their way onto parking lot surface was our shared acquaintance, her cucumber. “Oh no!” I exclaimed as I picked it up and revealed that it was now coated in bits of filth and gravel. Her lips pursed into a disappointed frown. Being fully aware of potential misunderstanding I offered that “You could have my cucumber, I can go and get another one, it’s already my second mission to the store today”. “Can I really?” she asked. “Sure, us cucumber people need to stick together”. In what was immediately evident as an inappropriate maneuver I gestured to my pocket and said “Help yourself”. My inner dialogue chimed in with; “Did I just say that? What is wrong with me today!”.

With what in Rhode Island and Massachusetts one might describe as a ‘wicked smile’, she took a step toward me and without hesitation grabbed the cucumber, or rather grabbed my cucumber through my pants’ pocket earning a firm grasp on them. I was now in her control, and she pulled me between our vehicles. Walking like a lamb being led to the slaughter I moved without hesitation and let my master lead me.

Her hand soon moved from my pocket to compare the feel of the cucumber in her palm to that of my adjacent erection. “I like this one better”, she said as she started to unzip me pants. In a slight state of shock I darted my head to the left and to the right, but discovered no one in sight. Soon, she lowered herself to her knees and started to stroke my swollen cock with the tips of the fingers of both hands. Slowly moving up and down my shaft, which had started to pulsate with excitement. It was not long before she was fully stroking me holding the cock between her palms, eventually letting go with one hand as the other wrapped its long finger tight around me. Gazing into my eyes she begun kissing the tip of my cock before engulfing it into her moistened mouth. Her lips moved up and down my shaft, while she held a firm grip with her hand and started to simultaneously stroke me. Her mouth was watering and I could feel her tongue rotating around the head of my cock. Her eyes opened, locked with mine, and I felt myself drowning in their vast blueness as my cum begun its long journey to the tip. I could feel my urethra swell with the force a galloping Mongol horde that soon burst through the small opening. My cum mixed with her abundant saliva and started dripping down the side of her mouth as she remained locked on. Her hand kept stroking me while I dribbled the last that I had to offer. By now my cum and her saliva had mixed with her red lip stick and turned into a most unusual mixture; dabs of white cum, dabs of saliva and dabs of diluted red lipstick. As I recovered from the orgasm, I bent down and kissed her deeply, tasting myself on her, in her. Our tongues entwined like confused snakes in a pit, sharing all we had created together. To my dismay she soon pulled away from me, with a sense of urgency, and uttered “Now I want your other cucumber”.

She raised herself while I remained on my knees, turned around and lifted her short skirt. There was a trail of fluid emanating from between her legs. It had saturated her panties and a line was running down her inner thighs. I found myself leaning forward and tracing the line of fluid up her leg with my tongue until my mouth wrapped itself around her moistened panties and begun sucking them. “You know what to do”, she said, “I want the cucumber”. I pulled her panties to the side revealing a trimmed tuft of blonde hair posed as topiary around a Georgia O'Keeffe painting based on the theme of pink.

I pulled the cucumber out of my pocket and put one end of it in my mouth providing preliminary lubrication. Likely an unnecessary act as she had provided plenty herself already. With the accuracy of a WW2 cannoneer I slid the tip of the cucumber into her the entry to her swollen vagina. Her pink lips wrapped tight around the tip of the cucumber as she let out a slight yelp and braced herself between the cars with her arms. I slowly moved the tip of the cucumber in and out, no more than a couple of inches a few times and then returned it to my mouth to taste her flow. Although I had not had my fill of her juices, I returned the cucumber at the gates, but this time pushing it in deeper. In the while I reached around her and started rubbing her clit in a circular motion. In the midst of this, my lips found their way to the subtle roundness of her ass cheeks and I kissed them all over, sometimes my tongue trailing behind my mouth. With the cucumber now half inside her she started having shocks causing her to almost lose her balance as her legs buckled. I let go of the cucumber and instead inserted its free end into my mouth, while the other was still inside her. Her orgasmic flow drained down the side of the cucumber into my mouth. For a second we were man and woman joined by the grace of a cucumber.

But that second faded into another second that rang with the loud bell of the return to reality. She leapt away from me, leaving me with the cucumber in my mouth, drops of her release falling off its shaft onto the pavement. She turned around, and with her eyes wide open as if she had just realized someone was holding a gun to her face, covered her exposed dripping pussy with both hands and blurted out; “What just happened here?”. I replied a most muffled; “Idwuntckno”. “What?” she exclaimed. Taking the cucumber out of my mouth I restated, as the pallor of stark realization painted my skin a shade of white, “I don’t know”. We briefly stared into each other’s eyes like a predator and prey first encountering each other, but neither clear to whether they are the predator or the prey. We slowly started to back away from each other in apprehension. Our last shared moment was when we both raised a hand to our mouths and tried to clear off the remains of each other’s release that glazed both of us like doughnuts baked in an oven of uncertain guilt.

In what I felt was a necessary act to diffuse the situation I started saying, “My name is…”, but she interrupted with, “I am supposed to bring these groceries to church for tonight’s potluck”. She fumbled for her keys, got in her car, drove away and we never ran into each other again. I certainly never went to the store during that time of day again.

What transpired that day is still not clear to me. Words were coming out of my mouth that I did not think I owned. My body was taking stances it did not know it could take. I was me, but me was not me. I have always wondered if during confession her priest might have had suggestions as to what transpired on the June day.

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