Green ApplesHer apple was the juiciest of the orchard. by velvetpie. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories. “Honey! Honey, stop here!” I turned my MP3 player down and stared out the window as my father, Paul, pulled into a driveway, flanked by a homemade wood-and-wire fence. We bumped down the dirt road, heading toward a two-story farmhouse in the near distance. Dark-green leafed trees lined the drive and I examined the reason for our stop. A hand-painted sign out front had touted Red Delicious – Yellow Delicious – Green Apples For Sale and that had sent my mother into fits over fruit breathing in the country air and therefore, was much better for us. Dad pulled the Expedition in at the side of the house, near other parked cars, and we all got out. I hung back, hoping that my mother would all but ignore me and I was glad when she jumped out, running with all the energy of a woman hurrying to a Neiman-Marcus sale. I have to admit that I was impressed myself. Mounded stacks of apples rested in deep wooden cradles with names penned on the cardboard and popsicle-stick signs. Rome, Red Delicious, Jonagold, Golden Delicious, McIntosh, Granny Smith … I grew dizzy over reading all of them and the accompanying descriptions until I met Gala. She wasn’t much older than me at 19 and her freckles and pigtails made me think of the Wendy’s icon but the smile she gave me didn’t make me think about hamburgers and fries. She gave me a wink as she filled the orders of waiting customers, pausing between to bite off large chunks of a green apple that she kept at the back of the register. When she was finished, she came over to me, her eyes twinkling and her teeny boobs nearly falling out of her loosely-tied halter top. “Come for some apples?” “Yeah. My mom’s picking them out.” She nodded, looking me up and down. “She know much about apples?” I shrugged. “I guess so. I don’t know. She shrieked at my dad to turn off here and we did.” I gave her my best I’m-horny-and-please-take-pity-on-me smile. “I don’t think she knows anything more about apples than what she’s learned from Martha Stewart.” “Well, that’s not all bad. I bet she knows that you don’t use Red Delicious apples for an apple pie.” She picked up one of the dark red globes, caressing the shiny skin. “You should use something with a tang, like a McIntosh.” “I didn’t know that.” I strolled down the display, eyeing her skinny body and wondering what was underneath those cutoffs. “Oh, so you don’t know much about apples, eh?” She shouted something to one of the girls working behind the counter and lifted the counter, joining him in the midst of other customers. “Come with me and I’ll give you a tour of the orchard.” I waved at my dad, letting him know that I was going with her and soon found myself lost within rows and rows of trees, heavy with ripening fruit and heady with the scent of the rotted ruins. She dashed ahead of me, adept in knowing the geography of the place and I chased after her, laughing my head off, my music long forgotten. I came around a corner, fought my way into a thicket of confederate jasmine and found her waiting, a smile on her face. “If you’re lucky, you’ll find only green apples in your life.” She tugged her elastic top off, freeing her small breasts and I immediately bent, taking one in my mouth. She whimpered softly, running her fingers through my hair, her voice breathy. “Girls who are selective in who they fuck and have nice, tight pussies, tasty like a fresh apple.” “You know a lot about green apples?” “Sure have licked a lot.” The thought of her with other girls made my cock leap. “Sounds like a party.” “Too bad you don’t live around here. We’d be partying all the time.” I sucked her other nipple, loving how the nipple itself was almost as large as the breast itself and it was hard to pull myself away, even when she reached inside her unzipped shorts and brought out a fingerful of pussy cream. I sucked it off her fingers and dropped to my knees, tugging the s