Another flash fiction from Felicity at The Dark Night Chronicles. This week’s prompt is “Pecans”.
She was naked at the cold creek a quarter-mile south of our barn. I had the Brownie and wanted to take some nature shots. I wasn’t expected that kind of nature. Her hair was long and wet, fanned half-way down her back, shining, almost black, and at that moment, my definition of beauty was set.
I felt one-part shame and five-parts desire. Her skin shone from the stippled sunlight, her muscles naturally taut from the coolness of the water. Her arms were at her side, and she slowly wiped the water droplets from her hips. She reached down to rub her shins, and my heart was ready to burst. There was never anything more feminine than the shape of my Ruth, the soft glowing texture of her wet skin, the moonlight color of her legs and thighs. She was laughing softly, light-heartedly. She knew I was there, watching. But I was wrong.
Todd McCallister, our nearest neighbor boy, emerged from a stand of pecan trees. He was equally wet, his thick blonde hair plastered to his skull like a helmet. And he wasn’t really a boy, judging by his erection.
She reached for him, her arms stretched out to catch his embrace. He was too clumsy to run to her, with that hanging piece of meat between his legs, and he stumbled. He looked like a cartoon character. His body was muscular and mature, but his boyishness was still evident. He clattered towards her like a rakish clown, all excitement, no finesse. No love.
I hated him. And I hated her. I could forgive her, and would, if she came to me in shame and tears. Todd, I would happily feed to a starving catfish, one piece at a time.
I walked away. And then I ran. I ran past our barn, past the house, and almost a mile beyond that. Did I cry? No, I didn’t. Not then. And not for a long time after. Maybe things would have been different if I bawled like a wounded calf, crying out for comfort, aching for compassion never received.
I never told Ruth what I saw.