Chapter 12- Peaches make me horny

Chapter 12- Peaches make me horny

A Chapter by Esther Night

"I'm thinking about asking Alfreda to be my girlfriend, made it official?" Matt bubbled.

It was now the summer. I was actually having a cool time living Donovan. I especially loved it when Matt came over. The three of us sat in Donovan's living room watching TV and eating pizza. We were having a good time until Matt brought up the subject.

He just had to ruin my night by saying those words. "I'm thinking about asking Alfreda to be my girlfriend?"

When I heard that, I dropped my pizza.

Donovan chuckled, "Wow"

Matt nervously shifted his eyes between us. "Do you think I should Mr. Donovan? I mean ever since we were two, everybody said that we should get married. And she's nice and smart and pretty and ..."

"You think she's pretty?" I bitterly squeaked.

They both stared at me confused.

"Yea? I do" Matt nodded.

"Hunter? You okay?" Donovan asked.

I shook my head, "Mac do you really want to tie yourself down?"

Mac bit his lip, "I kind of want avoid all complicated dating stuff as much as possible. Plus Jamie you remember how Alfreda and I were as kids. We were cute, innocent, and pure...easy."

"So you want to be her?" I asked him.

"I'm supposed to be with her." He murmured almost as if he was trying to convince himself, but maybe he wasn't.

"Well Edwards" Donovan smiled, "I think you have a good shot at it. I think she likes you too."

"Thanks Mr. Donovan. So what do you think Jamie?"

I took a gulp of my coke. I didn't know what I was feeling. I didn't know I was thinking. I didn't want Matt to be with her, yet I didn't want him to be denied of anything. So I put on my make-up smile. "Sure, go for it man"

He gave me that sweet smile and patted my shoulder. I pretended to ingore the hot feeling.


One bright summer morning I walked out of my room half asleep, but I quickly woke up when I saw Donovan reading my black notebook. I quickly grabbed it form his hands.

"What the hell are you doing with this? How dare you read this? You have no f*****g right to go through my things" I yelled.

"Sorry Hunter I just saw lying on the table and I just…Hunter, is this you're writing?"

I couldn't believe he read it. All my feelings are in that book, the details of my abuse, the hidden and hated attraction for guys, and the evil person I saw myself as. All my secrets.

"How much did you read?" I yelled siting on the couch waiting for him to kick me out.

He sat down next to me, "Hunter…"

"How much did you read? Did you read everything?"

"Hunter clam down. No, I didn't read everything, but I read…"

"I'm sorry" I squealed cutting him off.

He started lightly patting my shoulder, “You better be sorry. Sorry that

you didn't tell me you were such a good writer.”

I lifted my head, "Good? You think I'm good?"

He smiled at me "I think you're great. Hunter your metaphors, your repetition, your imagery of emotion are amazing. That poem about our own nature is deep. And that poem about covering up is mind-blowing.

And that one about using the five senses to describe one of your dad's drunken nights made my heart sink."

"So you know about my dad?"

Donovan nodded, "Matthew’s dad told me"

I nodded of course Mr. Edwards would fill him in.

"Hunter, why don't you write like this in class?"

"I don't know" I mumbled.

He moved closer to me and stared into my eyes, "Don't give me that crap.

You can be honest with me."

I laid back on the couch and started fidgeting with my fingers, "I'm white trash. We ain't supposed to write poetry and stuff."

"You really think that? You are really going to let that cause you to hide how talented you are?"

"Talented?" My eyes spread wide open. I had never heard anybody call me talented before. "It doesn't even rhyme."

He chuckled, "Listen Hunter, I'm not putting down Dr. Seuss, but great poetry doesn't always have to rhyme."

"So you're not going kick me out?"

He shifted his eyes, "No, of course not....Hey have you ever been to a poetry slam or any kind of poetry reading?"

I shook my head, "No"

"Well that's something we are going to do, hell we'll do it today. I'll call my friend Jackson and we'll go to that coffee shop down the street tonight."

I was actually excited and curious about it. Plus he didn't mention any of the "other" poems, so I felt that my secrets were still safe.


That night I met Donovan's best friend Jackson Brown over dinner. He was a tall black man wearing a loud pattern silk shirt, black fedora, and red sun glasses.  

"So you're going to your first poetry slam uh?" He asked me.

I nodded, "So are you guys really into this kind of stuff?"

Jackson swallowed a bite, "Well of course, Tony being an English teacher"

"And Jackson being a writer." Donovan clinked in.

"You're a writer?" I inquired.

He took a slip of his coke, "Yea but not like a poet. I'm a journalist. Journalism and Poetry are very different, but not as unrelated as most people think. I love poetry, especially these coffee shop slams, the way they perform, the cool dark atmosphere and the smooth jazz background music."

"Oh, so that's what they're like." I cheered.

"Yup, you'll love it Hunter." Donovan agreed.


Donovan was right.

We walked into the dimly lighted shop hearing the low beating of drums.

Jackson ordered us three of this thing called a cappuccino (I had never had one before). Donovan motioned for us to sit on a couch near the wooden stage as held my notebook close to my chest. We watched this girl my age with blue hair dramatically perform a poem about the moon or somthing. I pushed a strand of my hair back as she walked off the stage and right up to me. "Hi" she waved flipping her hair back.

"Hello" I waved.

"Wow a cute boy that likes poetry" she giggled. "Are you going to read something?"

"Um…" I grasped. "I don't really want to."

She moved closer to me. "Please"

"Um…I don't do that."

She sat down next to me. "Oh so you're one of those secretive rebel poets?"

"Um…" Then I remembered my 'I'm a bad boy ladies' man' cover up act.

So I flashed her smile "yes, I am babe."

"Hunter" Donovan tugged on my arm. "You're supposed to exploring poetry not girls."

"Come on Tony" Jackson clinked in, "Let him have some fun." He smiled at me, "There is nice spot over there."

I looked back over at her. She was pretty, even with the blue hair, and she seemed very interested in me.

"Do you want to go over there?" I whispered.

"Sure" she giggled.

As we walked over to a dark booth I tried to convince myself that this is what I wanted.

"Our next artist is Red Fire." The host announced.

This good-looking guy with greasy black hair and his red silk shirt half way buttoned walked on the stage, "I call this the garden" He spoke in this deep, rough…sexy voice.

I raised my eyebrow, "The garden? That’s cheesy." I whispered to the girl.

"Oh don't let the tittle fool you. He writes some steamy stuff." She whispered back staring at my lips.

"Peaches grown in the sun" He started.

She moved closer to me.

"Hot and sweet"

I know it's strange, but something about the way he said it made me feel a tug on my dick. Then she pressed our noses together.

"Growing wet and juicy"

That was when she started to kiss me. I didn't know what to do, but I didn't want to push her away.

"Nibble on its soft flesh." He said licking his lips.

Seeing him. Hearing him. I felt myself quivering. I started daydreaming about nibbling on him.

He thrust his hips "nibble"

As I stared at him, I moved my tongue around in her mouth.

He thrust his hips again "nibble"

I grabbed her waist and she grabbed my neck. I went deeper into the kiss while I still stared at him.

"Just bite into it" He panted.

We were officially making out.

"Peaches in the garden" He said as he bowed and walked off the stage.

We released each other.

She smiled at me, "That was hot"

I nodded. I felt relieved! I made out with girl, and like it. So was I cured?

Did she change me?

Then Red Fire walked by and I started waving like creepy shocker at him.

Then I realized it. I was kissing her, but I was thinking him. My relief was gone. I was once again confused. Then I remembered what Stacy said about picturing other men while she was kissing her husband.

That's when discovered one of my greatest make-up tools.

© 2014 Esther Night

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Added on November 26, 2013
Last Updated on June 17, 2014

It wasn't me