Talia p. 3

Talia was feeling light as air as they parked just outside the market.  Her body was as revved as the engine on the Harley, Finnegan’s ability to keep his hands to himself amazed her, and she felt rebellious.

As they started towards the market, Finnegan’s cell phone rang.  He gave her a pained look and she gestured for him to take it.  “I’ll meet you there” she said, pointing to the large market.  “If you can’t find me, just look for the balloons” she said before darting off in the direction of the market.

One of her favorite things in this world was fresh pressed strawberry lemonade.  She yearned to find fresh berries, lemons, a bit of sugar and some ice.

A few stands into the market she noticed a burly man behind the counter.  She quickly made friends, learned he had a wife and seven children at home whose pictures he proudly produced on his phone.  She bought more than enough lemons from him to last a week and took a picture of his stand.

She came upon another fruit stand with the most deliciously ripe strawberries.  She tried not to drool as she calculated the number she would need for her recipe and then some for herself.  She saw a woman appear and placed her order.  As the woman weighed and measured, they struck up a great conversation.  The woman was in her third year of law school and was filling in for her grandparents at the stand this weekend.  She was friendly and smart and clearly passionate about women’s rights.  Talia let the woman keep the change and added another selfie to her phone.

She found the music, and it always resonated with her soul.  She felt her hips sway and eyes close, and when the tempo picked up she found herself jumping and dancing, eventually getting escorted onto the stage.  She found a tambourine and soaked in the moment, truly letting herself be, jiving with the artists creating such bliss.  After a bit, she once again procured a selfie and was on her way.

Another vendor had a walk in space displaying his homemade goods.  It was busy and eclectic and incredible.  The artwork was phenomenal and she wondered why his pieces weren’t in an art gallery instead of being peddled at the market.  She found two glasses perfect for her lemonade and purchased them both, wishing she could have purchased more.  She interviewed the artist, took many photos, and imagined the way it would lay out in her next blog.  After all, art is the universal language that transcends both time and tongue.  She was sure she could fit it in her health blog somehow.

The sugar was an easy buy at one of the many stands, but learning the sugar was a fresh import from Asia was a fun find.  She knew that sugar came from various foods and plants, but to know specifically where her cup came from was a weird highlight of her day.

The hardest part of this recipe would be securing the kitchen tools necessary to prepare it.  She wandered until she found a stand that would have everything she needed.  The tricky part would be sweet talking the owner into letting her use them just for a moment.

The man behind the shaved ice stand explained it would not be acceptable policy, but it didn’t take long and he allowed her behind the stand, allowing use of his knife, lemon press, and ample ice to top off her new glasses.  As they spoke, the owner shared he had recently lost his pet and was barely making it through college and life was basically kicking his ass.  She listened sympathetically and tried to instill a sense of hope in this young man.  When she was through, she had two wonderfully decorated glasses of ice cold lemonade and one made in a shaved ice cup ready to go. She would just find her tour guide and a place to enjoy the tasty delights and be on her way.  The shaved ice guy cheerfully accepted the glass and smiled big for the selfie.

She found the balloon salesman and purchased the entire bundle.  She attempted to carry her drinks and the balloons with sophistication as she made her way to an outdoor patio.  She sat down and let a few balloons float into the air.  She offered a free balloon to every child’s parent as they walked by and waited.

To her surprise it took less than two minutes for her guide to arrive.  The balloon signal had worked even better than she had hoped.  His walk was that of an alpha, someone used to getting what he wanted.  Someone who didn’t take no for an answer.  Someone who also had eyes only for her, at least for the moment, and she appreciated that.

He came and sat next to her as comfortably as if they had known each other for years.  She offered the sugary drink, and when a satisfied smile stretched across his face, she felt herself exhale a breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding.

She had a sip herself, and she encouraged Finnegan to order a meal for himself.  He looked shocked when she didn’t order and deftly added another sandwich to their meal.  His eyes grew sharp for the first time and she mentally ticked off reasons he may have overreacted.  Instead of this method producing empathy, it produced anger.  Who was he to order for her?

“I won’t eat it.” She stated matter of factually.

“Then I expect a good reason why,” he stated, just as calmly but firmly.

“My trainer says so,” she added rebelliously, then watched his eyes light on fire.

“Your trainer is a dumb ass.”

“What?!?  He most certainly is not” she argued.

“Explain” he said simply.

“My “dumb ass” trainer keeps this body from turning into a bowl of jelly.  He says no strawberry lemonade.  He says if I eat the things that make jelly, then my belly will become jelly.  I ate the jelly for lunch today, and he will make me pay for it tomorrow” she said defiantly.

“You drank the jelly.  Nothing solid has entered your body since I met you at the dock.  You need to eat.”

“How do you know I haven’t stopped and eaten at every stand from your bike to this chair?” she said argumentatively.

“Am I wrong?  Look, if you’re going to sit on the back of my bike going 70 mph through the back country, I can’t have you passing out on me.  It’s a safety hazard.”  He was somehow able to manage this conversation without raising his voice, though every muscle in his body tensed with frustration.  She wasn’t sure why it was such a touchy subject for him, but it was.

Her trainer would make her pay for the lemonade either way, so she decided to enjoy the sandwich when it arrived.  Finn instantly relaxed and they fell into easy banter.


Finn appreciated Talia’s easy going demeanor.  She was clearly intelligent, but her wit kept him smiling.  She was also incredibly open, answering nearly every question in great length, and then turning the tables back on him, challenging him to share things as well.

Some things were easier to answer.  Where did I grow up?  What were my parents like?  How often did I visit the ocean?  Had I ever nearly drown?  Things like that.

Others were more difficult.  What was my relationship like with my father?  What was my career?

But his favorite were the naughty questions.

“What’s your favorite sexual position?” she asked with ease, as if she had just asked his favorite color.

“With you, I think it would be across this table, legs splayed wide, tits jiggling out of their confines.  Something along those lines.  You?”

“If you don’t want my claws to sink into your back, you’d want to flip me over so I’d have to cling to the table instead,” she said, egging him on.

“If I didn’t want your claws in my back, I’d simply tie them to the table.  I’d take my belt, tie your hands far enough down that your ass was forced good and high, and then I’d slap those perfect ass cheeks loud enough that the entire plaza would hear.  Then they would watch me fuck you.”

“What if I liked it?” she challenged, her voice bordering on dry.

“Then you’d scream my name as you came, your pussy strangling my cock into its own orgasm,” he said in a near whisper, their bodies necessarily leaning closely so as not to announce their lewd fantasies.

She swallowed hard.  “What’s your favorite color?” and the verbal dance would continue.


“I didn’t think men claimed pink as their favorite color” she prodded.

“Pink is the color of your pussy. And your lips, and the shade of the blush that creeps across your chest.  And the color your ass cheeks would be after you let me swat them.  All my favorite things.  So pink is my favorite.”

She swallowed hard.  “Does it offend you that I decided to forgo a bra today?”

It was his turn to swallow hard.  “No.”

She smiled and demurely sipped her coffee.

“Do you mean to tell me that all it would take is for somebody to untie this knot right here,” he said as he fondled the ties on her shirt, “and those perfect tits would bounce out for the whole world to see?”


“I like this naughty side of you.”

She smiled again, a sardonic laugh parting her lips, “Good.”


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑

RTW Roxy

23 years old girl travelling solo on a motorcycle.

Chanty's Cosmos

~~~Never let anyone dull your Sparkle~~~

Cee's Photography

Learning and teaching the art of composition.


where author's dreams take flight

Sweet and Unholy

Book Reviews & Personal Hell Hole


A millennial's take on life, adult face paint and sleepless nights.

A Mark of my Own

Unraveling my thoughts with writing


One Woman's Quest to Entertain Herself

Ana Linden

Writing Life

Thought trail

Trail of stories, poems, observations and more!


A blog by Dr. Abhinav Majumder

Meyer Clark Studio

A Creative Journey

A Pocket Full Of Wanderlust

" Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn't do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. " Mark Twain

Just Writing!

A place to improve my writing skills, and that's all.

Damsel with a Drill

The Never-Ending Chronicles of Homeownership

Dark Side of the Moon

the side of me most people never see

%d bloggers like this: