...to eat of the apple

"The morning sun when its in your face really shows your age

But that dont worry me none in my eyes you're everything"
~Rod Stewart

The damp wrinkled sheets are bunched and twisted at his feet as he leans back against the cool wall. Sunlight pours in through the half closed window, the drapes puffing out gently from the slight breeze that struggles to push through the gap. She is sitting on the edge of the bed her long black hair cascading down her back which still glistens with beads of sweat. She looks over her shoulder at the boy. The look on her face, partially hidden behind stray wisps stuck to her cheek, is unreadable. Her eyes smolder with a dark fire and yet within the chasms of each bright orb, lurks unfathomable emotions, swirling like a whirlpool.
He runs his hand along his now limp member, cupping his scrotum, still slick with the remnants of before, a moment in time that now seems ages ago. A bead of sweat trickles down the middle of his chest to pool along the crease of his belly.

They had had sex passionately, urgently, their bodies twisting and contorting awkwardly. "We must take it slowly", she had urged him as she slipped him out of her mouth and then used her hand to guide him inside her. He had fallen on top of her naked body, her breasts pushing into his chest, nipples catching briefly on nipples while he buried his face into the nape of her neck. With animalistic abandon, he had mounted her, driven by the aroma of her musk, pounding his bony hips rapidly against her, his motions jerky and spasmodic, like a new born calf finding it's legs. The woman had been patient, clamping her hands on his buttocks and pressing him against her, trapping him with her thighs slowing him down with soft whispers. She had coaxed him with her experience and mature encouragement. It was different for him. It was not the way they did it in those so-called blue movies he had once seen with his school friends as they gathered around in nervous excitement in front of a small television set. He remembered well the hardness of his cock. How the dampness of the fluid as it oozed out to smear against the cotton of his underwear that day felt cool against his fevered thighs.
Now here he was, dizzy from the rushing sounds in his head, almost blinded by the intensity of ragged emotions roaring through his body as his hard cock glided in and out of her hot hole. It had been all too much for him. Unable to control himself, he had ejaculated inside the woman, his small frame bucking in the throes of such a fierce climax. It felt like he was having a seizure. He could barely control his breathing. His head felt like it was going to explode. He thought he would pass out. But the woman held him to her, her hands soothing his back her thighs pressed against his sides, one foot stroking the back of his calf. Two bodies bonded together by the sweat that poured out of their bodies. She whispered the boy's name.

The drone and clack-clack of the small rusty table fan as it oscillated in a valiant attempt to push the humid air about the small room, is the only other sound above the thud of his heart against his rib cage. Time slowed to a crawl. A fly buzzed angrily, trapped between the curtains and the window screen. A gecko, veins pulsating through transparent skin watched from the sill, intently waiting for the right moment to strike. Outside, a murder of crows cawed in the trees, the branches scraping like fingers along the roof tiles. Bougainvillea swayed outside the window, lurking like a voyueristic shadow.
"What are we going to do?" Her voice is soft and husky from the afterglow, heavy with the burden of the illicit coupling. The boy is unsure if he should answer. She turns her head away to stare at the wall across the room, A long sigh escapes her lips as her body slumps over. Resignation tempered with a deep inherent hunger speckles her voice. "You better get dressed".
"Will I see you tomorrow?", the boys voice is laced with trepidation, confusion seeping in like a tide to wash away the awareness of the last few moments.
"Yes...", a stroke of hesitation, "...but we must be careful"
The boy grins as he bounds from the bed. The woman crosses her arms across her chest, hiding her breasts from him in an impulsive act of chasteness as he leans forward to kiss her cheek.
And then he is gone, slamming the door behind him, leaving the room suddenly cold and bereft of spirit. The woman takes a heaving sigh and bends to pick up her clothes. From the garden, there is a rush of wings as the crows take to startled flight.