(Pump Handle Red and Winter Garlic)...Winter garlic is planted in the late fall and harvested in the late spring of the following year. The pump had to be primed by pouring a bucket of water into the hand pump and letting the water sit in the pump and pipe for ten minutes, not stroking the pump. Today, the water refused to flow. Levi took out her channel locks and screwdriver preparing to pull the pump head apart. She confirmed the leather seals on the stroke rod were worn. She replaced the seals, always keeping spare seals within reach. The can of red spray paint sitting on the shelf was looking good, too. She replaced the seals, reinstalled the pump head and primed the pump. After ten minutes, she pumped the handle and the water flowed. She gave the handle a fresh coat of pump handle red paint and went out to the garden to harvest her winter garlic while the pump handle dried.
The garlic cloves had grown beautifully. Last fall, Levi had dug the trenches, put in a layer of fertilizer and layed each individual garlic clove in the trench with the root end pointed down. She covered it with soil and then eight inches of heavy mulch. Today, she had two bushel baskets full of garlic. She headed back to her old farmhouse thinking about how hand pumps had been around for centuries, carved from early wooden ones from tree trunks to the cast iron one that came with the farmhouse. "What!" When she looked at the freshly painted pump handle, it was smudged. She looked around and saw no one, just a dove with red talons on the tree above. Oh, that's it, the dove perched on it. She would just paint it again, but now she was off to take a basket of the garlic to the late spring farmer's garlic market after she cleaned up.
Just a little ways down the road, she drove past a woman hitchhiking. She looked back in her rearview mirror, pulled over to the side of the road and waited for the woman to get to her. "Hi, where you headed?" Levi asked.
"To find some water."
"Get in." The woman somewhere in her late twenties opened the door and climbed in. "I'll get you some water."
Levi whipped the truck around and headed back to the farmhouse. When she pulled into the driveway, the woman said, "I didn't know it was wet."
"What is wet?" Levi asked.
The woman lifted her right hand like she was swearing an oath, her palm covered in red.
"Oh, it was you?"
"I left my bike with a flat tire behind your farmhouse. I knocked. No one answered. I pumped the handle for a cool drink - I didn't know it was wet."
"I was down in the garden harvesting my winter garlic. What's your name?"
"Pearl," the pretty woman said. Her dark pin curl was drooping on her forehead from the heat.
"Hi Pearl, I'm Levi." Levi pumped the handle and filled a ladle with the refreshing well water. Levi held the ladle and tipped it for Pearl to drink.
"So good, Levi, I'd like some more. Can I pump it - suck the water up the rod?" Pearl asked. "Those were the days." Pearl's rouge-stained cheeks came to life. Her lips quivered in answer to what Levi said.
"Mineral spirits," Levi said. She took Pearl inside the farmhouse to clean her hand with mineral spirits.
"Y--yes," Pearl stammered. Gold mining had left its mark.
"Must be original pump handle red--mineral spirits won't touch it," Levi said, rubbing Pearl's palm, but the red wouldn't come off.
Pearl took Levi's hand and plunged it down Pearl's cleavage. "Feel me, Levi." Levi inhaled the strong turpentine scent of the mineral spirits, her hand rubbing Pearl's breasts inside her Victorian lace bra. She worked Pearl's shirt up untucking it from inside her jeans. "I feel you, Pearl." She pushed Pearl back against the farmhouse wallpaper and pulled Pearl's shirt over her arms and head. "Bedroom's on the other side of this wall."
"Take me there, I..."
On the bed, lying upon a 19th century lace afghan, Pearl's sensuous lips touched Levi's in a passionate kiss of winter garlic. "I didn't know it was wet," Pearl whispered.
"What is wet?" Levi whispered. She unhooked Pearl's bra and slowly rubbed her back.
Pearl's ivory skin quivered with goose bumps.
"Those were the days," Pearl said, lifting her hips up off the antique four-poster mahogony wood bed, Levi helping her pull off her pants. "The girls always said..."
"Said what, Pearl?"
"My passion seethed in pump handle red. The girls said that in good working order," Pearl said. "Pussy is wet."
"Say it again, Pearl."
"Pussy is...wet," Pearl repeated. The antiquity in those lines! Levi pulled off Pearl's panties, soaked in revelation of passion. "Yes...Levi, yes...I can barely stand this waiting...I...I need you to negotiate."
Levi rose off the bed and went to her marble top dresser for the bottle of whiskey. "Pearl, have some of this." Pearl took a hearty swallow. Her clit grew out of its hood, big as a thumbhead stood up on end, hitchhiking it's way to Levi. Levi picked it up with her tongue, licking it up and down and whipping it around in a u-turn, leaving Pearl grasping the mattress until her knuckles turned white and her pussy lips turned pump handle red. "Suck it to Myers Avenue!" Pearl gasped. Levi pulled it with her lips and sucked it, pumping Pearl's clit between her teeth, milking Pearl out of her fluids. She had Pearl's clit so hard like a pump handle pipe. Levi reached under her mattress and took from underneath a spool of Teflon thread tape. She gave it four or five tight bulging wraps around Pearl's engorged clit, holding it with her thumb and forefinger, jerking it off into her mouth until Pearl ejaculated, shooting a fine spray of pussy juice into Levi's mouth. Pearl's clit was so slippery, the Teflon tape came off at the same time Pearl came by the lure of pump handle red, leaching wares of the past.
"I didn't know you were fire," Pearl whispered. "Now I must rest."
Levi kissed Pearl passionately as two women do. She took Pearl's wrist and turned up her red palm the mineral spirits wouldn't touch. Pearl whispered, drifting off to sleep, "Gold mining has left its mark."
Levi walked out behind the farmhouse to have a look at Pearl's bicycle. She took out a red tire pump and a tire-patching kit. There was no bicycle. There was a strong smell of mineral spirits in the air. She went back inside the farmhouse into the bedroom where she had left Pearl sleeping on the antique bed. There was no woman. There was a strong smell of mineral spirits in the air. Levi touched her lips to the whiskey bottle and took a hearty swallow. She could taste Pearl. Levi climbed in the truck and headed to the late spring farmer's garlic market. Up top of the hill to the cemetery, she saw a ghostly woman riding a red bicycle with white teflon tape streamers disappearing through the black wrought iron gates to the cemetery entrance. Madam Pearl DeVere's passion seethed in pump handle red. The girls said that in good working order, and so is Levi's pump handle red in good working order.
Copyright 1/24/2009 Ms. Sage Sweetwater, firebrand lesbian novelist, unrivaled, bringing you the upper tier in lesbian erotica
Sage Sweetwater created this original erotic lesbian story from how Sage envisions the true spirit of Madam Pearl DeVere and her true sexual preference, and why and what really caused her untimely death. If you are a fan of Sage Sweetwater, you know that Sage is quite fond of the legendary Madam of the most famous brothel "parlor house" The Old Homestead in Cripple Creek, Colorado near where Sage Sweetwater lives.
Authors Note: Colorado Firebrand Lesbian Novelist, Poet and Storyteller Sage Sweetwater visits Pearl DeVere at her grave at the Mt. Pisgah Cemetery just outside the city limits of Cripple Creek, Colorado. Every month, Sage leaves Pearl a half-full bottle of whiskey propped up against Pearl's tombstone and a live red rose. The local town wastrels usually take the whiskey, if so, Sage replaces another half-full bottle each month. Sage Sweetwater has written several poems on Authors Den based on the lovely Madam Pearl DeVere, Cripple Creek's wealthiest Madam and owner of The Old Homestead Parlor House (Brothel) which is now, in its form as a museum with all of Pearl's original furnishings in Cripple Creek.
Sage has written several poems, pertaining to the lovely Pearl DeVere, revolving around Madam Pearl DeVere's short-lived life. And most recently, Sage added a poem pertaining to Madam's girls in good working order, Azael Calhoun Tied the Reins Rains Pancake Worship. These poems can be read on Authors den at these links.
Azael Calhoun Tied the Reins Rains Pancake Worship
http://www.authorsden.com/visit/viewpoetry.asp?id=246811
Poverty Gulch
http://www.authorsden.com/visit/viewpoetry.asp?id=185405
Assaying Violet Fire
http://www.authorsden.com/visit/viewpoetry.asp?id=185801
Torchlight and Cobblestone: Mercy Street
http://www.authorsden.com/visit/viewpoetry.asp?id=185221
Gold Dust Pulpit
http://www.authorsden.com/visit/viewpoetry.asp?id=209539
Tombstone
http://www.authorsden.com/visit/viewpoetry.asp?id=212908
Judas
http://www.authorsden.com/visit/viewpoetry.asp?id=212909
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