Short Stories

The Forbidden Fruit

We both resided in the candle light, veiled with the blackness of the flickering shadows, and gazing at each other with a silent, half-hidden passion. From the corner of my eyes I could see her silhouette on the wall of the room, creating vibrant rituals of dance and partnering with the smoothly floating smoke of her burning cigarette.

Beauty was her gift from the skies; long, silky hair streamed down her neck and onto her bare shoulders, covering the outlines of her bosom like carefully mastered brush strokes of a painter. Dreamy hazel-shaped eyes sparkled with the fading lights as the curves of her body rested effortlessly on the colorful settee. Her lips were round and full, firm and almost certainly tasted like wild cherries. She was a sight for sore eyes, and her splendor transformed that room into a garden of multicolor, similar to the Garden of Eden.

Inside, an uncontrollable urge was skirmishing to be set free; a yearning to taste the wine of her lips, until my thirst was quenched, and touch the fires of her curvature, until I totally burned into ashes. To explore her beauty and behold, in person, the grandeur of a woman – that woman! I was longing to hold her, to smell her and feel the smoldering warmth against my skin. I struggled hard to conceal my inner craving, hoping that my eyes would not betray me. And yet, silently, I prayed that the blaze inside of me would reveal itself in another form of manifestation.

In an attempt to distract myself, I carefully glanced away. The room was cozy, decorated with a million little colorful ornaments that mirrored her inner soul. The door to the veranda stood facing the divan reflecting the flames of the scented candles. On the corner was a small table on which a photo rested. It was one which confined moments of happiness; the faces were frozen in that specific time and place, but seemed cheerful nevertheless. It was the perfect picture of a perfect family. Opposite to that small table lay a big picture of a man, who seemed to have been trapped in a time from long ago. His hair was long but did not appear to be in harmony with today’s fashion, and he had a relatively long beard. He was dressed in what seemed to be an old turban, its colors somewhat fading from the sun. But he did not seem to care for trend. He appeared to be more of a man-apart; distinctive from everyone else. His face looked peaceful and radiant, yet firm. He conveyed the image of one who was aware of everything; complex and yet simple enough to be a close friend – one whose picture could be hung in such a room.

My soundless examination suddenly came to halt when a sweet, musical voice flowed into my ears.

“More wine?” She asked me, with a tempting smile.

I nodded a yes and watched her as she gracefully seized the bottle of old red wine, took off the cork and graciously poured it into the recently emptied glass on the table. The sound of the wine created a mystical tune which only the two of us could hear. My heart beats were the drums gloriously throbbing with the majestic vocals of the crystal glass. I was intoxicated with the surroundings: flickering, scented candle lights, the melody of wine and a majestically beautiful woman seated by my side. It was a vision of heavenly splendor.

She raised the glass and offered it to me, and, almost shivering, I stretched out my hand and accepted the enticement. My fingers gently brushed against hers, and an electric current flowed and sent my whole body to shock. For a moment, I thought I had lost consciousness; and in that moment I heard her whispering gently in my ear words I had longed to hear.

“Close your eyes, I will be by your side all night.”

I gave up the battle that raged within and permitted the desires to overtake and rule. I freed my innermost hunger and indulged myself into the pleasures offered unto me, as I could no longer resist the fierceness of the aching. I reached out my hand and gently ran it across her face, down her neck and further down to the borders of her breast, which was, up until that point, a prohibited bliss. Then I unhurriedly approached her lips, carefully letting mine rest upon hers. They were sweet as honey and satiating. And as our lips gracefully aligned with each other, I let my fingers caress her half naked back. Her skin was warm and soft, radiating the heat from within. Gradually, my body rested on top of hers, all the while our lips never parted. Hoping to satisfy my hunger for her, I began to explore her fine figure; moving from her lips, down to her neck while the scent of her perfume lured me deeper and deeper until I reached the Forbidden Fruit of passion.

I was about to savor the first sip, when the thunder rolled and I heard a crashing sound. I opened my eyes to notice that I had dropped my glass of wine and shattered it into a thousand tiny pieces. I was appalled, and for a fraction of a second, I could not move.

“I’m so sorry,” I apologized as I hurriedly rushed to pick up the pieces off the floor.

“Don’t worry about it,” came her reply. “But you seem to be tense tonight.”

With those words, she disappeared into the kitchen to get a towel to wipe the spilled wine. Embarrassment took over me, and a fear of being exposed. As I continued to gather the pieces of the broken glass, my eyes involuntarily stared at the man from old in the picture. He was looking me straight in the eye, reprimanding me. I froze in my place for his glances were strongly influencing.

She walked back into the room with a mop and cleaned the floor of the glass and the wine. I went on to apologize and explain how clumsy I was. She kept on smiling and reassuring that it was all right.

The night came to an end; I bid her farewell and walked away. It was cold outside and the rain was about the fall. I got into my car and drove off. My mind was replaying the events, trying to understand. The man from the picture kept popping before my eyes, giving me a message. My short-lived dream was shattered just like the wine glass, as a constant reminder that she will always be the forbidden fruit.

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