Almost too perfect; such clear, amber pools of light, the faint blush, the blood-red promise of satisfaction. Those long delicate necks … simply craving the touch of a discerning, caressing hand.
He kept them in the shadows, their shapely elegance proofed against invasive, fumbling fingers and the uneducated palate of the chattering classes.
He leisurely anticipated the moment they’d be ripe for tasting.
Their bouquet would linger on his bloodless lips; he’d savour the full-bodied taste he’d nurtured over twenty years.
He was to be disappointed.
Intruders snatched his prizes, slaked their thirst indiscriminately.
And his girls left with them.
Back home again after a great season of cruising and wondering how I’ll keep myself occupied during the next few months until we set off on our travels again. Apologies if I’ve not returned or acknowledged visits from other Friday Fictioneers as comprehensively as usual – I did my best, given the weather, the internet connection etc etc. Thanks once again to Rochelle for her hard work hosting this weekly get-together.