This story features two cis queer women, Jessy (she/her) and Emma (she/her). Content note for public sex.
Among the plethora of fall activities one can do in New England—leaf-peeping, harvest and pumpkin festivals, planning a road-stand tour of the region’s finest cider donuts—apple-picking topped Jessy’s list.
Jessy’s favorite orchard, Purple Hills, stood at the foothills of a mountain range a few hours from her apartment, but come hell or high water, every October, she made the trip. It wasn’t just the scenery that made Purple Hills spectacular: the orchard was filled with mouthwatering delights unlike any fruit she’d tasted before, the on-site taproom boasted the best hard cider around, and you could easily turn your trip into a day-long adventure with their hay rides, pumpkin picking and corn maze. When it came to serving up fall in the most picturesque package possible, Purple Hills delivered.
When Emma invited Jessy to take a trip to Purple Hills and bake an apple pie together with their haul in mid-October, she jumped at the chance. Normally Jessy would have gone once—maybe even twice—by this point in the season, but a new promotion at work took over most of her time and suddenly, somehow, she was smack-dab in the middle of fall without a single baked good or classic pumpkin patch photo to show for it. Some years Jessy went to the orchard alone, and sometimes she went with friends, but she was glad to have a close friend accompany her this time.
As they drove west from the city to Purple Hills, Emma and Jessy caught up on everything new in their lives. Between Jessy’s increased responsibilities at work and Emma’s move to a new apartment, they hadn’t seen each other in weeks, a rarity for their intimate friendship that usually included decadent dinners out, weekend camping trips, and cozy time inside together during the long, brutal New England winters. Halfway to the orchard, Emma reminded Jessy that, in fact, Purple Hills was the first big outing they did together years ago.
Jessy and Emma met in college. Both from small towns, they felt isolated at their respective universities in a big city and were aching for connection with other queer women who were also just discovering themselves, their identities, and their bodies for the first time. They matched on Tinder, and after a few awkward dates and fumbled sexual advances, they decided it would be best to move forward as friends, especially because building community was more important to them than finding a partner. Now, eight years later, here they were. There had always been a little bit of electricity between them, but neither acted on it as their friendship grew.
After Jessy and Emma pulled into Purple Hills’ crowded parking lot, they grabbed apple-picking totes and made a beeline for a hot cider stand to sip while they made their way through the orchard’s seemingly endless rows of trees. A sign at the entrance of the orchard informed them of the stunning variety of apples available for picking today: McIntosh, Cortland, Empire, Jonagold, Macoun, Honeycrisp, Gingergold, and Gala.
“Honeycrisp and Jonagold—that’s what we want,” Jessy said, weaving through the crowds of people enjoying donuts, cider, and freshly-picked apples by the orchard’s farm stand entrance. She led Emma to the leftmost side of the orchard where their desired apples were; two of the best for baking, according to the articles she’d read long ago. Neither variety had let her down so far.
Moving beyond the first few rows of trees in the Honeycrisp section, leaving behind the picked-through remnants of the apples that were easiest to reach—or perfect for a quick, Instagrammable photo-op—Jessy and Emma found the sweet spot right in the middle of the orchard. The trees looked like they stretched for miles, but here the women were unbothered by the rush of sounds and crowds and could enjoy the mountain air and sneak a bite of an apple without watchful eyes.
Emma and Jessy carefully turned the apples over in their hands, selecting not just any old Honeycrisp for their upcoming baking project. Each was selected with precision, inspected for unsavory spots, and placed into their totes with care. If this was their big fall excursion, then dammit, this apple pie was going to be filled with nothing but the best.
Once their bags were bursting at the seams, Jessy was ready to suggest that they head back down and enjoy a flight of hard cider at the tasting room, but Emma had other plans. She set her tote down against the nearest tree, flashed Jessy a devilish grin, and stepped into the grove where the different varieties of apple trees met each other, nothing but a sliver of a dirt path separating the lines of trees. Grabbing a ladder that Jessy hadn’t even seen, Emma began to climb until Jessy couldn’t see her any longer. She returned with a brilliant Honeycrisp apple, shiny, red-yellow, and perfectly plump.
Looking directly at Jessy—there was that devilish expression again—Emma bit into the apple. She looked like she was in pure ecstasy.
“You’ve never tasted anything like this in your life,” Emma moaned.
Emboldened, Jessy took a step toward Emma. Jessy looked her up and down, biting her lip as she watched the juice from Emma’s apple trickle down her chin. Apple still in Emma’s right hand, Jessy tentatively reached for her left, looking at Emma for the green light. She nodded.
Slowly, Jessy leaned in, tasting the juice that was now making its way below Emma’s neck to her chin and collarbone. Following the trail with her tongue, she reached Emma’s lips and felt them gently part, saliva mixing with honeyed sweetness.
“You’re right, I haven’t.”
Emma took a step back from Jessy, more turned on than before now that her friend had made the first move. Jessy was confident, independent, and strong-willed, but when it came to sex and relationships, she was shy—and she’d be the first to admit it. Emma needed to see more of this side of her. She craved it. She was greedy for more and the fact that they were in a public place didn’t matter: the world was blurry. All she could see was Jessy and the trees surrounding them like their own private sanctuary.
Emma grabbed Jessy’s arm and hungrily pulled her deeper and deeper into the grove. They climbed higher to the very base of the mountain, where their likelihood of getting caught was slim, but never zero. The orchard provided cover, but Jessy knew from their college dalliances—and the stories she told about one-night-stands and ended relationships—that Emma was bound to make noise.
Jessy pushed Emma against a tree, pulling down her tights and reaching under her skirt. She pushed Emma’s lacy underwear aside to circle her clit before slipping her fingers inside.
“Fuck, you’re making me so… wet…” Emma trailed off as Jessy fucked her, moving faster with each stroke as Emma clutched her arms around Jessy’s neck and moved her body with her friend’s rhythm. Jessy slid another finger inside Emma’s cunt, feeling a deep need to fill her up while Emma’s wetness soaked her fingers and pooled in her palm.
Suddenly, it felt like all those awkward pieces that didn’t fit eight years ago finally did. Jessy and Emma fell into each other like old, fervent lovers, not friends who experimented when they were only just starting to understand what it meant to be queer, to be lesbians, to explore their sexualities without shame. Their deeply emotionally intimate friendship had brought them closer and paramours of the past had given them the gift of experience. Now, they were ready for each other.
Intertwined, they tumbled from the tree to the ground, no longer fumbling with one another’s clothes, but pulling them off with abandon. Dying to be inside of her again, Jessy continued to finger-fuck Emma, spreading her legs wide to take in all of her beauty, her juices and her sweetness, the vision of her spread before Jessy in one of their favorite places on earth. She was devastatingly beautiful. And Jessy wanted more.
Kneeling between her legs as if to worship her, Jessy began to lightly lick Emma’s clit while she pumped her fingers in and out of her. With her other hand, she reached up and flicked Emma’s nipples, a cornucopia of sensations that Emma could barely handle.
She eventually gave in. Being so fucked so zealously, tasted so gently, and touched so vigorously was such a delicious, unbearable combination that Emma’s orgasm felt like light shining through her skin, beginning with tingles in her hands and feet and ending with an explosion in her cunt that rocked her entire body.
As Jessy felt Emma’s body quake, she looked up at her from between her thighs, delighted to find that Emma had just taken a bite of her Honeycrisp apple.
Juice was written as part of Smutathon 2020, an annual transatlantic fundraising event where sex bloggers and writers write smut for twelve hours for good causes. This year, we’re raising money for Endometriosis UK! Donate here and support Endometriosis UK’s crucial mission to raise awareness about and support those with endometriosis.
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