It was a glorioriorious spring morning in Crotchbury; birds were singing gloriorioriously, the sun was shining similarly and all felt well with the world. Hester celebrated the morning by stepping out barefoot onto the grass, still damp with dew. Her gauzy dress wafted around her limblicious legs as she walked, the breezes tickled her volumpties and she felt like a bucolic advertisement for milk chocolates.
Her perambulations were quite public, as she had chosen to walk across the grass of the village green, and the waftitude of her dress, along with her bouncing auburn curls and other bouncingness, were bound to attract attention. As she bent down to pick a buttercup, she asked herself why anyone would leave one lying around.
It was the day of the Great Easter Egg Hunt, and in accordance with Crotchbury tradition, the village children would spend the morning being over-excited, whilst adults wandered the village green and other communal herbidaceous areas concealing the eggs just enough to allow them to be found.
Hester had taken part as a child, carried along with the rumbustious atmosphere, and admiring of the grownups who diplomatically decided who had found what, and resolved cocoa-related disputes. It was indeed a special day.
Hester had no idea she was making it special for someone else: Huevos was a relative newcomer to Crotchbury, and was intrigued by its traditions. He was becoming very fond of the Easter Egg Hunt one already, as it brought onto the village green a vision of wispily-clad delight whose curvulaceous underneathiness was revealed by a combination of breezes and bright sunshine on fine cheesecloth. After a few moments he stepped forward, the sunlight glinting off his curls which were bouncing almost as much as Hester herself as he walked.
He greeted her with a jolly wave, and a dashing hint of accent Espanol. Hester smiled in response: she had seen him around and watched as he had developed into a true Crotchburyer.
“Are you going to be helping with the egg hunt?” he asked, his vowels luscious with Mediterranean promise. Hester nodded. She was as awake to the promise of his vowels as she was consonant in anticipating him getting his lips around them.
They walked idly around the green, exchanging conversation light in content but eggnant with potential, until an announcement over loudspeakers set up for the event, called all volunteering adults together. Hester and Huevos joined the small gathering under the speakers. A brief explanation was given and bags of chocolate eggs were distributed. The Chairman of the EEH made clear that everyone should stick to their allotted areas for Easter Egg Hiding, to avoid confusion. Huevos looked at Hester and they exchanged a glance of comprehension, so that as the list was shared out, Hester found herself saying “Huevos and I will do that one”
They walked away together, carrying the bags of eggs and a piece of paper which said “Rumpy’s Meadow”
The meadow lay on the edge of the village, and so, each hoped privately, would they. Huevos admitted that he had never been into it before. Hester, blushing, said she had spent a lot of time there over the years. The meadow was entered by a kissing gate. Hester explained the name – as the gate swung back and forth it “kissed” each side of the encircling fence. Huevos smiled to himself as they entered the meadow: it seemed the perfect metaphor.
“I know all the best hiding places” Hester assured him. He believed her. They walked at first to the centre of the meadow to enjoy the view. It was indeed worth the walk. To Huevos, the view of soft flesh scantily swathed in thin wisps of a dress. To Hester, the view of swarthy, bare-armed, and with piratical good looks. After enjoying the view for a while, Hester pointed out that they should start to hide some eggs as it was a warm day and her bag was getting hot. Huevos agreed. He had been feeling the same.
They wandered to the edge of the meadow, where mature hedges were interspersed with mature trees; it was a mature place. Hester placed her eggs carefully, one by one, amongst the undergrowth. With each egg, she placed she bent down low, and Huevos was able to enjoy the views again. Soon his bag was becoming very warm.
“I need to get mine out too” he pointed out after a while
“Going soft?” Hester asked.
“Not really….” He replied
Hester was meticulous with her egg-hiding: she had been on the hunts as a child and knew how much depended on just the right balance of conceal and reveal. She had clearly transposed this skill to her clothing as well, and Huevos was impressed on all counts. When they had finished hiding all her eggs, they started on his. Hester walked by his side, pointing and making suggestions, but Huevos could not concentrate. He hid his eggs somewhat hastily, and soon his were all gone too.
“Last one!” he exclaimed, with a triumphant grin. They faced each other, there, where the kissing gate gives entrance to Rumpy’s Meadow. Her dress rippled in the breeze, giving fleeting glimpses of the lightly poached beauties within. His clothes rippled a little too, though not because of any breeze.
“Well, we finished quickly!” she exclaimed, as the sun gleamed on her peachy skin, and, when the breeze obliged, on her peaches too.
Huevos smiled “We haven’t even started” he whispered. “Let’s go and look for a little treasure under one of those trees”
He nodded his head in the direction of a spinney with thick undergrowth around it. They walked together towards it, the sun shining warm on their backs and the hot sap rising. They clambered amongst the undergrowth and found a cosy place to nestle down. Hester’s dress, thin though it was, seemed somehow troublingly hot. Despite thorough searching, Huevos did not find any eggs. He was not disappointed though, as he chanced upon many other treats, which he shared with Hester.
Her instinct was correct: just the right balance of conceal and reveal, and you can keep the interest levels very high. Squealing, giggling children notwithstanding they remained at the same time concealed and completely revealed in the privacy of the spinney until the sun, amongst other things, had gone down.
“It’s a shame Easter comes only once a year” observed Huevos.
“You are not Easter” Hester replied….
Eva Feltham is our Fun & Fantasy Investigative Journalist. With a PhD in Double Entendre and a Mistress of the Institute of Innuendo, Eva specialises in seeking out mischievous situations.
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