BURNING COALS AND ROASTED CHESTNUTS – project “52”

They called her Lolliphabai for “red apple” in Romani.  But the only red she had were her plump lips.  Her hair was char-black and wavy; her eyes were deep brown as the chestnuts she was roasting on the potbelly stove.  The chimney was sticking up from the roof of the gypsy caravan and was spinning a fine yarn of smoky fluffs.  One can see it from afar.

The gypsy camp was slowly moving up along the riverbank.  They needed a well-protected place to settle for the raw winter ahead.  The caravans were snaking up the road following the body curves of the riverbed.

Lolliphabai was devouring the last rays of autumn warmth and her young heart was skipping happy with the gentle breeze coming from the river.  She was sitting on the back of the caravan, dangling her bare feet.  A tobacco pipe was hanging out from the corner of her red-lipped mouth as if she forgot it was there...

With one hand she occasionally was shaking up the cast iron pan with chestnuts and charcoals in it as they were getting roasted on the small caravan stove.  Gypsy loved everything smoked.  With the other she would cares her almost uncovered perky breasts.  The nipples were pushing through the white shirt from raw silk that she span last spring.  They still carried the delight and excitement from last night.  She picked a lover, read his hand, made him a cooked red wine with cracked pepper and fed him wild forest fruit and smoked pork knuckles, which she stole from the last village the gypsy camp passed by.  Now she was listening to his peaceful snoring from inside the caravan, roasting the chestnuts and thinking about the night that went...  As the recollection of his strong hands holding her thighs like a galloping horseman flipped through her mind, she could feel a big surge of heat streaming to her groin.  Her dark eyes were beaming like glowing coals.

She got up and took the chestnuts off the hot stove.  Then pulled the string that was holding the top skirt and let the skirt drop on the floor.  She had nine skirts around her willowy waist.  Next came down the other skirt; and the other.  And the other…

Lolliphabai made a quick gesture of dusting magic over her head and went inside to wake up her new lover.  They had no much time left to drink each other’s juices before he leaves this gypsy camp to join some other wonderers.

Latcho Drom! (Safe journey!)

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