“Opportunity knocks once while temptation leans on the door bell”,

Is the thought that swooshed through my head as I opened the door to see the gorgeous vixen of Jacaranda lane – Ghazal Parvez, standing there. Her alluring smile that has made many a men of the area trip on their own morality, was hitched to near perfection on her rosebud lips.

Her silken mane streaked like a wild stallion around her beautiful visage and in her arms she was cradling a basket of crimson red apples. A pale pink apron with white lacy frills, adorned her perfectly shaped figure which was as usual sheathed in a pair of tight denims and a skin fit Tee.

Trying not to gulp visibly at this comely vision of divine temptation, I smiled back a Hi at her as she spoke to me,

” Guess what? I was in a mood to bake these crisp and tart apples into a pie, when the power phase of my house blew off. I was wondering if I could bake in your kitchen today please?”

That’s when I noticed another basket at her feet which had her baking implements and supplies tucked into it.

“If you want to make an apple pie from scratch, you must first invent the universe.” – Carl Sagan

Oh lord was I in for trouble today!

Before I proceed further, allow me to introduce myself. I am Rashid Anwar – 38, single, straight, available male; currently staying with my widowed mother. I work in a software firm based out of Baltimore, US and have availed my six months of work from home tenure. Here I am in Jacaranda Lane – a residential colony on Golf course road in Gurgaon.

Ghazal Parvez is a 32 years old, divorced single mom of a 6 YO girl and our very unearthly neighbor. Unearthly, for she looks sculpted straight out of the erotic fantasies of a sex starved deviant.

An hourglass figure, luscious red mouth and huge doe shaped eyes that forever hold an expression of utmost hurt; such that you feel an insane urge to take her in your arms and comfort her. Her sensuousness is accentuated by a soft drawl that feels as if one is being slowly covered with a rich caramel sauce, seasoned with some sea salt. And her lustrous tresses add another sultry dimension to her sexy aura.

Many a men of the locality revered the Diva of temptation from afar and her threshold is forever adorned with a regular delivery of tokens of admiration. It is to be said that she is singularly aware of her sexiness and uses it shamelessly to derive harmless favors from the masculine half of the colony. Be it changing a flat tire or giving her a ride till the supermarket or changing the gas cylinder refill – she pretty much has them (and me) under her sensuous spell.

Oh and the rumor has it that she is on the prowl for a new husband.

Yup she is temptation personified and it seems today I am the object of her affection.

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As I invited her in, I hurriedly ran a critical eye over the house to assure that none of the signs of my slovenly bachelor lifestyle were strewn around. My mother has been bemoaning my lack of domesticity since the first day of my homecoming. I will never hear the end of it, if some gossip of my Neanderthal habits percolate back to her kaffeeklatsch. I swear mom and her kitty group run this colony like the Mossad, their nose in everyone’s affairs.

Ghazal sashayed in as if a gazelle in slow motion, all the while hugging the apples protectively to her ample bosom. In case you are wondering, I was swallowing hard all the while I watched her stalk me in my own home.

Daintly she set up her baking wares on the kitchen counter, chattering brightly about how juicy and delicious her apple pie is. She picked up one of the red devils and slowly bit into it, releasing its golden juice that of course dribbled playfully down her chin. She measured the sugar crystals, and then lifted her fingers to her cupid bow mouth to casually lick the excess.

Kneading the dough for the tart, she fully gyrated her denim encased posterior, even as her generous bosom heaved with exertion. Of course a stray strand fell on her brow, only to be swatted away by her flour dusted hand, leaving a tell tale smudge behind that I yearned to clean away.

Ghazal seemed to be full on in the Nigella Lawson mode and I was a deer caught in the headlights. My brain otherwise dulled with tech jargon, was in severe danger of short circuiting synapses in wake of this stormy temptation that refused to abate her fury.

“He’s forbidden fruit, and I am Eve standing in front of the apple.” – Jessica Clare

Finally the tempest filled the pie tin and declared it done, before popping it into the heated jowls of the monstrous oven. I heaved a sigh of relief and was congratulating myself on surviving the sensory overdrive, when she announced, “Now we just need to let it bake for an hour. Should we watch a movie or something? Do you have wine?”

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This work of fiction has been written for the Pre-BarAThon that is being hosted on the blogging group. The prompt for Week #3 is Apple / Temptation / Fruit of the poisonous tree

I look forward to hearing what you think of my take on this prompt; so please do leave some criticism/feedback for me.

If you have liked this, then perhaps you would like to read about The Gossip in the Fig Tree 

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