We had Emma’s leftover veggie chili over rice for an early dinner, along with one of those Double IPAs and a salad I’d made of spinach, strawberries, and walnuts. “Wasn’t that great?” Emma asked as we set off on a walk. I’d promised to do the dishes later. “It was great,” I agreed. “But I wish I’d remembered I had that Boylan root beer.” I’d bought a bottle at the little grocery the day before. Emma hadn’t hesitated to tell me it was bad for me. “It’s got cane sugar,” I’d said, pointing to the label. “Honey would be better,” Emma said. “That would make it mead, I think,” I told her.

We’d gone not a dozen steps out of the house when we saw the fawn under one of the young apple trees. The fawn stared at us, stopping us dead.

“He’s so cute,” Emma whispered. I took out my phone and managed to take a photograph before the fawn bounded into the forest. I wish I’d had thought to click on video; no Disney animator could have made those leaps so frisky and yet so graceful.

We strolled quietly for a bit, holding hands, and at the clearing just before the woods Emma said, “Wasn’t that wonderful?”

“It was,” I agreed. “I just hope the coyotes don’t get him.” We’d heard them howling on recent nights.

“They won’t,” Emma declared. And then she set off down the path through the woods, leaping and skipping, her long hair flying, lovely as a little deer. Lovelier. And I didn’t think to take a picture.

“That was wonderful,” I said upon her return, after a long welcoming kiss.

“I need a shower,” Emma said. “A long hot shower and then an even longer hotter fuck.”

As we approached home, we slowed, both of us no doubt hoping the deer would reappear. He didn’t.

Emma went upstairs to take a shower and I, after taking a look at the dishes that could wait until morning, fetched the Boylan root beer from the refrigerator, and took a look at the photos on my phone.

A number of minutes later Emma appeared at the bottom of the stairs. “What are you up to?” she asked as she approached, and I snapped a couple of quick pictures.

“Just checking out my pictures of that fawn,” I told her. “I’ve been doing some honey manip.” I showed her the pictures.

“They’re really nice, but where’s the fawn, and is honey manip a real word?” She picked up the root beer bottle. “Is this twist off?”

“It is,” I said.

“Twist off or a real word?”

“Both,” I said. “It’s twist off and Honey is the name of the photo manipulation filter. I guess it adds a kind of creamy golden glow. Anyhow, I got so involved with the deer I sort of forgot about the root beer.”

“Twist it off,” Emma said, handing me the bottle.

I twisted off the cap, handed the bottle back to her, and she took a sip.

“Good,” she said. “Might be even better in a root beer float. Do we have any ice cream?”

I told her we didn’t.

“Too bad,” she said. “I guess I’m going to have to settle for a cum float.” She grinned at me, unzipped my pants and withdrew my cock, took another sip of root beer, and then took my cock into her mouth.”

“Mmm, did you feel the fizz?” she asked, having come up for another sip of root beer.

“Mostly cold,” I said. “but definitely the best root beer I didn’t actually taste.”

Emma smiled, took another sip of root beer, and then another sip of my cock. Between sips, her hand caressed the stalk. “Good thing you don’t have a twist off cap, huh?” she said with a chuckle. She repeated the sip and suck process four or five times, then seated herself on my cock. “Oh yeah, that feels good,” she said. “If you’re a good boy, maybe there will be some root beer left for you, but for now give my clit some honey manip while you fuck me.”

It was so good, the fuck, that I didn’t mind Emma had finished off the root beer before it ended. Now I need to decide whether to use a deer picture or an Emma picture as my desktop background. Ha, talk about no-brainers.