Freshman year at the State I signed up to work at the student newspaper. I wanted to be a writer, and I’d read that some important writers, Hemingway, for example, got their start writing for newspapers. But four weeks into the semester I still hadn’t gotten an actual assignment beyond proof-reading and fact-checking. I’d seen Anna in the office. She was a senior, an editor, but she looked more like a high school kid. I figured she must be extremely bright. I was afraid to talk to her.

Out of the blue one late fall afternoon she asked me if I was interested in apple picking. I told her I’d never picked an apple before. “There’s a first time for everything—come on,” she told me, and she drove us to an orchard about half an hour from campus.

Upon our arrival, she opened the trunk and handed me a basket.

“So how come you picked me?” I asked as we made our way into the orchard. A gentle mist began to fall.

“You’re tall, I’m short,” Anna said.

Far down the row, we arrived at a suitable stretch of trees, which, Anna said, hadn’t been picked over. She pointed out each piece of fruit she wanted, and I’d reach up and get it. In fifteen minutes we’d nearly filled the basket, the rain was falling harder, and we were both soaked.

“Shouldn’t we be heading back?” I asked.

“Just a few more,” Anna said.

Then there was one I couldn’t quite reach. “Give me a boost,” Anna said. I stuffed the apple I had in my hand into my pocket and hoisted Anna up onto my shoulders.

“Almost,” she said. “If I just...” She shifted, I lost my footing on the slippery grass, and we tumbled.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

She wrapped her legs around me and kissed me. The rain continued to fall. We continued to kiss.

After a time we got up and wandered back to the barn, realizing only once there that we’d left the basket of apples behind.

“I could run back and get it,” I offered.

“You’re so sweet,” Anna said. “But forget it.”

“I do have this one.” I took the apple from my pocket and handed it to Anna.

“My hero,” she said, and she took a bite. “Delicious,” she declared. We kissed, her tongue the flavor of apples.

I was ready for more kisses, but Anna took my hand and said, “Let’s see what’s up here.” She climbed a ladder to the loft and I followed. Rain continued to rattle down, but the loft was dry, covered by a bed of straw. We undressed each other. We kissed. We shared the rest of the apple. “My mom always said I should eat the core,” she said. “According to her, it’s the best part.”

“What about the stem?” I asked.

“Yes,” Anna said, “the lovely, healthy stem and the yummy, yummy seeds.”

“Mmm, delicious,” Anna pronounced. “Would you care to eat my core?”

“I’m not sure what you mean,” I confessed.

“It might be my cunt,” she said. “Or it might be right next door.”

“I’ve never...” I said.

“There’s a first time for everything,” she said.

Anna has the most delicious core.