God. I must be insane— buying all three cucumbers— all at the same time.

She could have bought one and it wouldn’t have been a big deal. Or even two, then a third later on. But no— she looked down at the three cucumbers lined up by the cash— like an idiot she had bought all three at the same time: a big one, a small one, and the one sitting in the middle.

Now the whole Piggly Wiggly knew.

Helen glanced across at the cash-register girl. Was that a hint of a smirk curling the girl’s lip? Helen felt the heat rise in her chest and she was sure her cheeks beamed a bright crimson. The girl looked at the cucumbers, lined up side-by-side. “Is that all, ma’am?” And at that precise moment the girl found it necessary to turn away and look for a box-boy.

Oh god, Helen thought, watching the girl’s shoulders tremble. She can’t contain herself. She’s trying to stifle a smile. Or worse, she’s convulsing with laughter.

Helen bowed her head and tried to hide her eyes with thumb and forefinger pressed to her temple. She looked behind. The old woman in the felt coat and frumpy hat was also eyeing the cucumbers thoughtfully. “Those on sale, deary? I could stand a big one.”

Oh god... Helen groaned inside, nodded and returned her attention to the cash-girl. “I’m in a bit of a hurry,” Helen pleaded.

The girl gagged. Actually choked-up, her eyes glistening with moisture. “I’ll bet,” she said, her lips twitching in delight. “Let me just weigh these babies...”

Babies? Since when are cucumbers referred to as babies? Helen wanted to shrink into her shoes.

The girl wrapped her fingers around the thickest cucumber. “My, that’s a nice firm one,” she continued, her expression wide, the picture of innocence, now. “Do you have your shopper’s discount card?”

“Could you just give me a plastic bag,” Helen murmured. “I need to get outta here.”

Her purchase on the seat beside her, Helen slunk through her neighborhood like a thief on a mission. Her cheeks still burned from the roasting she had received. “Damn the Piggly Wiggly and that insolent cashier,” Helen hissed at her reflection in the rear-view mirror. “They’re just cucumbers for christ-sake.”

She pulled into her drive and fighting the feeling that every housewife on the block was zeroed-in on the white plastic bag she clutched to her chest, Helen scurried to her side-door. She poked her key at the lock, it jammed in her hand, slipped, and dropped to the pavement with a merry little tinkle.

“God-damn it.”

Helen glanced over her shoulder to check to see who was watching before stooping. She snatched up the rebellious door key, turned it the right way around and thrust it back at the lock.

Finally, safe in her own kitchen, Helen dropped her shopping bag onto the table. She poured herself a vodka from the bottle she kept stashed beneath the kitchen sink and lifted the laptop, that contained her recipes, from the rack by the stove. She got settled in a kitchen chair, took a sip of Smirnoff and booted up.

Once connected, Helen typed PinkPetals and scrolled down to Getting The Size Right and once again read through the instructions.

“Lubrication?” Helen slumped. “How the hell could I have forgotten god-damned lubrication?”

She remembered the tub of vasoline she kept in the medicine cabinet and with a huff, she pushed up outta the chair. She bent forward to noisily slurp in another hit of vodka before nipping off to the bathroom.

“Please. Where are you?” Helen shifted bottles of hand cream, eye drops, antacid tablets, old toothbrushes, floss, aspirin ... but no vasoline. “C’mon. You’re here, somewhere...” Helen mumbled. She finally gave up in disgust, slammed the mirrored door and stormed back to the kitchen.

“Margarine,” she hissed and plucked the tub from the refrigerator door. “Now we’re getting somewhere...” And shinnying-up her skirt, she dropped her lacy panties, shoving them all the way down. Her ass-skin squeaked as she shifted in the chair to loosen an ankle and finally, free of encumbrance, she tucked her left foot up next to her ass cheek and spread her knees.

Helen selected the smallest cucumber. I’ll work my way up, she figured.

Suddenly the smallest cucumber didn’t look so small. I must have been crazy, she thought, gauging the cuke’s size against its larger companions. She held the cucumber upright by the narrow end and smeared the bulbous tip with the margarine she scooped up on an index finger.

She took a last moment to squint at the instructions on the computer screen then, with a shrug, she opened the lips of her vagina.

The refrigerated margarine clinging to the tip of her finger felt cold and delicious between the inner vaginal lips. The soft lining surrounding the opening to the flume was hot and sticky with vim and, touched by the cold goo, her body responded. A tremor arched down her spine and caused her anus to screw.

Helen let out the breath that had been captured in her lungs and tossed her head back. She entered herself, just two fingertips into a core of ravenous tissues that clustered just inside the opening. She swirled lightly and after a second jolt crushed her loins, she traced a line up the vaginal chute to where her swollen clit lifted and throbbed.

The anticipation was so exquisite, she was almost afraid to touch herself. But she did— raking a fingernail up along the side of the nub, then across, deliberately rasping at the super-sensitized nerve endings. The contraction was immediate and violent. Her foot slipped and her legs convulsed, rocking the chair on which she sat, back across the tile. Warmth radiated out from her vag, down along inner thigh muscles.

“It’s been so long...” she exhaled, twirling her fingers manically on the thrumming nodule. “Oh god ... oh god ... oh god...” And as her loins clutched, she cried out and, holding herself open, she stuffed the cucumber up inside.

Her cunt seemed to inhale.

In a moment blurred by intensity and surprise, she lost her hold on the slimy vegetable and it disappeared. Helen frowned at her lap, her expression blank. She was looking at empty fingers and left stupefied. Her cunt had gobbled up the cucumber like it was a snack before mealtime. And damn, she couldn’t even feel it lodged up there, inside.

Helen’s breath quickened as she wondered what embarrassing question the doctor in the Emergency Ward would ask. She jammed two fingers between the lips and was heartened when she butted-up against the stem of the cucumber but no amount of reaching and squirming could provide a solid grip.

When she clamped down, the cucumber slipped away like a bar of soap and retreated deeper into the nether regions of her groin. “Why didn’t I tie a string on it?” she moaned.

Helen, half rising from the chair, shifted her fingers to one side and hooked the opening wider. She hardened her abdomen and pushed. The cucumber, still streaked with margarine, skidded out, bounced across the edge of the chair and ended up shooting across the floor like a misguided torpedo.

Helen slumped back down. “Whew,” she blew out, wiping damp curls from her forehead. “Let’s not try that one again.”