FRUIT SNACKS
M/F Erotica by Dove Harper (5000 word count)
Trevon’s voice carried from the kitchen, thick and satisfied around a mouthful of something.
“…yeah bro I love fuckin single moms, swear to god…” A pause. Cellophane crinkling. “This bitch got—hold on—”
Wet chewing.
“—fruit snacks fa days, bro. Fa. Days. Like them lil shark ones? The ones that look like sharks? Bro.” More chewing.
“I’m goin ham on these shits right now, not even gon lie.”
The refrigerator hum filled the space between his sentences. I stood just past the hallway, bare feet on cold tile, listening.
“Naw I ain’t fucked yet, this only my fourth time here. She don’t want me meetin the kid so she puttin him to sleep or whatever.”
A beat.
“Yeah bro it’s the one I showed you. The one from—yeah. Exactly.”
The box made a cardboard scraping sound. “Bro her ass is fat as fuck. Like. I don’t even know. We’ll see how this Netflix and chill go. Yessir. Aight I’ma rap with you later. Bet bet. Later bro.”
The phone clattered on the counter.
I turned the corner.
Trevon’s whole hand was buried in the shark-shaped fruit snacks, fist deep, rummaging like he was mining for gold. He hadn’t heard me. Hadn’t seen me.
“You eating my son’s fruit snacks?”
He froze. Mid-chew. Eyes cut toward me in the dim kitchen light, caught and knowing it.
“Lowkey…” He worked the bite down his throat. “You caught me.”
His hand stayed in the box.
I leaned against the doorframe and crossed my arms across my breasts as he continued.
“What’s my punishment?”
Something flickered across his face. Sheepish. Curious.
The screen saver from the living room TV threw slow shapes across the wall behind him. Blue, then purple, then blue again.
I’m not going to lie…he looked good standing there caught. Hand still in the box. Shoulders a little up like a kid waiting to see how much trouble he was in.
“You need to buy my kid a new box. Obviously.”
“Obviously,” he said. Still waiting.
I let the pause stretch.
I like him. That’s the thing. Four visits in and he’s been patient about not meeting my child, patient about the early bedtimes and the locked bedroom door and the way I check in three times before I can settle into a date. He hasn’t pushed too much. He shows up with ice cream I didn’t ask for and doesn’t act like that means something or that I owe him something.
But he’s standing in my kitchen eating my kid’s fruit snacks like it’s nothing. Like my pantry is his pantry. Yellow flag. I know it is. Unforgivable lowkey.
Goddamn if he isn’t cute though.
I tried for my best mischievous smile. Probably looked a little unhinged but I was committing.
“You cannnnn,” I said, “eat this pussy instead.”
He stopped chewing.
Fully stopped. Jaw still. Eyes looking around in the low light then settling back on my face.
“Um.” He pulled his hand out of the box slow. “So you don’t… you don’t wanna Netflix and chill?”
I blinked.
“Like emphasis on the Netflix part. The—the part before the other part.” He squinted. “You—that was a joke, right? Please tell me that was a joke.”
His voice had gone up a register. The man who just told his homeboy he loves fucking single moms was standing in my kitchen sounding genuinely unsure whether I’d just propositioned him or we were still in the bit and just fucking around.
I didn’t answer him. I walked past the counter, grabbed his deliciously veiny forearm, and pulled him toward the living room.
The TV screen saver shifted colors from corner to corner in total silence. The couch was a dark shape against darker walls. I let his arm go and lowered myself to my knees on the rug.
Slow. Very slow.
His breath changed.
I looked up at him. Gave him my sweetest smile. Voice light.
“What are you looking at?” My fingers felt along the carpet beside the couch leg. “I’m just tryna find the remote.”
I held the straight face for about two seconds. Then I cackled. Loud and shameless and so pleased with myself I almost fell over.
Trevon stared down at me. Then his whole chest let go of the breath it was holding.
“You fuckin stoooopid, girl. Oh my fuckin god.” His laugh came out harsh and warm and disbelieving. “Come here. Come the hell here.”
His hand found my arm and pulled me up. Not gentle but not rough.
Certain.
He tasted like fruit snacks when he kissed me. Sugar and fake strawberry and high fructose corn syrup or whatever. His tongue pushed past my teeth because it was obvious he’d been waiting to do this all night and got tired of waiting. One hand cupped the back of my head and the other pressed flat against my lower spine, pressing me entirely into him, pressing us together in the dark living room lit only by a bouncing screensaver.
My breasts squashed against his chest, no bra to shield them. It’d been so long since I’d been with a man that I wondered if he could feel my nipples hardening.
Naw, men’s chests aren’t that sensitive. Right?
We stood like that. Just breathing the same breath.
After a minute I couldn’t resist any more so I let my hand drift down his stomach. The cotton of his shorts was thinnnn. Beneath it, hardness building slow against my palm. I traced the shape of his cock through the fabric.
He made a sound low in his throat that wasn’t quite a word but not exactly a grunt.
I pulled back enough to meet his eyes. The screensaver cycled to blue. His pupils were dilated, mouth parted, chest moving fast.
I didn’t say anything. Neither did he.
My fingers found his waistband.
“You got—” His voice was shredded at the edges. “Denise. Your kid.”
I hooked a thumb in his waistband and dragged the shorts down. “Door’s locked. Monitor’s on. You gonna keep worrying about that?”
His jaw tightened. The screen saver threw green light across his face as his cock sprang free and I got my first real look at it, a little slick at the tip, curving up toward his belly and a little to the side.
Christ.
I wrapped my fingers around the base and squeezed gently. The skin was hot and soft over the hardness and I could feel his pulse kicking against my palm. He had a soft tuft of hair that I knew would tickle my nose once I got it in my mouth.
“Naw,” he managed. “Naw, I’m—shit—”
The words dissolved. I watched his face go stupid while I gave him one slow stroke just to feel him twitch.
This man. This man who was just on the phone talking about shark-shaped fruit snacks. Who pronounced Netflix like it was actually what I’d finally invited him to my house for... Who looked genuinely terrified I might’ve been serious about the remote. This absolute nerd of a man had a cock that made my mouth lowkey water just looking at it.
I sank to my knees on the rug.
Pressed my lips to the head. Salty and clean. I let my tongue work slowly and flat across the slit and his whole body jerked like I’d shocked him.
One hand shot out and gripped the back of the couch. The other found my hair fingers twisted in my curls like he needed an anchor or he’d float straight off the floor and into the heaven I was going to bring him to.
Cute. He was so fucking cute I could barely stand it.
I took him deeper. Not all the way, not yet. Just enough to feel the weight of him on my tongue and the stretch at the corners of my mouth. The screensaver cycled purple-blue-green. Neither of us was watching but it was the only light to illuminate us in the dark living room.
I hollowed my cheeks and pulled back slow, letting him feel every inch of the drag, and the sound he made around a swallow went straight between my legs.
I’ll be honest. I was already wet. Had been since he kissed me lowkey. Had been since he said please tell me that was a joke with his whole face rearranged by panic.
Finally getting this cock in my mouth… I have no shame when I say I was soaked. Kneeling on my own living room rug with a geeky, fruit-snack-stealing, single-mom-fucking man’s cock in my mouth and my panties were absolutely ruined.
I worked him steady. Found a rhythm. Let my hand follow my mouth, twisting on the downstroke, squeezing at the base like I hoped he’d like. Spit slicked him up good. A string of it snapped and landed on my chin and I didn’t wipe it away because I wanted him to see it.
Wanted him to see what he was doing to me. How he had me.
Above me, Trevon was falling apart in pieces.
“Denise—” My name came out cracked, nothing like the voice he used on the phone. “Denise, wait, I’m—”
I pulled my mouth off him and looked up. Found his eyes wild and glassy, chest heaving, lips parted. A thread of spit still connected my bottom lip to the head of his cock. .
“You need me to stop?”
He stared down at me. Shook his head. Couldn’t speak.
“Then shut the fuck up.”
I licked the spit off my lip slow enough to watch him watch it.
“I got this.”
And I went back to fuckin work.
This time I didn’t tease. I took him as deep as I could, let the bulbous head bump the back of my throat, felt my eyes water and my gag reflex flutter and then I went deeper anyway because the sound he made was worth every second of choking. His hips bucked forward, maybe involuntary, maybe not. I grabbed the back of his thigh to steady him and to feel the muscle jump under my fingers.
I was really rewarding this man for eating my son’s fruit snacks.
He was losing it. The hand in my hair tightened. His breathing went ragged at the edges, every exhale punching out like he’d been running.
I pulled back just enough to breathe through my nose, then slackened my jaw and let him fuck my mouth. Not hard. He was trying so hard to be gentle. Even now he was holding back, this big ridiculous considerate man who stole my kid’s fruit snacks and couldn’t tell if I was joking.
The thought spurred my arousal even further.
I wanted him wrecked. I wanted him to stop being careful. I wanted the guy who said yeah bro I love fuckin single moms to show up and handle me.
I reached down with my free hand and pressed the heel of my palm against myself through my leggings. The pressure was barely anything, just enough to make me hum gently around his cock. He felt the vibration of it and his hips stuttered. Hum on your sexual partners. It’s a hidden trick.
“Fuck,” he hissed. “Fuck, Denise, I’m gonna—”
I didn’t let up. Didn’t slow down. I looked up at him with my mouth stuffed full of dick and my eyes streaming and my hand grinding against my clit and I moaned around him like he was the best thing I’d ever tasted.
He came with a sound that was almost a shout, choked off at the last second, his whole body curling forward over me as he pulsed hot and salty across my tongue. I swallowed. Kept swallowing. Kept my lips sealed around him until the last pulse faded and he was trembling above me, chest heaving, fingers gone slack in my hair.
I pulled off slow. Sat back on my heels. Wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and looked up at him.
He was staring down at me like I’d just performed a magic trick.
“Bro,” he breathed. “Bro.”
I laughed. The sound came out raspy and choked and thick from his cum sliding down my throat.
“That all you got to say?”
He shook his head slowly. Still staring. Still catching his breath. His cock was softening against his thigh and there was a white bead of cum still at the tip of his urethra.
“You gon’ share them fruit snacks now?” I said. “Or do I gotta work for it?”
His laugh broke the tension. He reached down and pulled me up off my knees. His hands found my face. Held it. His thumbs wiped the wet from under my eyes—tender, too tender for a man who’d just finished coming down my throat—and then he kissed me again.
Deep. Slow. Tasting himself on my tongue and not flinching from it too much.
When he pulled back, his forehead pressed to mine, he said: “You know I’m buyin’ that kid two boxes now, right? Three boxes. The whole fuckin shelf.”
“That’s the least you can fuckin do.”
“Naw.” His voice dropped. “The least I can do is eat your pussy like you just did me.”
The words hit me low and hot.
“You offering?”
He pulled back just far enough to meet my eyes. The screen saver cycled to blue and I watched his face rearrange. Hungry and focused. The nerd was gone. The nervous guy who couldn’t read a joke was gone. What was left was the man who’d talked about me on the phone like I was just another conquest except now he was looking at me like I was the one who’d conquered him. Hm
“Go sit on the couch,” he said. “And take them fuckin leggings off.”
I smiled. Sweet. Innocent. Full teeth. Big enough to make sure my dimples were as pronounced as they could be.
“Are we still doing Netflix?”
He didn’t laugh. Just stepped out of his shorts where they’d pooled around his ankles and waited.
I went to the couch. Sobered.
I sat on the edge of the couch. The leather was cool against the backs of my thighs. He moved toward me slow, cock still slick with my spit between his legs, not even trying to hide the way he was looking at me.
“You comfortable?” His voice had that rasp again. The one that showed up when he stopped being nervous.
“I’m in my living room in a stretched-out shirt and leggings with my kid’s fruit snack thief standing naked in front of me. Super comfortable.”
“Fruit snack thief.” He knelt down in front of me. The screensaver cycled to purple and his shoulders caught the light. “You gon’ hold that over me forever?”
“Mmhm. Every time you walk in the door.”
“Bet.” His fingers hooked into the waistband of my leggings and tugged. I lifted my hips, let him peel them down. The fabric dragged over my thighs, my knees, my calves, and then he tossed them somewhere behind him without looking.
“These ugly as fuck, by the way.”
“They’re house leggings.”
“They look like house leggings.” He ran both palms up the outsides of my thighs, thumbs just barely skimming the crease where my legs met my hips. “Now these—” He hooked a finger under the elastic of my panties. Gray. Utilitarian. The kind you buy in a six-pack from Target. “—hmmm.”
“You got questions about my underwear?”
“Naw, not questions.” He leaned in, close enough that his breath hit my belly, and pressed his nose flat against the soaked crotch of them. Inhaled. My whole body went tight.
“Oh my god.”
He pulled back just enough to look up at me, and then—keeping eye contact the whole time—he dragged his tongue across the wet spot. Slow. Flat. Tasting.
“Mmmhmmm.”
My face went hot. “You’re disgusting.”
“Uh huh. I’m bout to go stupid on that pussy, why the fuck you care if I have a little appetizer first.”
I had to stop myself from blurting out that the appetizer was the fruit snacks. Maybe wasn’t the moment for that right now.
He sat back on his heels.
“You been this wet since you came in the kitchen?”
“I mean—”
“That’s a yes.” He tossed the panties onto the pile with my leggings and spread my knees apart with both hands. “Damn, Denise.”
I looked down at myself and immediately wanted to cross my legs. My thighs spread wide on the couch. My belly soft above, the faint silver lines that ran from hip to hip, the darker ones tracing along the inside of my thighs where the skin had stretched and never quite snapped back. I hadn’t shaved in a few days. Not expecting this. Not expecting him.
“Sorry I didn’t—I didn’t really expect to get my pussy ate, tbh. I would’ve, you know. Cleaned up. Shaved.”
He looked at me. Something flickered across his face and then he didn’t say anything at all. Just lowered his mouth to my inner thigh and bit down hard enough to make me gasp.
Then he dove in.
No warning. No teasing. He put his mouth on me like he was starving and I was the first meal he’d been offered in weeks. His tongue pushed through my folds, found my clit, and circled it with the flat of it in one wet, obscene stroke that made my back arch off the couch.
“Shit—”
His answer was a groan that vibrated straight through me. Both hands gripped the undersides of my thighs and pushed them wider, folding me open, and then he was everywhere at once. Tongue lashing, lips sucking, the scrape of his stubble against my inner thigh making everything sharper. He ate like it was personal. Like my pussy owed him money. Like I had more fruit snacks inside me.
I grabbed the couch cushion with one hand and his head with the other. My fingers twisted in his fade. He grunted and sucked harder, and I felt it all the way up in my stomach.
I was still thinking about my belly. About the soft pad of it hanging over where his forehead pressed against me. About the stretch marks he could probably see up close in the dim light from the tv screensaver, the ones that branched like lightning from the crease of my thigh. I was thinking about all of it until he moaned again, mouth full of me, and the sound was so filthy and so hungry that I stopped caring. Stopped thinking. Stopped doing anything except trying not to scream and wake up the neighborhood.
His tongue was working my clit in a rhythm that made my hips buck on their own. Then two fingers slid inside me and curled up.
Right there.
“Oh, fuck—”
He didn’t let up. Didn’t slow down. Fingers pumping into that spot while his mouth stayed locked on my clit like he’d done this a thousand times, like he’d studied me, like he knew exactly how close I was.
I lost track of time. Could’ve been five minutes. Could’ve been fifteen. The screensaver kept dancing and my thighs started aching and my hand was so tight in his hair I was probably hurting him but he didn’t stop, didn’t surface, just kept working me with his mouth and those two fingers buried to the knuckle and curling up on every thrust.
The orgasm built slow. Not a wave though. Kind of like a fist closing. Tighter. Tighter. My breathing went ragged and I was making sounds I’d be embarrassed about later, high little whimpers that didn’t sound like me, and he answered every one with a grunt like he was encouraging me, like he was right there with me.
When I came it wasn’t a hot rush of fluid. Wasn’t anything cinematic. Just my pussy clamping down on his fingers in rhythmic, rolling pulses that made my whole body curl forward. He groaned into me and kept fucking me through it, slow now, letting me ride the spasms on his hand while his tongue gentled against my clit.
I collapsed back against the couch. Boneless. My hand slipped out of his hair and flopped onto the cushion. I couldn’t feel my legs.
He pulled his mouth off me with a wet, satisfied sound and wiped his chin on the inside of my thigh.
“Yo.” His voice was wrecked. “I need to see those titties, Denise.”
Before I could form a response, his hands were on the hem of my rumpled shirt. Plain gray tee, old and stretched out, the one I wore to bed when I wasn’t expecting company. He pushed it up slow, over my belly, over my ribs, past my heavy tits until the fabric bunched above them and cool air hit my nipples.
He stared.
The screensaver cycled to blue and lit up the whole room: my breasts heavy on my chest, nipples hard and dark, the wide brown areolas that spread across so much of them. Big. Noticeable. I used to hate them. Used to keep the lights off.
Trevon looked at them like they were the whole reason he came over.
“Goddamn,” he whispered.
I followed his gaze downward and saw it: his cock, already thick again, curving up towards his belly. Not just getting there. Fully hard. Standing at attention like he hadn’t just emptied himself down my throat ten minutes ago.
I gasped. “Already?”
“Goddamn, Tre.” I was still catching my breath, still sprawled against the couch cushions with my shirt bunched under my chin and my tits out and my pussy still throbbing from his mouth. “Do you have any blood left anywhere else in your body?”
He looked at me. His eyes were dark and wet and wild and he was already hard again, cock curving up toward his stomach like the last ten minutes never happened, like he hadn’t just fed me my own orgasm on his tongue and swallowed every drop.
“Ain’t no blood in my brain right now, I’ll tell you that much.” He shifted forward on his knees, one hand stroking himself slow while he looked at my tits. “Do I need a condom?”
The question was so practical, so suddenly serious, that it caught me off guard. He was kneeling naked between my spread legs asking about protection with the same tone he’d used to ask about the fruit snacks. This man. This absolute nerd of a man who couldn’t tell when I was joking and ate my son’s shark gummies and went down on me like he was being paid by the hour—he was asking about motherfuckin condoms.
“I, um.” I propped myself up on my elbows. “I actually can’t have kids. So no—well, I mean, unless you’re not, you know. Are you clean?”
His hand stilled on his cock. Something shifted in his face—the lust dialed back a notch.
“Ion really play like that,” he said. “I’ll use a condom anyway I guess.”
Goddamn. I felt my pussy clench around nothing. A responsible man. A man who carried condoms and asked permission and didn’t make his bare dick my problem just because I said I couldn’t get pregnant. I wanted to climb him like a fucking tree in the summer.
He reached for his shorts on the floor, fished a foil square out of the pocket, and tore it open with his teeth. I watched him roll it down his length—efficiently and practiced, no fumbling—and then he was back on me, hands gripping my hips, mouth pressing wet and open to my collarbone.
“Flip over.”
His voice had dropped into something quiet and certain. Not a question.
“I need that pussy right now, Denise. And I wanna see that fat ass rockin’ back and forth on this dick.”
I smiled. Slow. Let him see it.
Then I flipped over.
Got on my hands and knees on the couch, knees sinking into the cushion, forearms braced against the armrest. My ass was up, thighs apart, everything on display. I felt the cool air hit where I was wettest and shivered.
Behind me, Trevon went silent.
I looked back over my shoulder. He was staring at my ass, at the spread of it, at the way my pussy lips parted and glistened in the blue light from the TV. I reached back with both hands, grabbed my own cheeks, and spread them wider. Let him see my asshole too. Tight. Dark. Completely exposed.
He gasped.
Then he spit.
A thick, messy glob landed right on my puckered hole. I felt it hit—warm, wet, shocking—and then his thumb was there, rubbing it in slow circles, pressing just enough to make me gasp before he pushed inside to the first knuckle.
“Oh—”
“You good?”
I nodded, face pressed into the couch cushion. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m—yeah.”
He pushed deeper. His thumb seated all the way in and I felt full in a way I hadn’t expected, stretched in two places at once when the head of his cock nudged against my entrance. The condom was slick with lube, cool for half a second before my heat swallowed the sensation.
He pushed inside.
The stretch was immediate and blinding. Sort of a lightning strike that started at the base of my spine and shot straight up into my skull. I’d forgotten what this felt like. Forgotten what it felt like to be filled by something that made my body have to work to take it. My pussy clenched around him, already tender from the orgasm, already sensitive, and every inch of him dragging against my walls made my vision blur at the edges.
“Fuuuck.” The word came out of me in a voice I didn’t recognize.
“Shhh, shut the fuck up.” His hand came down on my ass—not hard, but enough to make the sound echo in the quiet living room. “You gon’ wake up your neighbors, girl. Shhh.”
His hips pulled back and snapped forward again and I buried my face in the cushion to muffle the moan. He found a rhythm fast, rough and deep, gripping my hips hard enough that I knew I’d have fingerprint bruises tomorrow and the next day. Every thrust pushed the air out of me in sharp little gasps. His thumb stayed in my asshole, not moving, just there, a steady pressure that made everything tighter, made every stroke feel like it was taking up more space inside me than I actually had.
He was animalistic about it. No slow buildup. No sweet words. Just the wet slap of his hips against my ass and the low, guttural sounds he made in his chest like he was barely holding on. His free hand came down on my other ass cheek—smack—and the sting of it made my pussy flood around him.
“There you go,” he grunted. “Take this fuckin dick. Just like that.”
I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t form words. My whole world had narrowed to the stretch of my cunt around his cock, the thumb in my ass, the way my heavy tits swung beneath me with every thrust. I felt my belly hanging, soft and round, and I didn’t care. I felt the stretch marks on my thighs rubbing together and I didn’t care. He was fucking me like I was the only thing in the world worth fucking and I was going to let him.
Minutes blurred. Five. Seven. Ten. The screensaver kept bouncing and my thighs started shaking and Trevon’s rhythm started to fray at the edges. He was close, I could feel it in the way his thrusts got deeper and less controlled, but I was closer. The orgasm from his mouth was still echoing through my system and this new one was building on top of it, layering, compounding.
I reached between my legs and found my clit. Slick and swollen and so sensitive I almost couldn’t touch it. I circled it fast, rough, the way I needed, and felt the pleasure spike sharp and immediate.
“There—right there, don’t stop—”
His thumb pushed deeper into my ass. His cock pounded into my pussy. My fingers worked my clit in frantic circles and then everything went white.
The orgasm hit me like a gut punch—same as before, but stronger, deeper, my pussy clamping down in rhythmic pulses that pushed against him from the inside. I felt it happening, felt my muscles squeezing and releasing and squeezing again, and then I felt him slip out. The contractions shoved him right out of me, and he pulled his thumb free at the same time, and I collapsed forward onto the couch cushions, gasping, boneless, absolutely wrecked.
Behind me, Trevon was breathing like he’d just run a mile.
“Where you want my cum?”
I couldn’t move. Could barely think. “Wherever. Just—not in my pussy.”
I heard him tear the condom off. Heard the wet sound of his hand on his cock. Then his voice, rough and urgent: “Show me them titties again.”
I pushed myself up just enough to turn over. My shirt was still bunched above my chest. I grabbed my heavy tits in both hands and lifted them, presented them to him like an offering. My dark areolas, wide in the blue TV light, nipples hard and peaked, and he stared at them with the same desperate hunger he’d had the first time.
His hand moved fast on his cock—four strokes, five—and then he was coming. Hot ropes of it landing across my areolas and nipples, dripping down the valley between my breasts, pooling in the hollow of my collarbone. He groaned through the whole thing, head thrown back, hips jerking forward into his own fist.
When he was done, he sagged forward, one hand braced on the back of the couch for support. His chest heaved. His eyes found mine…
I lifted one heavy breast to my mouth and licked a stripe of his cum off the dark skin. Salty. Warm. Him. I knew he’d like seeing me
He watched me do it and his whole face went soft and stupid.
“I think,” he panted, “I’m gon’ buy the whole damn store supply of fruit snacks. Holy fuckin shit, Denise.”
Authors Note: Trevon is based on one of my friends from while I was in the military. I meant to characterize him a bit more to describe why he’s nerdy but couldn’t make it happen. Also, the white and blue shark fruit snacks are my fucking favorite. 10/10.
I hope this story is a 10/10 for you. Diversity in erotica is cruelly underrepresented. I hope you’re just as tired of reading pretty, hot, white, hairless people who never have any issues in life. I get it, erotica can be an escape. But when there’s zero realism and everyone is perfect, it’s so fucking tiring to read in my opinion. All of my stories feature at least one non-white person OR I don’t mention their skin color at all. Same with cock size.
Ultimately, I hope you enjoyed. Thank you for reading. A like, comment, and restack goes further than you know to spread my FREE erotica for others to read. Let me know if there’s anything you’d like to read from me.
Also…comissions are open…
~ DH 🕊️❤️
Alternate covers:
So delicious and smoking hot 🔥 what a fantastic tale...i ate fruit snacks while listening to the narration ❤️ my favorites are gushers 🔥 🥵 ❤️