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The Rose

By: Salteena



I have finally weakened and written a follow on to 'The Rosebud'. If you are not familiar with this particular work, reading it first will add background and atmosphere.

* * * * *

Tennessee Williams has my condition described to a tee : 'A Cat On A Hot Tin Roof'. I have been like this for nearly a month. Plus, for the past six months I have alternated between euphoria when you call me and despair when you are a few days 'late'. 

Adam has been getting quite testy with me. Today he is downright angry. Although he still refuses to contemplate speaking to your mother, he wanted to be here for your arrival. But I have sent him to the high tops to start work on the fencing for some new paddocks we are breaking in. I am being selfish, maybe childish, but I want you all to myself for these first precious minutes.

You get out of the car and make your way towards me carrying your bag. You came alone with Jules. Your mother is not with you, yet you still sat in the back seat. I see your slim, graceful form, but I cannot really believe you are here. You are even more beautiful than last time. You look wary, as if you are uncertain of your welcome. I meet you halfway. As Jules drives off I ask you where your mother is and you tell me that she is in Australia at a Women's Collective convention. Read 'Lesbian Fuckfest' 

I think cruelly to myself. The wounds are still raw. Not from the reality, but from the manner in which the truth was revealed.

Hand in hand we go into the house. I desperately want to pick you up in my arms and crush you to me. But I too am unsure. Nearly seven months is a long time in the life of a young woman who is still shy of nineteen.

We kneel on the floor to go though our usual comforting ritual of unpacking your things in your room. You give me a swift peck on the cheek. My heart lifts. You have made up your mind that you are glad to be here. Most of your city clothes will stay in a drawer, unused until you go away again. 

The physical changes in you since you were last here are astounding. Your breasts are full and rounded. They stir intriguingly under your sweat top as you pull things from your grip and stow them away. Are you wearing a bra? The skin-tight royal blue Lycra toreador pants you have on reveal how your hips have broadened, the subtle sweeping curves of your thighs and the perfect high, firm globes of your backside. 

The pants are so tight I can see the outline of your underpants. They are so tiny! I am flustered. You still had a child-like quality when you went away in December. Now, in July, you are a young woman. Can so many profound changes really happen in so short a time span?

Suddenly you say that you want to get out of 'these horrible city clothes'. You stand up in front of me. In one fluid movement you strip off the toreador pants and throw them to one side, You strike a pose, feet apart, your right hip cocked with your hands clasped behind your back. You are smiling cheekily, your head is tilted to one side with your tongue protruding between your even, white teeth. Your fresh, young beauty is breathtaking. Your panties are royal blue to match the discarded Lycra. 

They are indeed minute. They barely cover you. A few stray dark hairs peek above the 'waistband'; yet another sign of your advancing maturity. 

I feel as though my heart has stopped dead in its tracks. I gulp audibly and suppress the temptation to say, "Don't stop there!" What would you do if I said that?

The rosebud on the inside of your thigh is the same though - a dark pink stigmata on your otherwise flawless skin.

"Am I as pretty as Brittney Spears?" You ask.

"She'd look like a carthorse beside you," I manage to gurgle.

You move right up to me. You lean over me and grasp both my ears with your hands. 

I am mesmerised by the elusive swing of your breasts under your sweat top as you bend over. You tilt my face up to look into yours. "Tell the truth now, Daddy…who's Brittney Spears?"

I smile sheepishly, "I have absolutely no idea!"

"Oh, you are a real old fuddy-duddy aren't you! But I still love you to bits though."

I give you a playful smack on your delightfully rounded butt. "Hey, hey, hey! Less of the 'old fuddy-duddy', yer cheeky young flipperty-gibbit. You forget my collection of Jimi Hendrix and Santana… not to mention Eric Clapton and John Lee Hooker!"

"Oh, Daddy! Those old guys are so un-cool!"

Ouch! That puts firmly me in my place!

But then you kiss me. It is not the soft, sweet, young girl's kiss I am used to receiving from you. Your mouth opens. Your tongue enters my mouth seeking mine. Incredibly, I experience a surge of alarm at where this may lead us. Then I respond. My body responds. The kiss seems to last for hours, although in reality it is probably not more than a minute or two. Our tongues coil and writhe together frantically. We exchange our saliva, our very life breath.

We break off as if a guardian angel has tapped us each on the shoulder. You stand upright, looking down at me. Your cheeks are flushed. Your eyes are huge, dark, serious pools. Your chest is heaving irregularly; mine is as well. Somehow, my hands have come to hold your hips. Your smooth flesh burns my palms. One small movement of my thumbs would hook the fragile elastic holding up those tiny bikinis and I could slide them down your legs, exposing the mysteries of your cleft to my hungry gaze. I know in my heart that you would not stop me. 

The harsh, panting rasp of our breathing is the only sound to break the silence. You drop to your knees between my spread thighs. You kiss me again - another passionate lover's kiss. Your arms snake around my neck. You press your hot body hard into mine. Your breasts are supposed to be soft, yet they feel as though they are drilling holes into my chest. Not for one second do I consider that what I want, what we both want, is incest. My hands find the pliant cheeks of your bottom and I haul your groin against my rampant phallus. You moan something into my mouth. I don't understand what you are saying, but I do know that it isn't a plea that we should stop. I slide my hands up your smooth sides, up under your sweat top. The heels of my palms find the soft rounded sides of your naked breasts. You indeed wear no bra! 

I am just about to cup your tender orbs in my rough palms, when the sound of a furiously revving farm bike and a loud whooping holler crashes into our consciousness. Adam has arrived home from stringing the fence line with Rueben and he is expressing his elation that you are here. There is an answering 'beep, beep, beep' of a car horn. Joanna too has arrived. She is a couple of hours early.

In a guilty, hurried panic, we break apart and you scramble for the pair of old riding pants you wear when exercising your pony. As I get to my feet you look below my waist at the thunderous tumescence inside my trousers. You reach up and kiss me swiftly, "Poor Daddy!" You murmur softly. "I'll hold them off for a little while. See you in a minute." And you rush of to greet your brother and cousin.

A quarter of an hour later, with my composure largely restored, I join the three of you in the kitchen. You are sitting around the table drinking tea. Exchanging personal news is the order of the day with the biggest item for you and Joanna that Adam is head over heels in love with the eldest of three daughters from a Dutch family who farm about 15 kilometres away. Like women relatives the world over, you two females want to extract all the tiniest details and are grilling him mercilessly. The poor fellow is desperately trying to repel your noisy demands that the three of you should go and visit Caroline right away, so that you and Joanna can check her out to see if she's a suitable candidate for his affections.

My entrance restores some order. I know, because he has told me in confidence, that 

Adam is on the verge of asking Caroline to become his wife. I am pleased, because she is a lovely person and her family are also good people. Caroline would never make a Miss Universe, but Adam loves her and that is enough. It is also his prerogative to release the news, and he is trying to keep it from you for the time being. As soon as Joanna sees me she runs over and gives me a big hug and a wet smacking kiss. Joanna has always been well built, but now she can be accurately described as 'a comely wench'. As she presses her incredible pillows into my chest and literally grinds them against me, I glimpse a small expression of displeasure cross your features, followed by an appraising up-and-down look at Joanna's ample curves. 

I disentangle myself from Joanna's embrace with some difficulty and suggest that, when you have all finished your mugs of tea, we should saddle up the horses and go for a ride around the farm. You look pointedly at my groin to see if I have reacted as physically to your cousin as I did with you. Don't you know that I am totally yours, my darling?

The four of us ride out to the high paddocks. It is sunny, but cool with high clouds moving in from the Northwest threatening rain later in the day. I am riding a very big old gelding of uncertain pedigree that Adam usually uses as a pack horse when he goes hunting in the back country. Even so, with my height, my feet are not far from the ground. We ride in pairs, Adam and Joanna constantly looking for wild pig sign and discussing the possibilities for a hunt if the weather holds; you and I, silent with our own thoughts. You spot Rueben about a kilometre away cutting out some steers to go to the abattoir and canter over to say "Gidday". 

When you return Adam and Joanna have gone to take a closer look at something they've spotted up on the bush line. You rein in alongside me and ask with a quizzical look if something is wrong, "Because you are so quiet." I tell you that I have been thinking about what happened earlier. You just smile and say, "Ah!" 

Then the words just seem to spill out of my mouth of their own accord: "Where on earth did you learn to kiss like that? Have you got a boyfriend?"

You laugh ruefully, "A boyfriend? Mummy and Jules would go apeshit!" You cover your mouth at the expletive. You suddenly look about twelve years old. "No, Daddy, no boyfriend. I have kissed a boy though, just the once. It was at the School Ball before Christmas. Saint Gemma's, as you know is all-girls, so once a year we get together with one of the all-boys schools and have a joint Ball. The teachers keep a very close eye on things, but some people pair off and manage to sneak a minute or two in private before they get rounded up and herded back into the main hall again. There was this cute guy who had been making cow eyes at me all night. He eventually persuaded me to go outside with him and then rushed in and kissed me as soon as we were alone. It was terrible! Neither of us had much idea, but he was a worse kisser than I was. It was so embarrassing! We got caught almost straight away and sent back in by one of the Saint G dragons!

"I know you won't like it, and I wouldn't have said anything if you hadn't asked…it was Jules." You lean across the gap between us and gently squeeze my upper thigh, "Don't worry, Daddy! It was nothing, really!"

I am disturbed by the self-assurance of your demeanour and mature confidence in your voice. You act more like someone in her late twenties than an eighteen-year-old. Perhaps it is the hothouse environment that you are growing up in?

"One day, a couple of months ago, Mummy was working late at the Collective when I got home from school and I found myself alone with Jules in the house; something I usually try to avoid. She hadn't tested her luck for some time and caught me unawares in my room with my shirt off as I was changing out of my school uniform. Anyway, to cut a long story short, for some reason I found myself responding when she got close and kissed me. I think it was a combination of Jules being gentle - not nearly as aggressive as she usually is - and me being under constant pressure to give in to their demands. Plus, it was the right time of the month, if you know what I mean?"

I nod in the affirmative, still dreading what I am going to hear next.

"We kissed for a long time and she eventually got her tongue in my mouth. I had my eyes closed and sort of forgot I was french-kissing a woman and got quite hot and bothered. She must have thought she was going to get into my pants at last, I was getting so worked-up. But when she tried to unhook my bra, I freaked. And that was the end of that!"

I ask you what it is really like living in that atmosphere of constant pressure.

You say that you find it very stressful at times. Your mother appears to have no personal designs on you, yet she seems content that one day Jules or some other member or members of their group will have you. Sometimes you feel as though you are a Vestal Virgin being prepared for throwing into the Roman Coliseum to be feasted upon by lesbians instead of lions.

"But don't think they're all bad, bad, bad. Not everyone looks at me with greedy eyes! 

There's one really nice woman in particular...Bobby. She's American, in her late fifties or early sixties. She's lovely! She has clear grey eyes that seem to look right inside your head. And she's always smiling and making gentle jokes. She grows organic vegetables and does pottery. And she makes these totally surreal quilts...wins lots of prizes. On top of all that she writes poetry! 

"Bobby has such strong, capable hands. Sometimes I look at them and think of you."

You blush, "And sometimes I look at her and hope that if it has to be that way, that she will be the first."

You reach and squeeze my thigh again. "Anyway, that's all behind me now. I know exactly what I want!"

Adam and Joanna rejoin us and there is no opportunity to finish our conversation. 

The rain sets in later that afternoon as forecast, killing any chance that Adam and 

Joanna will go out for a hunt. The four of us spend the evening around the fire in the lounge after dinner, listening to Concert FM and talking. You head off to bed shortly after nine. The fresh, clean country air is making you drowsy.

I want to see you before you sleep. I tap lightly on your door and you invite me in. 

Your light is already off. You look like at small child again, peeking out from under the edge of your duvet. I kiss you goodnight. Your mouth is covered, so I kiss your forehead. I tell you how glad I am that you're here at last. I try to reassure you on my feelings about your sexual reaction to Jules. I also speak about what took place between us this morning and apologise for my behaviour. You hush me and say that if anyone is to blame it is you. And you are not ashamed. You are pleased it happened.

I kiss you again, this time on the lips. It is soft, very sweet and tender. I move as if to leave and you ask me to wait for a moment. There is much wriggling under your covers. Then you present me with a gift. They are royal blue and carry your body heat - and your scent. In my own bed I resist the urge to relieve the pent up pressure that has reached an unimaginable peak today. Instead, I lie thinking of you and eventually fall asleep with your body fragrance clasped in my hand, close to my nostrils.

Day Two: Monday

It is still dark and a light misty rain is still falling when I wake. Adam is already moving – work on a backcountry farm doesn't wait for good weather. Not for the first time I thank my lucky stars that we're not milking. Our income may be not as high, but we are not subject to the twice-daily grind that dairy farmers have to put up with. I join your brother in the kitchen and we share a pot of tea while we discuss what has to be done today. Adam is just telling me that he and Rueben will be most of the day finishing off the new fence line when you walk in, barefoot, tousle-haired and almost buried in a huge terry robe that used to belong to your mother. Even though your eyes are still puffy from sleep, you look utterly gorgeous. Adam's body language and sudden clumsiness shows that he too is sharply aware of your sudden womanhood.

You pick up my tea mug from the table, take a sip and then clamber into my lap. You kiss my unshaven cheek good morning and nestle against my chest, cupping the mug in your palms. You radiate bed-heat like a miniature furnace. My mind spins back in time to when you last sat in my lap at this table and my senses stir. I push away the memory of your intimate scent on the gusset of that tiny scrap of royal blue cotton that is still tucked under my pillow.

Adam asks you what your plans are for the day and you tell him that you'd like to help him and Rueben finish the new fence. Your brother's beaming expression of delight makes my disappointment that I will not have you all to myself seem awfully petty. He tells you to go and have a quick wash and get dressed while he makes you a bacon sammi for your breakfast and a packed lunch for later. When Rueben arrives 

I tell him that I will help the driver with the loading of the steers when the stock truck comes this afternoon. In the meantime I will go into Town to the Bank and to see my lawyer. No doubt Joanna will want to raid the supermarket to expand the bachelor-oriented variety of victuals we have in our larder.

Loading the cattle that afternoon turns out to be a minor disaster. When you and 

Adam get home I am flat out on my bed, full of painkillers and with my left ankle and three parts of my foot in plaster. Most of the beasts went into the unit okay, but we were left with one ginger-tinged, stroppy bastard with a crafty eye that went for the truckie's dogs whenever they tried to get him to go up the chute. The cattle had been in the pen for nearly 24 hours emptying out, so the ground was pretty slippery and well churned up. Without thinking, I jumped over the fence into the holding pen to give the dogs a hand. The steer immediately spotted me as an easy target and made a beeline for me. If the ground had been dry my El Cordobes impersonation would have been perfect. Instead, I slipped and got bowled arse-over-kite, tearing the tendons in my left heel in the process, and getting stomped on for good measure. I was bloody lucky not to get gored. The truckie rescued me, laughing his head off of course, and got Joanna down from the house. She took me into the Hospital laid in the back of the ute – there was no way she was going to let me sit in the cab with her, daubed as I was from top to toe in fresh cow-dung. They weren't too rapt at the hospital either!

Of course you and Adam are full of filial sympathy when you see my plight. But afterwards, I also hear the uproarious laughter and shouts of 'Ole!' coming from the other end of the house and know that Joanna is recounting the truckie's version of the events. Later, you make up with me by bringing both our evening meals to my room on one large tray and sit beside me on my bed to eat. We share our wounds. 

You have blisters on your soft city-girl palms and a nipped finger from working the wire-strainer, and I, in addition to the cast on my ankle, bruises and scrapes on my back and chest where the steer trampled me. You kiss your fingertips and touch them lightly to every livid mark.

You ask me if the steer got me anywhere else and I tell you: "On my backside and the inside of my thigh." With a wicked gleam in your eyes you ask me to show you. 

But just then, Adam saves the day by coming in to you if you want to go with him and Joanna to meet Caroline. I am not surprised, nor upset, when you jump at the chance. You three get home very late and I am asleep when you arrive. I sense rather than see that somebody has looked into the room, but when I waken fully I am alone.

The painkillers run out on me by 3.00am. My throat is parched, so I hobble along to the kitchen on my crutches to get a drink of cold water. I don't feel like going straight back to bed and make my way to the lounge and sit in my armchair gazing into the softly glowing fire, wondering what to do about you. I doze off to sleep in the warm silence.


The Rose



They say that love is a funny thing. It is true that it can happen at anytime and for any reason. As can lust and passion. Case in point is what happened with Amy. It might have had something to do with the day being Valentines and maybe the pheromones were just thick in the air, but whatever happened it hit hard and fast. 

I was there waiting for my order to be filled and I started to look for a seat. It was a busy day and there were no open seats. I started to look for a table to share. This is when I spotted Amy sitting alone reading a newspaper. I had seen her at this Starbucks before, but really never paid much attention to her, or must had been preoccupied. Today though, sitting just right next to the line, there was just something else there that drew my attention to her. Maybe it was her figure that I never noticed, that dark sexy hair, or maybe it was that perfume, or body wash that I smelled around her. I do know what actually sealed the desire was those eyes. I will never forget the deep brown sultry eyes. 

I picked up my coffee and then added a rose that they were selling on the counter, paid for my order, turned, and took the few steps to her table. "Morning. Would it be OK for me to share this table," I asked her. 

She looked up and said sure and slid the newspaper aside allowing me to sit. We started talking just a little at first. It was just about stupid things really. We talked about weather, number of people at the store, and exchanged first names and where we work. 

I was so nervous talking to her there and she seemed so shy and reserved. I was just waiting for some way to let her know what I felt. Just an opening, comment, anything. Then just on a nervous little reaction to keep my hand busy I reached over and moved the rose just little. 

"That's a nice rose. You should put it in water so that it would last for you to give it to your partner," she told me. 

I decided that I had to take the chance. "Well, " I started, "it is not for my partner, but I hoped that it was for my lover." Then I pushed the rose over to her. 

Her face turned red as she looked at the rose. She was quite for just a few seconds staring at the rose and I was sure that I had blown it. Then I saw it. The small smile and the look in her eyes when she looked up and slowly her hand reached up and pulled the rose closer. 

Thus started the fencing match of words, actions, and touches. 

"Just one rose for your lover?" She asked with a little hint of amusement in her voice.

"Can you tell me that two, three, or even a dozen would make a difference?" I asked.

"Depends on the lover." She reached down to pick the rose up to smell it.

"What about the one who this rose is destined for? Do you think more than one would make a difference?" I asked still looking for some hint of how she felt in her face.

"Perhaps not. A lot of it depends on the giver and what promises that comes with it." She set the rose back down and reached for her coffee. She lowers her eyes looking down deep into her cup.

"Why would it need a promise to come with it? Why can a rose not just be a gift? One that signifies desires and possibilities." I reach for the rose and held it up and her eyes rose up again to follow it.

She looks at it for a while and takes another drink. She takes a deep breath and I can see that something was decided, but still did not know what. "Gifts are dangerous things. They can raise expectations or they could signify the return of some other gift. Between lovers this is a token of what happens next. What if the lover cannot guarantee that expectation? Would it be right to accept the gift?"

I took a sip of my coffee, smiled, and said, "A gift given between lovers is just a token of attraction between the two. True, there is a hope that it creates; but it does not mean that it has to be a promise. The hope can be better then a promise. It can be even more exciting ... even erotic. The gift and showing my attraction will keep my lover's mind on the possibility. My lover could take the rose and walk away now and nothing else needs to happen, but the woman would still feel excited knowing that they are wanted. The man would be excited knowing that the rose was accepted and that there is hope for more. Either way, the rose has served its purpose." I put the rose in front of her and touch her hand. Just a little brush and was relieved that she did not move away. I reach over and pull her napkin to me. I wrote down my phone number and my address. "I am home by five. No need to call if you don't want to. I will be home all night." I set the note in front of her and drank some of my coffee. 

She picks up the rose brings it up to her nose and smells it again. "No promise OK, but there is hope." She looks me in the eye and smiles a mischievous smile. Her foot ran up my leg and it sent shivers up my spine. She picks up the napkin puts it in her purse gets up and leaves with the rose in her hand. 

"Well here's to hope," I thought. I finish the cup, get up, and leave Starbucks as well. 

That day was just sort of blissful agony. All I could think of was that parting smile, the touch of her leg, and the hope for tonight. I wondered if she would come. I wonder if she would call. I knew that more than likely, that I will not see her again. But that spark of hope remained. It set me on edge all day. I was in this state of excitement that I had no intention of releasing. The women in my office who received flowers just made the feeling even worse. All day I counted down the hours. My work was less then my normal quality, but I some how fumbled my way through it. 

At 4:30 I left the building and drove straight home trying hard not to speed. I got home with five minutes to spare and apart of me was expecting her here exactly at five. That is the other odd thing about hope. Sometimes it makes the most unlikely things suddenly seem like assured things. So I tried to carry out my normal night. Trying everything to stay busy. By seven I was checking my phone to make sure that I did not miss a call. By nine I had almost given up. At ten I had given up and just said this was not happening. I sat back watched TV and finally started to relax. Then, at a few minutes before eleven, I got the knock on the door.

I looked at the door and got up unable to believe what I heard. I took a deep breath, slowly walking over to the door and put my hand on the doorknob. All the while that hope that I had abandoned just a short while ago flooded over me. Could it really be her?

I opened the door and there she stood still dressed just as she was that morning. She looked up at me and with a smile said, "I guess the rose did its trick. I could not stop thinking about this all day." 

I stood aside and let her come inside. She walked in, I closed the door, and that was as far as we made it. Next thing I knew she was on me...or maybe it was the other way around...it was all kind of hazy. Our lips tried to carry with it them passion of the moment. Our hands were grabbing of each other heads while we kissed making sure the other would not escape. Her leg started rubbing up and down my leg. My knee ended up between her legs and I could feel the wet panties rubbing against it. Her hand was in my pants; my hand was in her shirt. I just breathed in the smells of her hair in my hands and in my nose as I kissed her neck. My God, we must have been quite a scene. I know that she came first on my leg, as her thighs and gripped my knee and I heard the sharp intake of air. I kept kissing her and then she broke away, dropped my pants got down and sucked on me for what felt like 10 seconds before I started to cum and ending up getting most of it on shirt that was still mostly on. 

She smiled and looked up at me with those eyes sparkling. "Now look what you have done. Seems like you gave me something other then a rose. I wonder what this was supposed to mean?" 

I reached down, took her hands, and pulled her up. "It is a promise of what is to come." I smiled and started to remove her shirt. I did not have many buttons left before I had her shirt on the floor. She reached behind her, unhooked her bra, and dropped it on the shirt. Her breasts were just as I have been envisioning them all day. Not large, but not small either, just the right size and with dark hard nipples.

As I was working on my shirt she again took my head in her hands and started to kiss me and mash her breasts into my chest hair. My hands went to work on the rest of our clothing as she continued to kiss me. She kissed me very deeply and with enthusiasm. She was clearly taking charge of this encounter. We broke to take a breath, and I took her hand to lead her away from the hallway. 

She pulled back and shook her head. "No. Right here; right now." She started to lower herself to the ground and I let her lay back. I bent down and started to kiss her breasts. She started to sigh and her hand went to my back and ran those nails over my back. 

I stopped and looked up at her and asked, "Do we need protection?" and went back to kissing her breasts. 

"Uh uh. Only you might if you don't move your head soon." I took the hint, moved her hand and let my tongue take over. Her hands found the back of my head trying to direct it to what she wanted. Oh my, did she smell and taste good. She must have been thinking about this a lot because she was so wet. 

I reached up and stuck a finger in and then back out and licked it. "Mmmm, you taste so good. You must have been thinking about this encounter all day. You must have fantasized about it. Tell me what it would take to make those true and I will share my thoughts with you as well." I went back to eating her out and I could hear her moans. 

"Please just keep going. Please." Her hands had now started to rub her breasts and I see her pull on a nipple as her hips slowly starts to rise against my mouth. I insert a second finger and hear her moan a little louder. My fingers start to move a little faster. In, out, in, out. My tongue was having trouble staying on your clit with her hips bouncing. I opened my mouth a little and then started just to munch using my lips as well as my tongue. A third finger went in. I felt her twisting and turning and I thought that she was running away but then she sat up had me lie down and then straddle my head and start to rub her pussy against my mouth. I felt her bend down and can felt her take me into her mouth. The sounds of wet sex filled the air. I felt her down there, but was to occupied to pay much attention to much of what she was doing except that it felt real good, distractible good. Her hips kept moving, grinding into my tongue and mouth. I feel my fingers suddenly getting squeezed and her sudden release of me and heard the clear sound of her cumming. I pulled my fingers out and her pussy settled on my chest. 

"I take it that was one of the things you thought about," I asked. I could see the back of her head nodding. 

Then she quickly turned around, reached down and grabbed me. "Here is another." She then closed her eyes and slowly sat down and I could feel her tighten up as she slid down slowly. "Oh so much better then dreaming about it." She sat up straight and started to raise and lower herself. Up, down, up, down. 

I reached up put the hand that was recently in her pussy up to her lips and took hold of a breast with the other hand. I pushed a finger into her mouth and could see her eyes open as the tangy taste of her sex hit her tongue. "And that was one of mine," I said and felt her lips close around it and begin to suck the moisture from it with a quite moan. I pulled out the one and put in one of the other ones. 

She closed her eyes and began to ride me again. "Do you like that? I love to watch you fucking yourself like that while sucking you of on my fingers. Want to try something else I fantasized about today? Not that much different then this," I said starting to sit up. 

"Uh huh," she said. I sat up , lifted her up enough for me to cross my legs under her, she wrapped her legs around my torso, I grabbed her head, kissed her, and there we sat with our hips rocking back and forth slowly screwing each other. My hands running up and down her back, to her breasts, and through her hair. Her hands were following mine, nails digging in slightly leaving red lines in their wake. It felt like we were there for forever but it also felt like just a few seconds. Both of us started moving and humping faster and faster. Trying to get more movement and penetration that this position just did not allow. 

I pushed her onto her back and without leaving her followed her over. I forcefully thrusted all the way in and she let out a gasp. "This was the other part Amy," I told her as I started to pull out and drop back into her. 

"Faster please. Faster." I follow her command and soon I am fucking her for all I am worth. My pants combine with her moans and gasps. One of her hands grab a breast and the other starts to rub her clit furiously. "THATS IT! KEEP GOING! FUCK...FUCK...FUCK. OH... SO GOOD. " 

I warn her that I am going to cum and she tells me to wait. I try, God knows, I try. The exertion that I am putting into this fuck must have been the only thing holding me back. She was so close but I could not hold off any longer. "BABY I AM CUMMING....UHHHHH." And I keep fucking her all the way through my climax. It was enough. She starts to cum then too. Oh the yell, and my God did her pussy ever tighten up. I kept it up till I saw her hands drop to her side. I stopped and dropped forward panting between her breasts. 

We lay there together not saying a word. Both panting...both exhausted...both spent. I look up dropped out of her and gave her a kiss. Right then I knew something changed in her. She kissed back, but it was hard, had an edge to it. I looked at her and noticed something in her eyes. Realization of what happened hit her. I told her to relax here and I would go get us something to drink. I swear I was gone for less than a minute, but as I turned the corner with the glasses in my hands I see the door close. Just like that she was gone. All that was left on the ground was the rose that had served its purpose and now became just a memory. 



The Rose



A faint sound wakes me up. Someone, a female by the light walk and subtle scent, is coming into the room behind me. My heart leaps, hoping it is you. But it is Joanna. I woke her going to the kitchen an hour ago and she has been unable to go back to sleep because she has not heard me return to my room. She is dressed in just a short nightie, which rises enticingly up the backs of her legs when she bends over to put a couple more logs into the burner. Her unfettered breasts jiggle and sway as she turns on one of the side lamps, bathing the room in a soft light. 

Joanna sits none to carefully in the armchair facing mine with her feet tucked underneath her. She is not wearing any panties. Although she has adjusted the hem of her nightie I can still see the backs of her thighs and part of her sex. I would not be a man if my libido were not aroused. I wonder: Are the legends true that redheads smell and taste different to other women?

We talk quietly about your visit to Caroline and her family. She too thinks they are nice people. Joanna is convinced that Caroline is 'the one' for Adam. I keep my counsel. Adam will tell us all when the time is right. Joanna shifts slightly in her seat. I can see all of her femininity now and try not to stare. I also see beneath the thin material of her nightie that her nipples are hard. She would not have to look at me too closely to see that I am erect inside my shorts.

Joanna suddenly asks me if I ever get lonely.

Is my young cousin is asking me in a roundabout way if I would like to have sex with her? My lusting body says, "Yes please!" But, my mind asks, why is she doing this? 

Why is she offering herself to me now? We have never been all that close; never 'fooled around' in mock fights like many cousins do - our age difference has always been too great. Let's face it; Joanna has always called me 'Uncle Andrew'. Does she seek to console me because of the accident? Or is it a comfort for her… a reaction to meeting Caroline? Has Joanna harboured hopes of a deeper relationship with Adam? I am going to have to be very careful with what I say here!

I admit to her that here have been times since the divorce when female company would have been very 'cheering'. Shifting in her seat and exposing even more of her private parts to me, Joanna says that Adam has told her that I've never shown any inclination to form another relationship, not even a casual one. And then she asks why that is so. I can hardly tell her that I am saving myself for Gabrielle! Instead, I say that, I don't know. I have had offers; maybe I just can't be bothered. Amongst other things a relationship for me has to contain elements of love and passion. So far I have not met anyone around here who sparks those feelings in me. Just pure lust would be a bit like 'clearing your throat'. Joanna smiles and asks very quietly, "But what if both of you were just 'clearing your throat'? As long as that was clearly understood, wouldn't that make it okay?"

Her invitation is now out in the open. What can I now say or do? Joanna is a lovely young woman in her own right. Sex with her would truly be a cornucopia of delights. But, at the same time, the risk of alienating you is far too great! I literally clear my throat and say as warmly as I can muster, "That may be so, but I'm not sure I'm quite ready for that up here." I tap my temple with the tip of my index finger.

After a long period of silence staring at the backs of her hands, Joanna gets out of her armchair and comes to stand before me with her palms outstretched. The flickering light from the fire behind her shines through the sheer nightdress, outlining her voluptuous curves. I think to myself that I must be bloody mad to turn her down! She bends over and takes hold of my hands. The neckline of her nightie droops open and I can see the entirety of her generous breasts. "Come along, Uncle Andrew, time to go back to bed!"

Our hopping, staggering progress down the hallway to my room is a confusion of pain from my ankle and sensuous delight at the feeling of Joanna's warm softness supporting me. Finally she manages to tumble me onto my bed, where I cover myself quickly with my duvet to hide my still rocklike erection from her eyes. 

Joanna pauses in the doorway on her way out of my room. It is obvious that she is still reluctant to leave; still harbouring hopes that I might change my mind. She is standing side on. Her full breasts with their hard-pointed tips are rising and falling seductively from the effort of almost carrying me here. It would be the easiest thing in the world for me to hold out a hand or whisper her name. My whole body begs me to! 

Joanna would come to me without hesitation. She would slip out of her nightie to expose her smooth, lush flesh to my hot caresses! She would open herself and welcome my stiff rod into her satiny, liquid heat! She would convulse with the ecstasy of her release and receive my pulsing sperm with stifled cries of pleasure!

Steeling myself, I thank her for helping me back to my room and wish her well for the remainder of the night.

Day Three: Tuesday

The wounded warrior has to stay at home. It is raining quite hard and my cast would get wet… could even melt! I had hoped that you would stay with me, but you seem to prefer to do farm work with Adam and Rueben. Joanna joins you. Adam makes ha-ha cracks about 'Hoppalong Houseboy' and shouts, as you leave, "Thank goodness we don't have a TV, you'd be watching soaps and infomercials all day!" Then you are all gone and I am alone with my thoughts. As always when you are around, my choice of music gravitates to Puccini.

Just as we finish our evening meal, Rueben's daughter, Hine, comes to visit with her new boyfriend Waka. They have one of Waka's mates with them; a handsome fellow named Tane. Like many young Maori men he is built like a Greek god. It is a shame that most of them run to fat by the time they are thirty-five. I see that you are instantly attracted to him and when Hine says that they are going to the movies and invites you to join them, you agree straight away. You look to me for leave to go. I hesitate. 

Both of these guys look to be more than twenty-five years old! You give me a pleading look and I give you the okay. But I make it clear to you and the others, in particular Tane because you will be in his car, no pubs afterwards!

You do not get home until after one in the morning. Tane parks his car and walks you right up to the front door. I suspect that he dropped Hine and Waka off on the way here. I can hear you whispering and laughing quietly. There is a long, long silence. 

My imagination runs riot, but in all likelihood you are just kissing. Tane's car engine starts and he drives off as you open the door and come inside. It is now gone 2.00am. You visit the bathroom and then go to your room. I turn over in my bed feeling miserable. I consider the possibility that we may be in for a major argument in the morning. 

Day Four: Wednesday

At breakfast you volunteer nothing about last evening except to tell me that Hine is pregnant. When I ask you if Waka is the father you say that Hine hopes so. It all happened around the time she finished with her previous boyfriend, Jake, and took up with Waka. When I ask you about the Maihi's reactions you reply that they think that it's cool – Newa and Rueben started Hine's eldest brother, Matt, when she was only sixteen. You are non-committal when I question you how you feel about it.

I want to know all about the young man, Tane. To my mind he is too old to be taking a girl of your age out. I ask you how old he is and you tell me, "Twenty-seven… nearly twenty-eight." I ask you if you think that an almost-twenty-eight-year-old guy taking an eighteen-year-old girl out is appropriate. The irony of my question flies straight past me. To your credit you do not use Hine as a rationalisation. Instead you ask me to trust you. I gaze into your clear, steady eyes and cannot refuse.

You are going to help Adam, Joanna and Rueben with yarding the ewes for drenching. I will not see you to talk with all day. Misty rain is falling outside. The clouds are damned near low enough to touch. All hell and damnation on this bloody ankle of mine!

You come in just before five o'clock and head straight for a shower. At 5.30 Tane comes for you. He and Waka have rugby training, then the four of you are going into Wanganui to The Grand for a meal. 

Adam takes off to see Caroline after dinner leaving Joanna and I to clear away the dishes. We circle each other warily. She has been distant with me since I did not take her up on her offer. I can't say that I blame her. I too would feel hurt and rejected under the same circumstances - just as I am starting to feel hurt and rejected by you. 

But I must not let it show!

Eventually we have to speak to each other – it is senseless carrying on a frozen silence like this. She brings up the subject of you and Tane. She is concerned about you. At your age and with your all-girls school and lesbian-feminist oriented home life you have very little experience of men and the pressures they can exert; especially good-looking, down-to-earth country guys like Tane. Joanna tried to talk to you while you were working together today, but you brushed her off saying that you know what you are doing. Poor Joanna! She is being rebuffed from all directions.

I say that I too uneasy about the relationship, but the worst possible thing I could do is play the heavy parent. Joanna agrees and recounts the way she played up even more when her father tried to stop her from going out with a particular guy. So much so, she made sure to go to bed with him and let him take her virginity. She was fifteen then.

She tries to apologise for making an idiot of herself the other night. I give her a hug and tell her that I was the one being an idiot - she completely knocked me for six! 

Resting her forehead on my breastbone, Joanna asks in a small voice, "So you did fancy me just a little bit?" We both laugh when I tell her that she had no idea of the great danger she was in from being maimed by flying fly-buttons, "I was so close to bursting out of my boxers it was unreal!" She takes my hands and lifts them to her breasts. They are heavy and warm in my palms. Her nipples rise to greet me and when my manhood stiffens in response, Joanna nods an acknowledgement and moves away with a satisfied little smile to sit in the same armchair as before.

We spend the rest of the evening listening to music and talking about life in general. 

At one stage she kneels before me and settles my injured foot in her lap to massage my toes. The sensation is heavenly!

You are out very late again. I lie awake in bed with my mind racing. My head tells me that you and Tane are parked up somewhere, my heart pleads that you are not. I cannot sleep. In my mind's eye Tane runs large warm hands over your lithe form. You moan with pleasure and lift your tender breasts to receive his touch. He bends his head and sucks at your nipples while he slides a hand between your legs, along your alabaster-smooth thighs. You spread them, opening your innermost self to him. You free him from his trousers, stroking his hot shaft and cupping his testicles in your soft palm. He towers above your slim youthfulness; his erection aimed at your open cleft. You look up at him, your eyes glazed with longing, lust, love. He spears you, taking possession of your lush, liquid depths. You wrap your legs around his strong thighs and pull him closer to you. 

The memory of your silken skin lingers in my senses. I imagine that I am Tane. I become hard. I touch myself. I feel dirty. I am ashamed. 

It is after 2.00am when you get home. This time you come straight indoors and go directly to your room. Sleep eludes me for several hours more.

Day Five: Thursday

I wake late with a thick head and find that I am alone in the house. The rain has stopped but there is a thick mist hanging in the valleys. There is a note on the message board from Adam that he and Joanna have taken you on a pig hunt up in the Conservation land. The three of you will be away for most of the day. I clump around the house on my crutches doing what I can to tidy the place up. The farm accounts are all up to date. There is nothing much else for me to do. I am bored witless. But at last my ankle is starting to feel a lot better. I pray that I can throw the crutches away by the end of the weekend.

At lunchtime your mother calls on the telephone. She has returned from Australia. 

Jules has gone down with the 'flu and your mother thinks it best if you stay here an extra day. I do not object. One day more with you is a bonus despite the fact that you will spend the bulk of the time with Tane.

You charge in at a gallop and once again head straight for the shower. Your clothes are filthy and you have a large, bloody scratch across your forehead. In passing you yell to me that your brother and Joanna are close behind, bringing home a boar and a sow that you all caught. They will unsaddle and stable your pony for you. 

Tane arrives while you are still getting dressed. You are going to Hine's for the evening. At least Rueben and Newa will be there; I hope. The young man and I are very awkward and silent with each other. He knows that I am suspicious of what he is up to with my daughter, although he cannot guess my real motives. You give me a quick peck on the cheek and then you are gone. You look so alive and fresh, and good enough to eat. Lucky, lucky Tane! I have not had a chance to tell you about your mother's call. 

Adam and Joanna are full of your exploits when they come into the house. Apparently, you were totally fearless, diving headfirst into a patch of blackberry where Adam's holding dog, Strike, had the boar by the ear. No wonder you had such a cut on your face! You stuck the pig in the throat, killing it almost instantly. Where did you learn how to do that? It was only a young animal, about 35 pounds, but it still had razor-sharp tusks. You are lucky that the scratch on the face is all you got. Still, 

Adam says proudly, your performance wasn't bad for a city kid!

It is after midnight again when you get home. Tonight I manage to quell my imagination. But I am still in an agony of forlorn longing that events were not the way they are.

Day Six: Friday

Today I only need to support myself with a walking stick and can resume doing something useful around the farm instead of moping around the house. There are some small welding jobs to be done on a couple of pieces of machinery we use in the summer, so I will occupy myself in the workshop all day.

At breakfast I 'nail you to your seat' before you can head off with Adam again. Are you avoiding me? I tell you about your mother's call yesterday. The beam of delight on your features lights up the whole room. I wish it was for me, but I know it is not. You will use the extra time to be with Tane. You give me a big hug and a kiss for the first time in three days. It's amazing how uplifted I am afterwards. The feeling of wellbeing stays with me all day.

Tane, Hine and Waka come for you again in the evening and my good humour dies. You are going to Town again. A new James Bond movie has just started at the Multiplex. Hine tells me that it's her parents' 20th wedding anniversary tomorrow and, of course, I am invited to the hooli that the whole extended family are putting on in celebration. There is one great thing about the Maori; any excuse for a family get-together is a good one. Hine says that her Auntie Marama is coming up from Wellington - the one who lost her husband in a car accident last year and I can be her partner if I like.

I thank Hine for the invitation with the hope that my foot will be a much better by then.

Once more, it is well after midnight before you get home. I knew I would not sleep if I went to bed, so I am up reading. It has been a struggle but I have resisted the urge to go out in the car looking for you. Everyone around here knows the spots where the young ones go to be alone. Besides, I might have lost my self-control and done something stupid if I had found you both naked in the back of Tane's car. You open the lounge door to say hello and wish me goodnight. You do not come right into the room. You stand close to the door. Your hair is dishevelled, your sweat top is creased and your face is flushed. One doesn't have to have a vivid imagination to guess the reasons why. Even from where I am sitting I can see the purple mark of a hickey at the base of your throat. Why on earth did you let him do that to you?

Day Seven: Saturday

You are to help me buy a gift for Rueben and Newa. We head down to Wanganui in the Commodore. It is an automatic, so I can drive okay. You have got one of your short 'Townie' skirts out of your drawer for the occasion. I am so used to seeing you in trousers; I cannot help continually glancing across the car at your smooth, slender legs. After we have bought the happy couple a small token I shout you lunch. Facing you over the restaurant table my heart almost bursts with pride at my beautiful, beautiful daughter. You seem to have grown up so much in the last four days! I know 

I am getting envious looks from other men in the room. You are wearing your hair down today and your dark tresses cascade over your shoulders. Joanna has shown you how to mask your pig-hunting battle scar with a fringe and makeup and at the moment it is hardly visible. She has also shown you how to hide the hickey that you came home with last night. You positively glow with youth, health and happiness.

I tell you that Adam was extolling your virtues as a pig-sticker and ask you how you learned to be such an expert. You tell me that it was sheer good luck. You have taken the books by Barry Crump and Phillip Holden out of your local library at 'home' to read, so you had some idea of what to do. You giggle delightfully, "But promise me you won't tell Adam…I peed my pants when I finally saw what I was up against!"

When I tell you that your reaction was entirely natural, given the circumstances, you reply that you cannot imagine Adam or me doing anything like that. So I have to confess to you about the time when my father and his brother, my Uncle Claude, took me hunting for the very first time, down in the Haast Valley. South Westland was magnificent deer country in those days; before the helicopter recovery boys raped it in the late sixties and through the seventies.

"I wasn't allowed a rifle, at twelve years of age I was far too young. Besides, the recoil on the old ex-army .303's they used would have bowled me over backwards! It was right in the middle of The Roar and the stags were challenging each other from everywhere - absolutely unbelievable! Anyway, Uncle Claude called up this huge animal, an eighteen-pointer that was so ready for a fight he came straight across a clearing to within ten metres away. I tell you, I was shaking like a leaf! He stood stamping his foot and looking at us for about half a minute…it seemed like half an hour! His breaths were puffing out of his nostrils in great steamy clouds and his ammonia-piss smell was almost choking. Then, when he threw back his antlers and let out this earth-shattering bellow I was so terrified I filled my pants!"

You are sitting on the edge of your seat and your eyes are crackling with excitement, "What happened next?"

"Dad shot him, he couldn't miss at that range. We were all a bit sad afterwards, but Uncle Claude told me that Dad had to do it or the stag would have gone for us he was so angry. They cut his antlers out and I had to carry them back to camp…fifty metres behind the others because I smelled so bad!"

Our burst of laughter causes heads to turn in our direction.

Now that we have established a deeper rapport, trying to sound as neutral as possible, I pluck up the courage to ask you about Tane. You smile a dreamy smile. With a faraway look in your eyes you tell me what a lovely, gentle guy Tane is, full of fun and laughs and far too intelligent to be a bush worker. You love him very much and will miss him terribly when you have to go back to your mother and Jules.




The Rose



I let that subject die and move on to talk about other matters.

There is a lookout point a short distance off the highway on the way home where I invariably stop for a moment if the weather is clear – across the valley one can see almost the whole of our farm and I love looking at it. It is a popular spot with the brave tourists who traverse the twisty, narrow Gentle Annie over to Napier, but there are no other cars here today.

Before I can get out of my seat to get my field glasses out of the trunk you shyly say that you have something very special to show me. You raise your skirt up your thighs and part your legs. My heart crashes in my chest as you slowly reveal yourself. 

Reluctantly I tear my eyes away from the strip of white cotton that hides the glory of your sex to what you really want me to look at. Somebody has transformed the rosebud into a beautiful, open English Briar Rose.

You study my face as I stare at the tattoo. I battle unsuccessfully to mask my feelings of disappointment and utter devastation. I turn away and look out of the window. I cannot let you see the tears in my eyes. You touch my cheek with your soft palm and start to say something. I interrupt you in a choking voice, telling you that it is okay, you do not have to explain. I slam the shift into drive and power out of the lay-by, fighting the car's violent fish-tailing. It is a good thing that it is winter and there is no other traffic on the road, because for the next ten kilometres I can hardly see where we are going. I know that my reaction has hurt you. But you have hurt me more. The rest of the ride home takes place in a frigid silence.

You go down to the party with Tane. You are wearing the royal blue toreador pants you wore when you arrived here on Sunday. I watch your gorgeous rear end as you go through the door. My feelings towards you are strangely ambivalent. It is almost as if I am looking at a very desirable, but total stranger. My penis stirs. I could swear that you are not wearing any panties!

Adam has already given Rueben his apologies. He'd previously arranged to stay over at Caroline's house tonight. On his way out he winks to me and tells me to expect an announcement tomorrow. I wish him the very best of luck.

Joanna and I drive to the party in the Commodore. The venue at is the Memorial Hall in the settlement. There must be at least a hundred and twenty people there. 'Auntie' Marama turns out to be a tall, willowy, handsome woman of about thirty, with scraped back hair and challenging eyes. She is a policy analyst at the Department of Corrections head office in Wellington. Consequently, she lives with the politically correct attitudes about Maori and the status of The Treaty that are the stuff of life in public service circles. At first she is very reserved and difficult to make conversation with. Maybe she is suspicious of my attitudes, expecting me to be something of a redneck, being both a farmer and one with a Central Otago upbringing. There are not too many Maori to be found in that part of New Zealand. Then we find out that we share a common love for opera and actually attended the same performance of Simon Boccanegra put on in the Capital late last year. From that point on we rapidly build an easy, relaxed friendship.

The party is a roaring success. As is usual at Maori get-togethers, the tables sag with all kinds of good things to eat and drink, especially pork, chickens and vegetables cooked in the Hangi, and Kai Moana – seafood. There is much good-natured banter, most of it directed at the guests of honour. Newa's sister, Rose, shouts across the room at her to, "Watch out for that Rueben tonight, girl, he's really getting stuck into those oysters!" This prompts a mini-storm of catcalls and wolf-whistles causing Newa to hide her blushing face in her hands in embarrassment.

The band starts playing dance music after everyone has eaten. I have to sit the vigorous stuff out, my ankle will not take the strain. Marama circulates among her relatives and people who know me come to sit with me and chat for a while. You and Tane are totally wrapped up in each other. None of the other young bucks dares to cut in. Joanna is doing well having been claimed by Murray McNeish, a nuggety blond-haired young guy who plays second five-eighth in Waka and Tane's football team. She will not be coming home with me tonight. I am really pleased for her.

When someone dims the lights and puts on some slower music late in the evening, 

Marama returns to be with me. We are comfortable enough with each other now to join you younger ones on the dance floor. At least I can stand more or less in one spot without the aid of my walking stick. We hold each other close and she rests her cheek on my shoulder. I feel her small, hard breasts pressing into my chest and her breath on the side of my neck. I have a lovely, desirable young woman in my arms and I should be aroused, but I am not. 

I look across at the way you are dancing with Tane. Your eyes are closed. Your lips are buried in the crook of his neck. You grip each other by the buttocks. Your pelvises undulate in tightly pressed unison against each other. If you were not both fully clothed a casual observer could be forgiven for thinking that you are fucking.

My insides chill for the millionth time these last few days. As if your showing me the rose this afternoon was not enough, seeing you like this is further proof that the dream is indeed over. It was more than foolish of me to want you in the first place. 

Logic rather than law says that your father should not be your lover. You have taken the momentous step I dreaded from the start and have given Tane your maidenhead. 

It is normal. It is natural. You are both young and in the full hot hormonal flush of youth. But, even these truths do not ease my pain. You two are probably not in love; still you make love. Tonight and tomorrow are your last together for another six months. You will want to spend both of them with Tane. Whatever my personal feelings are I will not try to prevent you. Just don't get pregnant like Hine, my darling! 

I do have one meagre consolation though: Jules and your mother have failed!

Just after midnight the band packs up and out come the guitars. This party is going to go on all night. Tane grabs a guitar. He plays well. Is there nothing this prick is not good at? At least he will not be trying to get into your pants for a couple of hours yet!

I want to go home. My ankle is sore. I am weary of jealously watching you and Tane together. Marama asks me to drop her off at Rueben's house, where she is staying. 

She has to drive back down to Wellington in the morning. I feel your stare boring into my back when we leave the room. Why are you so interested? You have your man. 

I escort Marama to the Maihi's door. When I extend my hand to shake hers and start to wish her farewell and a safe journey in the morning, Marama invites me inside "For a cup of tea". I agree reluctantly. I would prefer to go straight home, but suddenly there is an air of forlornness about the woman that touches me and I sense that she needs to talk without all the partying going on around us.

I perk up the open fire while Marama makes the tea. When she joins me she has loosened her hair and changed into a baggy sweater and a pair of track pants. She doesn't want any lights on; "The firelight is good enough, Okay?" So we sit close together on the thick sheepskin rug near by the fireplace and bask in the crackling warmth. Marama stares into the dancing flame for a long time without speaking. With her hair down she looks, younger, softer, and more vulnerable. She reaches over and squeezes my hand briefly, "I want to thank you, Andrew, for not hitting on me this evening – most guys I meet seem to think that 'The Lonely Young Widow' is starving for sex and she just can't wait to get into bed with them." 

Ah well, I have done something right this week!

Then, very softly, she tells me that next weekend she has to go up to Rotorua for her husband Peter's unveiling. He died driving his car on a straight stretch of the Taupo-Rotorua highway when the drawbar coupling on an oncoming logging truck's trailer failed. According to the police report, 15 tonnes of rolling sawlogs 'collected' Peter at a combined closing speed of 180 to 190 kilometres per hour. Two of the three people in the car behind him died also. The survivor remains a quadriplegic.

"Peter and his car were literally torn to pieces. One second he was my handsome, strong, fun-loving guy who worked day and night to help reconnect street kids with their whanau and the next he was simply a mess of unrecognisable lumps of flesh. 

The only way the police could positively identify who he was, was from his fingerprints – he had had a minor run-in with the law when he was a teenager and his prints were still on file."

Marama goes on to relate how she has survived since getting the news of Peter's accident, the coroner's inquest and the still ongoing fight for compensation when it was found that the trucking company had knowingly allowed that truck onto the road with a suspect coupling. 

We suddenly realise that more than two hours have passed since we left the party. Marama apologises for 'raving on' for so long, but I strike her as someone who has a good understanding of coping with bereavement, and tonight, a week before Peter's unveiling, she needed to talk.

I tell her that I understand her need to clarify how she feels. Then I make my apologies and say that I have to make my way home. I want to be there when you get there.

"Just looking at Gabrielle and Tane earlier on, Andrew, I wouldn't hold my breath in the hope that she'll be home tonight!"

With a heavy heart I have to admit that I agree with her. "But, I have to be there – just in case." Then I ask Marama her opinion of my allowing a girl of your age to go out with a grown man.

She laughs gently and says, "Gabrielle is such a mature young lady. I find it hard to believe that she's only eighteen! Besides, I am hardly the best person to ask that question. My first serious boyfriend was thirty and I was pretty young!"

"How young?" I ask her.

"The same age as your daughter…and yes, I did sleep with him. And yes, it was wonderful because he worshipped me for the person I was, as well as for my body."

I am so utterly depressed and exhausted I nearly run off the road twice on the way 

home. Tane's big old Ford Falcon is parked outside near to the front veranda when I arrive. Its roof and windows are starting to frost over, so you have been here for some time. The downstairs part of the house is in darkness when I enter. My heart crashes in my ribcage. I make my way upstairs to the bedroom area. The door to your room is partially ajar. A soft light invades the hallway. An icy ball of despair invades my gut…despair, because up until now the relationship between you and Tane has only been a misery in my mind. Now I know that I shall have to meet the incontrovertible truth face-to-face.

I cannot help but look into your room on my way past. Your clothes, yours and 

Tane's, are scattered on the floor; obviously discarded in a sexually urgent rush. 

Your bedcovers are a tangled mess that only just hides your nakedness. You are both asleep, you with your cheek on Tane's shoulder and one arm thrown across him. One perfect, pink-tipped cone presses against his bare chest. If you were anybody else I would think how beautiful the pair of you are – a creamy pale Ariadne with her golden-bronze Theseus. But, you are my heart's desire and I am too utterly distraught for such aesthetics.

I make my way quietly to my bedroom. Once there, in a fit of agonised rage, I take the scented, flimsy scrap of material you gifted me on your first night here into the en-suite and flush it down the toilet.

I know that sleep will be impossible. I think that a long soak in the tub may help, so I set the water running in the bath in the en-suite and undress. The house is silent. You are here, but I am alone. My bedroom door is tight shut, yet I close the bathroom door before getting into the bath – out of habit I suppose. I actually fall asleep with my plaster-clad foot hanging out over the edge of the tub. Eventually the steadily chilling water wakens me and I clamber out and hastily towel myself down. 

In the nude I open my bedroom door.

You laugh softly with delight at the expression of dumbfounded astonishment on my face. Then, devouring my pendulous nakedness with your eyes, you motion me over to the bed and order me to lie down. You take charge, supremely confident in your new-grown womanhood. Hushing my babbling questions, you declare that I haven't shown you the rest of my bruises. Despite the fact that you have so recently lain with another man, I am still your slave. You turn me onto my side and murmur your sympathy at the cloven hoof shaped brand on my buttock. I feel the soft touch of your lips. I soar erect, out of control. You roll me onto my back again and demand that I spread my legs and show you the very last one.

You get to your feet and throw off your robe. You are naked underneath. You were an exquisite half-formed nymph when you were here before, now you truly are a beautiful goddess! You hold your arms out from your sides and let me worship your slender perfection with my eyes. You turn completely around slowly, showing me every curve of your form. A small smile of happiness plays on your lips. You are enjoying displaying yourself to me. You bask in the knowledge that I find you the most enchantingly beautiful creature alive. If only there had been no Tane! The bastard could still be fast asleep in your bed for all I know!

As if reading my thoughts you tell me that you asked Tane to leave while I was in the bath.

You rejoin me on the bed, lying on top of me, your thighs astride mine. My erection is trapped between our bellies. You kiss me, softly, gently, full of childlike innocence. 

Your hair is a dark sensuous tent shrouding our faces. Then, staring into my eyes, you whisper, "Daddy, I want you to make love to me."

Tears spring to my eyes and I have to turn my head away. You take hold of me by the chin and force me to look at you, "Daddy! Tane and I never did anything. I am still a virgin."

Stunned by your revelation, I mutter that I still can't do it.

"Why?" You demand of me. "Because of the incest thing? Daddy, I don't care about that. I love you and I want you. It feels right for me…for us!"

"Gabrielle, I love you more than you will ever know and I shouldn't, but I want you as well…but you are so young!"

"Daddy, I am a woman." You reach down between us. You grasp me with your fingers and guide me into your very core.

The warmth of your body enfolds me. Shock that I can have been so utterly wrong about you and Tane batters my senses. At the same time I cannot fully comprehend the awesome responsibility you have just handed me!

Despite your willing cooperation and all my efforts to spare you, losing your virginity hurts you. A resolute expression appears on your face; it becomes a battle you are determined to win. When your hymen finally gives way and I sink deep into your body you collapse on me with a small cry. I feel your body shake with sobs as you press your face into the crook of my shoulder. Without moving in you I tenderly stroke your back and flanks and whisper my love. You raise your tear-stained lips to mine and kiss me once more. You tell me that this is the happiest moment of your life - the moment you have dreamed of ever since you were a young child, and especially after Jules got you tattooed. 

You dig in under the pillow and pull out an object you must have hidden there earlier. 

It is a small silk handkerchief with a pink rosebud embroidered by you in one corner. You ask me to withdraw from you for a moment and then you wipe us both with the cloth. You show me the smears of your virgin blood and swear to me that no matter what happens to us you will keep it forever.

You replace me inside you and I love you with all my heart and body until my seed leaps from me in gushing streams. Now it is me who weeps for joy. You do not climax. This first time is still too painful. Afterwards, we cuddle happily together; touching; exploring; kissing. 

After a while, you lay on your back, offering up your body to my caresses. I gaze in awe at your loveliness. I still cannot fully assimilate that after all you have chosen me to be your first lover. Your eyes are closed and you smile rapturously at the sensations induced by my fingertips as I trail them over the warm living marble of your skin. I watch your pulse pounding in the side of your throat. Your face is flushed. 

Your nipples are swollen. You are softly rubbing your thighs together. 

Your heavy-lidded eyes open lazily. They are huge dark pools of rapturous longing. 

You are profoundly aroused. To have intercourse with you again tonight will only return you to pain. Therefore, I fairy-kiss my way down your precious, beautiful frame. You part your thighs in the expectation that at last I am going to kiss you where you have desired for so many months. I dive into your moist fragrance and give you your release with my tongue. Your belly tenses and you tremble violently. 

You let out a suppressed squeak of astonishment followed by a long, low moan of pleasure. Your soft thighs hug me tightly, pressing the rose against my cheek. Then, with a deep sigh of sheer contentment you relax, enjoying the aftermath.

Day Eight: Second Sunday

We stay together all night. Even asleep we keep physical contact. Just after seven o'clock you get up to go to the bathroom. I make my way downstairs, still naked, to turn the wood burner up to full boost to heat the living areas. You join me in the kitchen, also unclothed. Once again the sheer beauty of you captivates me. The perfect proportions of your lithe, slender form, the graceful way you move, your demure modesty, even though you are completely naked, are utterly enthralling.

You smile, pleased at the effect you have on me, "Close your mouth Daddy! You might catch a fly."

You take my hand and lead me to sit in my usual chair. The wooden seat is cold on my bare buttocks. You climb astride my legs and we look down at the dark, soft curls crowning your delectable cleft and my rapidly rising erection. You ask me if I remember the last time we sat like this and I tell you that we kissed at both ends of our bodies, and afterwards you told me that you wanted me to be the one to make your rosebud bloom.

I trace the outline of the rose with my fingertip. You tell me that Tane took you into 

Palmerston North the other evening, to a place he knows of. They stayed open late especially for you. That's why you didn't get home until after 2.00am. The Parlour has a fantastic reputation. Lots of young Maori go there and many Massey University students as well. The artist you saw, a young woman, had known instantly just from seeing it, the name of the person who had done the original tattoo. She showed you with a marker pen how clever he was. The rosebud could be made to flower with the addition of just eight lines. You asked her to make it permanent.

You smile and kiss me. You taste of toothpaste. "Well, Daddy, you have certainly done that… can we do it again?"

I hug you to me and once more our groins kiss each other. It feels as though your nether lips are gripping the entire length of my upright shaft. We pull slightly apart. 

You take the head of my penis in your fingers and position it at your entrance. We watch my rod slowly enter you. You look up at me with a radiant smile on your face. 

The joy and love in your eyes makes my heart lurch with emotion. You whisper, "There is no pain."




The Rose and Crown



Another week, another effort!

No real sex I'm afraid, but the ending might suit some better than some of my stories have.

Hope you all enjoy it.

---------------- -------------

Bloody hell!

I don't understand

I'm really fucked up.

Damnit I'm just so lucky to have got away with it.

I mean really ___ Bloody hell ___ how have I got away with it?

It was her fault really, but maybe I over reacted. 

No!

NO!

No way did I over react. I'm feeling pissed off at the moment but I'll settle down. 

Hell fire ___ Just listen to my story and see what you think!

Shit ___ No really ___ it's not easy. Just listen and see what you think.

__________________ ______________

Carrie and I got married six years ago.

Everyone describes their wife in these stories as some thing exceptional, and I can understand that, because I've had a bit of time to think about it. My missus, Carrie was a real 'looker', no doubt about that. 

Exceptional?

I don't know.

Pretty __ slender ___Sexy __ Nice boobs ___ Long legs ___ Well, yes __ OK.

Judge for yourself ___ I know I fancied her.

I'd known Carrie for a long time, since we were teenagers in fact. I was a few years older than her though, so for me she had always been just the young girl down the street. 

Then when she was fourteen, something happened that seemed to lock us together. I was just about to go off to University, and had left my pals after an evening in the pub. It wasn't too late, but was just getting dark when I took a short cut through the local park. Just as well I did maybe, because I came upon young Carrie being annoyed by a couple of boys of about her age. I say annoyed, but it was more serious than that, and if I hadn't come along at that moment, then who knows what might have happened.  

Well, her version has always been that I waded in like some hero and saved her, but the reality was that once I confronted the two blokes, they took fright and took off.

Either way I became something special to her, and for the rest of the summer I kept noticing her, not quite following me around, but certainly doing her best to be wherever I'd be.

My pals took the piss of course, as at eighteen I was far too old for her, but even then I had to admit, she was a very pretty young girl, with, even at that age, the most superb pair of long shapely legs.

Then I went off to study for three years and hardly saw her again, till I went back after graduating, and spent a long summer there before I went off to my new job.

By then of course, it was her who was eighteen, and me nearly twenty-two. A somehow different kettle of fish altogether, which, matched up with quite what a beautiful young woman she had matured into, made her continuing affection for me extremely acceptable.

We got together, and became boy friend and girl friend, walking hand in hand in the park, and kissing and cuddling whenever we had the chance.

By then I was hardly still a virgin, but she was, and despite several near misses, that is what she remained. That's not to say that I didn't make myself acquainted with the wonderful softness of her lovely pussy, or discovered how it tasted, but that was it. It didn't worry me too much, as underneath I still imagined myself as her protector, and Carrie still told people about the time I had 'saved her from a fate worse than death'.

I'm pretty sure Carrie fell even more deeply in love with me that summer, and in all honesty, I couldn't have been far behind.

But it wasn't to be __ not then at least, and despite openly discussing other possibilities, we sadly parted company, as she went off to Leeds Metropolitan University, and me to my first serious job in Bristol. 

We couldn't have been much further apart.

She swore to be faithful to me, but I took that with a pinch of salt. I'd just spent three years as a student myself, and was well aware of how things change, and what temptations there were.

I did visit her a few times, but the last time it was so obvious that she had another life to worry about, and we simply drifted apart.

That could have been it of course, as I certainly didn't hang around, becoming for a few years a bit of a party animal on the Bristol scene, and going through a succession of different girls. But then I changed my direction a little, and ended up back nearer home, and Carrie came back into my life. She'd graduated by then, and was working already when her parents invited me round. I have to say that the first welcome I got from darling Carrie was a little less warm than I expected, but that soon changed. Indeed she had changed herself, had grown up, become more sophisticated, more worldly wise. And yes, she had lost her virginity, and unfortunately it hadn't been to me.

No matter really, and who was I to complain.

Then one evening she told someone I was still her special hero, and we seemed to be back where we'd left off. 

I renewed my acquaintance with the inside of her panties, and this time it didn't stop there. We were soon screwing away like bunny rabbits, and the more we made love, the more we fell in love.

Marriage followed, as sure as morning follows night, and six years later we were still as much in love as we ever had been.

Carrie was sometimes a bit of a prude, didn't approve of all manner of things, but never pushed her views too far, so it never was a problem.

We were happy ___ really happy, and the future looked bright.

My problem started when my company decided to promote me. No problem with that, except that it was to the fine city of Leeds, where my loving wife had spent her years at the university. It was that or the Middle East, and since we wanted to start a family, Leeds just seemed to make more sense.

No problem there either ___ at least not for the first couple of weeks, while we found ourselves a temporary rented flat, and settled in. I knew I'd miss going to watch Arsenal play football, and Leeds City was hardly going to replace them in my affections. After all, Billy Bremner and crew had long since retired. But overall Leeds seemed not a bad place to be in.

For those of you who don't know it, it is a very lively city, with lots of nightlife.

Then one evening she suggested that we do a bit of a tour of the city, and look in on a few of the places she used to frequent as a student. We had a drink in a few of the student pubs, but even Carrie felt a bit out of place since it had been eight years since she had graduated from Leeds Met. 

We ate at a restaurant where she had worked for a while, but even there she found nobody that she remembered. Even the decoration had changed and it was obvious that she was feeling a little disappointed with the evening. It simply didn't have the magic that she had been hoping for.

Strange just how a little thing like a place re-decorating since you were last there, can really make someone so utterly disappointed. The whole evening looked as if it was going to end so poorly.

"I know," she declared at last. "There was a little pub on the edge of town that I worked in during my final year. It wasn't a student pub, so maybe some of the locals will still be around."

It was still early evening, so we walked hand in hand through the city centre like the two lovers we were, not bothering with the car, till at last she led me down a couple of back alleys, and the nature of the buildings began to change. From bright city lights to shabby back street houses and crumbling workshops. 

"Was it like this when you were here?" I asked Carrie doubtfully, and she laughed, telling me that it hadn't changed. She'd lived not far away in some cheap flat that she had shared with three other girls, one of whom had worked in the same pub as her for some time. 

"Just round this corner," she told me at last, the joy in her voice so obvious that it made me grin, and then there in front of us was a grimy looking pub that I wouldn't normally have dreamt of going in on my own, no matter with Carrie the way she was dressed.

Not that she was dressed slutty or anything as that simply wasn't her style. Carrie was the epitome of smart in her appearance, from her neatly shortcut dark hair, to her smart suits and formal high heels. That evening was an exception and she'd worn a short skirt. Not very short at all, but for her just a little more daring than normal. I'd joked that maybe it was to remind her of her student days, but on reflection, just perhaps she had some idea of how the evening was going to pan out.

Maybe not though ____ No __ I think if she'd known, then she wouldn't have left out flat.

The Rose and Crown the pub was called, with two typical, big, period, etched, multi coloured windows to the front, that no doubt looked very fine in their day.

"You're sure this is it?" I queried hesitantly.

"Of course," she replied. "Not so bad once you get inside."

With that, she flashed me a beautiful smile, the one I'd love so much since I'd known her as a young girl, and pushed open the pub door. 

Little did I know at the time that I would never feel the same again about that smile!

I followed her in and she was right. The interior was old fashioned, but quite clean, with a long dark wooden bar, and a lovely old mirror behind. And the windows that looked so grubby from outside, actually looked fine from within as the lights from the street lamps shone through them, giving the bar a warm sort of glow.

Carrie stood there entranced, at last recognition registering on her face.

"It hasn't changed a bit," she said quietly to nobody in particular.

"I shouldn't think it's changed much in fifty years," I added, which made her giggle a little, and squeeze my hand as she looked lovingly up at me.

"Oh look Terry, look!" And she was off, letting go of my hand, and scooting across the wooden floor to the other end of the bar.

"Hi there, remember me?" I heard her say to the barman, who turned round to look at her. He looked her up and down appraising the pretty young woman in front of him. Then a smile came to his face as he recognised who had just greeted him.

"Carrie," he cried. "Is that really you Carrie?"

Carrie stood there nodding her head in confirmation, grinning up at the tall, lanky barman whose name I never did discover.

I couldn't help grinning myself, as I realised that at last Carrie had found someone who remembered her, and the evening wasn't going to be a total waste after all.

He whooped with some sort of joy, and rushed from behind the bar, taking Carrie in his arms and cuddling her tightly, kissing her full on the lips. The cuddle and kiss didn't last long enough for me to get jealous or anything, but the first uneasy feeling slithered coldly through my gut, removing the grin from my face.

They talked animatedly about things I knew nothing of, and I waited to be introduced. 

The talk passed onto people who Carrie had obviously known back then, and I still waited in vain to be introduced. 

When another guy walked into the pub, the barman called out to him and told him to come and see who'd turned up. He walked straight by me, and yelled "Carrie," as soon as he spotted her. 

Again I had to endure my wife being cuddled and kissed by a man I'd never seen before.

Again I waited in vain to be introduced.

"Karl will be in any moment Carrie," the second guy told her, and to my amazement she blushed. "Thought that would get to you," he added, seeing her reaction.

"Really," answered Carrie. "Karl still comes in does he? He'll really be here soon?"

Who the hell was Karl?

Carrie had never mentioned a Karl before. No reason why she should of course, but I didn't like the way the evening was heading, and I didn't like the way she was ignoring me either. 

I was still left there standing on my own, feeling like a spare prick.

I cleared my throat to attract her attention, and when that failed, I coughed loudly.

The barman looked round at me, but Carrie continued to ignore me, deep in conversation with the other man.

"Sorry mate," the barman called over to me. "I'll be with you in a minute."

What could I do?

I could have gone and grabbed her arm or something, but she was so obviously lost in the fun of meeting her old friends, that I decided to bide my time, walking up to the bar just behind them and leant on the counter.

"Yes mate," asked the barman at long last, tearing himself away from my wife. "What can I get you?"

"A pint of best please," I told him. "And whatever the lady wants."

The smile left the barman's face as I said it.

"I don't think this little lady takes drinks from just anyone mister," he snarled at me, evidently totally unaware that I was her husband, or that she was even with me. 

"I think she'll have a drink with me," I responded, my temper just beginning to rise.

"Now look here mate," the barman started. "You can't come in here and......"

It was as far as he got however, as at last Carrie turned round, the raised voices at last attracting her attention, and interrupted him.

"It's OK, he's with me," she informed the other two casually, hardly bothering to so much as look over at me. 

The barman shut up, but still scowled at me as he pulled my beer. 

"That will be two pounds twenty then," he demanded as he pushed the glass over the counter towards me.

"And the drink for the lady?" I queried.

"That's on the house," he brusquely informed me, then promptly asked her what she wanted and poured it for her, without looking back at me. 

I stood there sipping my pint, wondering what the hell was going on. My wife was still deep in conversation with the other two, laughing and giggling for all she was worth, as they recounted old stories, and they told her what had happened since she had left.

Karl's name cropped up several times I noted, and a worrying smile flitted across Carrie's face, each time.

She still continued to completely ignore me, and I was beginning to get quite upset at her strange behaviour. I was about to step in between them to reclaim my wife's attention, when the pub door opened and a two big chaps breezed in, one of them white, and the other a West Indian. 

"Hey Karl," shouted out the barman the instant he spotted them. "Look who's turned up out of the blue."

So this was the mysterious Karl?

Big sod, and rather tough looking with it as well.

Karl stopped in his tracks when he spotted Carrie, and a huge grin creased his face.

"Bugger me ___ Carrie," he shouted. "Where have you appeared from?"

Without saying anything more, he bounded past me, and as the others moved out of his way, grabbed her and embraced her, Carrie kissing him back as enthusiastically as he was kissing her.

This time it did go on a bit too long for my liking, and the way the others stood there beaming at the two of them as they were locked together didn't help either.

Then his left hand dropped down her back, and cupped the cheek of her bottom.

I'd had enough!

I stepped forward to break it up, deciding that if Carrie was going to allow that, and couldn't even so much as involve me in her friends, then it was time we were going.

I only managed one step forward, and was bought to a sudden stop by a large strong hand on my shoulder, gripping me hard.

"Wouldn't if I were you mate," came a deep voice from behind me, as I realised the black guy had anticipated my move, and stepped forward to prevent it.

"Get your hand off me," I told him angrily, trying unsuccessfully to throw him off. 

All four guys turned on me at that point, all squaring up at me expecting trouble. 

"Oh leave him alone," Carrie told them before anything happened. "He bought me here tonight. He's OK. He won't cause any problems."

All this without so much as even looking at me, or acknowledging me in any way. Her head turned towards me for a moment, but our eyes never met.

Bought her here did I? 

No mention that I'd known her since she was a kid, and that I happened to be her bloody husband.

"Stay cool man," the big black guy told me, more than a hint of a threat in his voice. He let go of my shoulder, but eased me back away from the group around Carrie, inserting his huge frame between them and me.

I couldn't believe what was happening!

An icy cold lump started to form in my gut.

Twenty minutes ago I had been hand in hand with my loving wife, almost skipping happily through the middle of Leeds City centre, as much in love as any couple could be. 

That to this in twenty short minutes. Left on the sidelines, and shut out by my wife and her friends.

They made a move over towards one of the tables, as the pub started to get busy.

I saw several attractive if slutty looking women come in and talk to Karl or his sidekick, before going out again, or taking their place at the bar.

I wasn't such an innocent abroad not to recognise exactly what the women were. Or to be more precise, what they did for a living. 

Bloody hell, my somewhat prim and correct young wife, was being friendly with a pimp. 

He must have been. Karl must have been a bleeding pimp.

Surely she wasn't so simple minded not to recognise what was going on around her?

Enough! Whether she liked it or not, Carrie and I were getting out of there. 

"Carrie," I called sufficiently loudly that she couldn't pretend not to hear. "Time we were going Carrie. Come on now ___ it's time we were off."

She looked over at me and the smile drained away from her face, only to be replaced by an agitated look. 

She didn't even say no. She didn't say anything at all.

Carrie just shook her head at me, and turned back to her friends, the smile returning, and before long she was giggling like a little schoolgirl, apparently having forgotten that I was even there. 

"Play it cool, or piss off man," said the deep voice at my elbow. "I won't warn you again."

"Now look here...." I started to protest, but he put his huge hand on my chest and pushed me firmly away from the group sat around the table, and back up to the bar. 

"The lady doesn't seem to want to know you buster," he informed me. "Stay there and wait for her if you want, or go home. Go find yourself another date for the night. Or better still try one of our ladies."

Without waiting for me to say anything, he beckoned one of the women over, and she responded immediately, trotting over on her high heels to stand right beside me.

"This is Sally," he told me. "It'll cost you but she'll look after you tonight. Just piss off with her and forget about the little lady over there. Her and Karl have a lot of catching up to do. Sorry if your date didn't work out as you expected tonight, but that's life."

He backed off and went back to the table, leaving me speechless with rage.

"Don't push your luck handsome," the prostitute, Sally advised me. "The pair of them are not to be messed with. Just let her go ____ She's pretty enough, but better to find yourself another girl for the night."

I looked at her in disbelief.

"She's not my girl friend, she's my bloody wife," I found myself hissing at her.

"Oh shit," the girl, Sally exclaimed, her face clouding over. "Oh shit ____ that's bad. That's really bad."

I went to make my move back over to the table, but this time it was Sally who blocked my move.

"Hang on handsome," she said to me. "You really don't want to do that."

"What the fuck am I supposed to do then for Christ's sake," I demanded in frustration.

"Let me go and have a word with her for you," she offered. "You're not kidding me are you? She really is your wife."

The look on my face alone was enough to convince her, and holding up the palm of her hand towards me to make sure I didn't follow her, she slowly threaded her way through to the table where Carrie and the others were sitting.

I watched as she bent down and whispered something in Carrie's ear, and then Carrie looked up in my direction, for the first time since she'd entered the pub, her eyes meeting mine.




The Rose and Crown



It was almost a look of surprise as she looked over at me. As if she'd really and truly just remembered I was there. She looked sheepishly away, and then whispered something back to Sally.

"She said she'd come over and see you in a minute," Sally informed me when she got back over to me.

"In a minute! In a bloody minute!" I shot at her. "I want her here now."

"Don't push your luck mister," was all she said back, and then she wandered off to try her luck with another John further down the bar.

I stood there fuming, unable to take my eyes off Carrie for a minute. Unable not to notice that Karl arm had slid across her shoulders, the tips of his fingers brushing casually against one of her breasts.

At least she looked over at me a few times, with a watery smile for my benefit.

I started counting the minutes, wondering at which point I would explode, but after five minutes she stood up and excused herself, but didn't come straight over to me. Instead Carrie made her way over to the toilets, and disappeared through the door.

I didn't know whether she wanted me to follow her or not. 

I didn't know what the hell to do, but before I could make my mind up, she came out again, and with a glance over towards Karl's group, made her way over to me.

"What the fucking hell are you playing at Carrie?" I demanded angrily. "Let's go, and go now."

I went to grab her arm, but she pushed me off, backing away.

"Don't cause a scene Terry," she spat out at me. "You can go if you want, but I'm staying here for a while."

"WHAT?"

"You heard me Terry," Carrie told me firmly. "I'm staying here for a while to chat to my old friends. You can go and come back later for me or stay here and wait."

I looked at her unable to believe my ears. The woman who had told me how much she loved me several times earlier that day was telling me to piss off.

"Better if you just go home Terry," she continued when I failed to respond. "I'll get a taxi back later. Well talk about this then."

"I am not bloody well leaving you here Carrie," I cried ___ I very nearly did cry in fact.

"Then just stay and watch then Terry if you must," she answered resignedly. "You might not like what you see, but for your own sake don't interfere."

I tried once more to persuade her to leave with me, but she would have none of it.

"Better if you left now Terry," she suggested. "I'll see you later. Don't worry sweetheart everything will be Ok afterwards. I love you and will make it up to you ___ I promise. Just give me this one evening, and everything will be like before."

Carrie made to move away, but I grabbed her arm and pulled her back, astounded at her outrageous behaviour.

I didn't even see him coming.

Before I knew it, I was flat back up against the bar, as the big black guy knocked my arm away from my wife, and me with it. I'm no wimp so I took a swing at him, but I might as well have tried to knock down Nelson's column. He shoved me further along the bar, and then pushed me to the ground. 

"I warned you, you stupid little bastard," he reminded me, a nasty grin on his face. Then he picked me up as if I was a featherweight and propelled me towards the door. 

"Don't hurt him Ted," cried out Carrie. "He hasn't done any real harm."

I don't really know whether her pleas had any effect on the outcome, but at least I guess she had tried. 

The next thing I knew, I was outside and doubling up as he hit me in the stomach, and then reeling backwards as he punched me in the chest. It felt as if I'd been hit by a train, and I fell flat on my back and waited for the beating to continue.

It didn't come.

I lay there for a good while, wondering how the hell I had got there. I had a pain in my chest from where he had hit me, and was fighting for my breath due to the blow to my middle.

Two punches ___ just two casual punches and I had been reduced to a wreck, aching all over, and still unable to stand up.

Another ten minutes, and I was able to pull my self up to my feet, shaking off the dust and grime from my clothes.

How could an evening that had started so wonderfully have descended that far?

Again ___ it was the same thing. I just didn't know what the hell to do.

I'm no softy, but how could I stand up a great hulk like that. He'd murder me.

I'd never felt so damn humiliated and hopeless in my entire life.

Some bloody 'special' hero I was.

It wasn't as if I even knew anyone in Leeds. I didn't so much as have a friend to call to help me.

I stood there and watched the slow stream of clients going in and out of the pub. More than a few of the guys going in and coming out later with one of the women on their arm.

The pub was a bloody brothel.

My wife of six years, who only that morning I had discussed having children with, was in a fucking brothel. She'd taken me there and must have known.

I fought back the tears and knew what I had to do. I couldn't walk away and leave her there like that. I didn't know what I was going to do with her, but I couldn't walk off and abandon her.

If she didn't come home with me this time, then potentially our wonderful, perfect marriage was over.

I guess more than an hour had passed before I managed to get myself ready to go back inside the pub. 

I didn't know what to expect.

I certainly never expected what confronted me.

I guess maybe you might describe it as an impromptu lesbian strip tease act. Or something like that.

Carrie was in the middle of the pub with just her panties left on, her beautiful full breasts on display for all the pub to ogle.

And ogle they did!

Even as I stood there too shocked to move, the other girl, who was down to her bra and panties reached forward and started to pull my wife's panties down.

A large group of guys surrounded the pair of them, grinning and laughing as Carrie's panties slipped slowly down her legs.

NO! NO! I couldn't stand it.

I charged forward, pushing my way through the other men, and grabbed at Carrie, who looked round at me a startled look on her face.

"Oh no Terry ___ Oh for Christ's sake no," was all she managed to get out. 

I fared no better than the last time, and the lights started to go out for me as someone smashed me hard in the face. 

The last thing I remember seeing was Karl clutching my wife in his arms, her panties still hanging half way down her legs, while his hands cupped her naked breasts. I think she had a look of horror on her face as she watched me being dragged out of the pub.

They weren't so easy on me the second time, and it was several hours later that I fully came to, in the middle of a car park some distance from the pub. I hurt all over, but I guess they were experts and though I was in pain, nothing seemed to be broken. It took me an hour to find my way back to our car, and another before I managed to start it and drive back to out new rented flat. 

I fell asleep on the sofa, not knowing, and by then beyond caring at what time Carrie would be home. 

The following morning I woke up feeling worse than death. I had a very long, very hot shower, and at last my body started to feel like it belonged to me again.

I got slowly dressed trying not to think of the previous evening, but I just couldn't stop.

I didn't know if the pain in my body was as bad as the pain in my brain.

Was my marriage over? I had no idea, but it seemed pretty likely.

For the life of me I couldn't understand what had happened.

How could my loving wife Carrie have acted like that?

I'd known her all those years, but quite obviously not as well as I thought.

Eleven O'clock in the morning and where the hell was she? I was buggered if I was going to chase back over there to find her.

Another hour passed and still no news.

I paced around the room, not knowing what to do.

I was buggered if I was going back to look for her.

Then the phone rang.

It had only been connected the day before, and unless it was a double-glazing salesman on a cold call, then the only person other than myself who had the number was my darling, fucking wife.

"Hello," I answered after picking it up.

"Hi honey," she replied quietly. "Are you OK?"

"What do you think Carrie?" I asked her.

"Oh Terry I'm so sorry for last night. I should have known not to go back to that bloody damn pub."

"Where are you now?" I demanded. 

"Still at the pub. I'm ready to leave now Terry __ do you want to come and pick me up, or should I get a taxi."

I ignored her question.

"So who did you sleep with last night my darling wife?" I asked sarcastically, but she didn't answer. She didn't really have to did she?

"Or did the whole pub get to fuck you Carrie, is that what happened?"

"No," Carrie claimed urgently. "No __ don't be stupid Terry, the only one was....."

She left the sentence unfinished, it suddenly dawning on her what she was about to say.

Neither of us said anything for several minutes, though I could hear her sobbing on the other end of the line.

"Please Terry, please understand why I did what I did. Please let me come home to you and let things be as they were ___ I can explain everything if you'll just let me. Just give me a chance"

I desperately wanted to tell her to piss off. But this had to be sorted out one way or the other.

"Make your own damn way home," I told her. "Or get one of your boyfriends to drive you back."

"Oh thank you Terry," Carrie whimpered. "I'll be back in half an hour, an hour at the most ___ It will all be OK ___ you'll see. Everything will be OK."

I slammed the phone down before she had time to say anything else.

Damn it! Bugger it! I loved her but I hated her.

What the hell was I going to say to her when she got back?

Was I going to tell her to pack her bags, or would I take her in my arms?

As it turned out, I didn't have to make that decision.

Half an hour passed, then the full hour.

The afternoon turned into evening and still no sign of my errant wife.

By eight pm it was obvious she wasn't actually going to come home. Not that night anyway, and for me that meant possibly not any night in the future.

As each hour had passed I had got angrier and angrier. Not shouting and screaming angry, but a with cold calculating fury that consumed me.

I put a few things in the car, and drove very carefully back to the city centre, hoping that I could find the pub again that Carrie had taken me to the night before. After several mistakes, I eventually recognised a large factory, and just down the road, the Rose and Crown pub.

Parking the car just around the corner, I got out and walked towards the bar, outwardly confident, but my heart pounding away inside.

I had to admit I was nervous __ even physically frightened after what they'd done to me the previous night.

I hesitated by the front door, not knowing what to expect. I didn't even know for sure if Carrie was still in there. 

I pushed the door open and went in.

It was much as before. Full of rough looking characters, and even rougher looking women.

I recognised several faces, and a couple of them looked surprised to see me. If they weren't sure if it was me from the night before, then the black eye and bruises on my face would have given it away.

"Haven't you had enough mate?" Asked the barman on spotting me.

"Where's my wife arsehole?" I demanded.

At least he had the decency to look surprised.

"Your wife?" He queried screwing his face up. "Carrie's your wife?"

I nodded my confirmation.

"Bloody hell," he said. "She told us you were just a date."

The barman looked at me with some sympathy, remembering what had happened the night before, and possibly even more since I had been thrown out. 

He knew there was going to be trouble. He didn't know what, but he knew.

He cocked his head to one side, indicating the far corner.

When I looked over, there she was, Carrie, sat on Karl's knee. Neither of them had noticed me enter and I crossed over to them before they realised I was there.

Carrie gasped in surprise and tried unsuccessfully to pull her blouse back over to cover her bared breasts. She needn't have bothered as we'd all seen them before.

Karl simply grinned at me, that sort of grin when you know you've got the better of someone.

"That was a long half hour Carrie," I said to her. "Did something hold you up?"

Carrie said nothing at first, just stared at me with a shocked look on her face.

"Piss off wimp," spat out Karl. "I'll send her home to you when I'm good and ready."

Well at least it seemed that he knew she was my wife.

"Please Terry," whispered Carrie, at last finding her voice. "I'll definitely be back home later. I promise you I'll come back and everything will be just fine."

Karl laughed and tweaked her left nipple ___ teasing me, more than her.

"You'll go when I say you can," he spat out, never taking his eyes off me, to judge my reaction.

"Last chance Carrie," I said to her, ignoring his sneers. "It's now or never."

I'd thought about it a lot, and I think even then if she'd come with me, chose me over him, then I would try to work it out. Maybe we could get over what had happened so far.

I wasn't sure, but maybe.

She looked at me pitifully, indecision written all over her face. Her eyes, her lovely brown eyes, said it all. She knew how much she had hurt me, but instead of doing what she knew she should, she was calculating how much more she could get away with. How much further could she push me and still have me come back for more.

"Please Terry, be reasonable," Carrie whispered eventually, and I knew she had failed me again, and that we were finished for good. "You know how much I wanted to see my old friends again, and re-live my old student days just one last time ____ Just hang on a little longer for me while I have my last harmless little fling, and I promise you everything will get back to normal. I really do love you sweetie, and promise I'll make it up to you."

She stared at me imploringly, her eyes begging me to agree. But I said nothing in reply ___ I had nothing else to say.

Carrie went to say something else to me, but Karl had had enough as well. He squeezed the nipple that he had been playing with throughout even harder, and her words were transformed into a gasp.

That was it. I had all the information I needed. My wife was coming back home after all, but I'd have to wait till tomorrow ___ or maybe the day after ___ or the day after that.

Fine __that was great wasn't it?

I noticed that the West Indian guy was edging over towards me, so I held up my hands and backed off. No point in getting involved in a one sided fight with him again.

The whole bar had fallen silent, waiting to see what was going to happen, but as far as I was concerned nothing was going to happen. At least not straight away.

"See you all later then." I said quietly.

"I'm not still fourteen Terry," Carrie burst out. "I can look after myself now."

Even her face fell when she saw how that hit me. Her one special thing over all those years, and she was throwing it back in my face.

"I'm sorry Terry," she started. "I really didn't mean that. I ..... " But I ignored her, taking no notice of her incoherent apology.

As I backed out through the door, Karl laughed out loud again and slid her blouse right off her, reaching up under her skirt, even as I watched, to rub my face in my misery. 

It could have been that, that caused the tears to roll down her cheeks, but somehow I doubted it.

I guess she still loved me in her way, and to see me humiliated like that again could have just been too much.

That's what I like to think anyway. 

As I closed the door behind me, the silence in the pub crashed, as everyone started to talk and laugh at the same time.

I guess they thought they'd seen the last of me.

Strolling slowly back to my car, I opened the boot and took out the stuff that I'd put there before I left the house. Anybody watching me would have thought I was cool and relaxed, whereas actually I was fuming inside, terrified of what I had decided to do, not knowing how it was going to turn out. 

I had a licence for my over and under, twelve bore, Browning shotgun. I'd been going to clay pigeon shooting for a couple of years by then, and though I wasn't very good at it, I figured I didn't have to be for what I had planned.

I selected a handful of cartridges, making sure they were all small calibre, as I didn't want to end up in prison on a murder charge. I broke the gun and pushed two rounds in, putting the rest in my jacket pocket.

A few moments later and I was back outside the pub, and staring at the two big engraved windows.

'This will wake them up,' I thought, as my heart thundered away inside my jacket.

This wasn't me; it just wasn't me. But what else was I to do?

There was no mileage in going back in and arguing with her, as she wouldn't agree and I'd probably get another beating.

What would I do if I simply went home?

Wait for her to come back to me and discuss how we might get over what she had done ___ how she had humiliated me?

No bloody way ___ it had gone beyond that by now, and I wasn't taking any more shit from any of them.

Taking aim at the first window, I squeezed the trigger just like I'd been taught. My arm was trembling, shaking even, and the barrel of the shotgun was swaying around uncertainly in a large circle, as I fought to control my nerves. It didn't matter really, as I was no more than twelve or fifteen feet from the window. I increased the pressure on the trigger, and resisted the urge to close my eyes.

There was a loud bang and an instant later the whole window disintegrated in a twirling mass of broken glass.

I took aim at the second window with renewed confidence, fired off the second barrel, and the other window followed suit.

The report from the gun echoed round the surrounding buildings, far louder than it had ever before sounded when I had shot previously, out in an open field, and mingled with the tinkling of falling glass.

I calmly took two more cartridges from my pocket and loaded them into the gun. Then I waited to see what would happen. I really had no idea how they would respond and almost hoped that they wouldn't.

But I was ready __ ready and prepared to show them that they'd made a big mistake if they thought I was a wimp, and would take what they had done to me lying down.

The doors flew open and several guys poured out. They stopped dead when they saw me stood there with the gun.

Nobody moved.

Then Karl came charging out, closely followed by his big black henchman.

"Stupid fucking bastard," he screamed at me, and charged me, maybe thinking I'd not thought to reload.

Maybe not thinking at all.

I took careful aim, somewhere around his knees, as I didn't want to risk actually killing him, and put pressure on the trigger. I was as cool as a cucumber, even having time to note that my arms no longer trembled, and that the gun was pointing exactly where I was aiming it.

Time seemed to slow down.

I had all the time in the world.

I quite clearly saw the look on his face change from rage to terror, as he realised that he had made a serious error of judgement. Maybe I had the same grin on my face that he'd had just a few moments before. You remember, the one when you know you've really got the better of someone.

BANG!

He went down screaming, even surprising me, with the mess it made of his legs.

Fair play to the black guy ___ he didn't even hesitate. 

Great courage or no brains I'm not sure, but he didn't stop. Not that is till the second barrel load ripped into his legs and put him down as well.

The two of them lay on the ground, Karl screaming, and the black guy Ted groaning aloud. I didn't even bother to reload that time, my emotions were too shot, but fortunately the rest of the crowd suddenly melted away.




The Rose and Crown



Everything went calm __ relatively that is, as two injured guys can make a lot of noise.

It was a short walk back to the car, though my legs were so wobbly I thought I might fall over. The shotgun went back in the boot, and I gingerly started the motor and made my way home. I drove slowly and very carefully indeed.

I'd thought of going into the pub to frighten the shit out of Carrie, but I couldn't. I didn't trust myself, and to be honest, it had terrified me doing what I'd just done.

But I'd done it though ___ I'd bloody well done it! Just as I'd promised myself I would, but enough was enough!

Strangely I slept well that night and woke up quite fresh. Black eye and bruised face still, but otherwise quite fresh.

I wondered who would turn up first, Carrie or the police to arrest me.

I hadn't even put the shotgun away, and it was still in the boot of my car.

As it turned out Carrie couldn't turn up.

About ten O'clock I got a phone call asking me if I was the husband of Carrie Bellings.

"Yes I am," I replied, wondering what it was about.

It was the police. I'd been fully expecting them to call round to arrest me that morning, not ring me about Carrie.

"I'm sorry sir, but we've got her under arrest at the station. Could you come along and collect her please."

"Under arrest," I queried, my surprise obviously genuine. "What for, for goodness sake?"

"Prostitution sir," he answered. "She was taken in last night with a group of other working girls after a shooting on the edge of town.

"Oh no! That explains it," I answered. "I wondered what the hell she'd been getting up to lately, coming home at all hours."

"I understand sir," the policeman answered sombrely. "I'm sorry you had to find out this way. You'd be surprised how often this happens."

I think my comment sealed her fate. It turned out that they thought they'd made a mistake with her, being a bit more upper class than the other women. Then when I refused to come and get her, that must have made it sound worse.

She was prosecuted and found guilty. Lost her new job, and would have had great trouble finding another. Young female graduates with a conviction for prostitution are not exactly widely sort after by most firms.

The police didn't even so much as ask me whether I owned a shotgun. Mine was registered to me quite openly back in Bedford where we'd just moved from, but they never even checked.

I wasn't a suspect in any way, so why would they?

But why did nobody from the pub split on me ___ well I'd no idea at all. 

Carrie tried to contact me time and time again. I never met up with her again but I did eventually accept one of her calls after she got more and more desperate. 

She told me she still loved me and all the usual rubbish. I think she really did as well, and obviously was broken hearted that I wouldn't entertain taking her back. I refused to even discuss it, and she acted a little frightened of me after I had dealt with our problem as firmly as I had.

Carrie was at least honest with me when I questioned her about Karl and her job at the pub back when she had been a student.

"How the hell do you go from working behind the bar to what happened the other night," I demanded.

"I said I worked at the pub when I was a student," Carrie told me. "I never said I worked behind the bar."

Oh bloody hell! 

I can't describe how I felt when I realised the implications of those few words. She'd worked for that bloody Karl, as one of his girls. Only then did it all make sense, the hold he had over her. I'd married an ex prostitute, and would never have known it if we hadn't gone back there.

Was that a good thing or a bad thing?

Hard to say really. You'll have to judge for yourselves.

It was her that warned me that Karl would come looking for me to sort me out himself. Once he was back on his feet that is. Maybe that's why nobody from the pub told the police about me, as people like that sort their own problems out.

He'd never find me of course.

I backed out of the job in Leeds, which they understood after the news of my wife got out. But I took the one in the Middle East, where they were happy to have me on a bachelor posting, as they're cheaper than a married couple.

-------------- --------------

That's about where we came in I suppose.

I got away with it to my surprise. I actually got away with it, and they put it all down to a gangland shooting.

I suppose you might be wondering what then happened to me. OK, well that's natural.

As you might imagine I gave up clay pigeon shooting and sold my shotgun, and then took up golf instead. Got quite good at it as well, and eventually got my handicap down to six. 

I went out with quite a few different women, but only discovered just how good my wife Carrie had really been in bed. Well, she would have been wouldn't she, as she had worked at it as it were, in both senses of the word?

Then I met up with Angie, a lovely American woman who I met in Dubai. Life was fine after that___ really fine.

I never enquired too deeply quite where she'd gained her experience, but I really think she was just a gifted amateur. I hoped so anyway.

We have never married __ she didn't want to, and strictly speaking I was still married, and I still haven't bothered to get divorced.

I came back to UK occasionally but always steered clear of Leeds, till at last I couldn't resist it. One Thursday in June found me slowly driving past the Rose and Crown, hoping that nobody would recognise me after all that time.

The fine decorated windows had been replaced by some modern double glazed units. 

Pity really ___ I'd rather liked them.

I sat there in my car for a while, and at last to my surprise, a guy in a wheel chair turned up. He was a big chap and tough looking, but fatter than I'd remembered Karl. But of course I'd only seen him a few short times, and that had been four or five years previously. 

What clinched it was the big coloured man pushing him, the one with the really bad limp. That could only have been Ted.

Then several women poured out of the pub to see Karl, report to him maybe, that being easier no doubt than getting him up the three steep steps into the bar.

They all looked rough just like the last time I'd been there, except one of them that is. One of them looked that little bit different.

Pretty __ slender ___Sexy __ Nice boobs ___ Long legs ___ well; yes it could have been her though she looked much, much older. She still kept her hair short and was still quite smartly dressed.

Her eyes had a worn out look about them though, and the smile that I had once loved was nowhere to be seen.

She didn't look very happy at all, but I didn't hang around to make sure. She was, as she'd said, not fourteen anymore, and could look after herself.

Strange how things turn out isn't it?

If only that bloody restaurant hadn't redecorated their dining room, then maybe she would be at home right now with our children, the ones we'd never now have. I wouldn't have been any the wiser, and maybe we would have lived happily ever after

---------------------------

Well that's it.

No sequel here I think.

Apologies if I haven't answered your e-mails and comments, but I've been having trouble with my e mail. I'll try to be better from now on.



The Rose Byrne Effect







The Rose Garden



Hala Tramayne just bought her dream house; well it is more like a castle. The retailer looks at her queerly when she said it would just be her living there. She just smiled and said, "I love a big house, and sense I am a writer I like my privacy."

"Well it's your money." He replied as he handed her the keys. Then he walked back to his car to leave.

He left in a hurry, she thought to herself, but shrugged it off. Who cares you own a castle...how many of your friends can say that. 

Once she was in and settled, she walked to the kitchen. From the window, she could see the rose garden... Garden, more like a maze. She sighed... to bad its fall, it would look so beautiful in the spring.

She notices the sun is beginning to set... Therefore, she walked up stair to her astonishing bedroom. It was a little on the dark side, but she did not mind, her bed looked so inviting with its silk sheets and fluffy pillows. A cool breeze was blowing through the window she was sure was closed an hour ago. Hala walked over to it, and glanced out in the yard... goose bumps appeared on her arms, she could have sworn someone was watching her. She quickly close the window and pull the curtains. Still not able to shake the feeling of eyes upon her, she decided to light the fire and curl up with a good book.

Once Hala had the fire going, she walked over to her bookshelf and picked her favorite erotic book. The Razor's Edge... Hala loved the vampires in it; how she wished she could meet a real vampire.

She was really getting into the book when she heard the grandfather clock chime eleven. I need to get some sleep, she thought to herself; forgetting all about whom ever or whatever had been watching her. She got off the floor, stretched, and then sat the book on her nightstand. Walking over to her closet, she selected a sexy little white nightgown. Taking off her cloths she laughed at herself when she noticed how wet she had gotten for reading the book. I really need a man around...she sighed as she slipped on the nightgown and glanced at her lonely bed. Turning out the lights, she got into bed. 

Just as Hala was drifting off to sleep, she heard a hypnotic beautiful voice calling out to her. She quickly sat up and looked around the room, but nobody was there. Then she felt a cool breeze on her skin, making her nipples hard. Her window had gotten open again. She could still hear the man's voice. She listened closely, and then noticed it was coming from the rose garden. The voice was drawing her to him...the voice weaved a spell around her; making arise from her bed, and begin to walk down the stairs...to the back door. 

She could feel the cool night air on her skin, the damp grass on her bare feet. She began to walk in to the maze of roses...the moon the only thing lighting her way. She then noticed the moon was growing red; the closer she got the mysterious stranger the redder it became. 

Now she stood there in front of the handsome man...His long red hair blew in the wind. There they were finally face-to-face in the garden of dead roses. His green eyes glowed in the darkness, drawing her in more and more, and then his lips brushed against her own. His lips burned with a deadly passion...soon he laid her down on a bed of dead roses. He wanted to take Hala there in the garden of death. He reached out and ripped open her nightgown, revealing her youthful breast, and her own garden. Just looking down at her, as if he had never seen anything so beautiful in his life. Then grabbing Hala's legs and holding the wide apart he thrust into her wet pussy hard. Pulling her out of his trance... Staring up at him, thinking this cannot be real; I must be dreaming. Pain filled her body as he began to bite her neck. Making her cry out in pleasure. Hala's body begins to tremble, as she got closer to climax; she closed her eyes tightly.

When she open them he is gone...who was that handsome stranger? Hala covered her ears as she heard his voice again; it echoed in her head, like a song. What made the blood pour from the moon, as she looked up she did not have to ask. Hating he who knows all, damn the moon. Why had he taken her in a bed of dead roses? She winced as pain surged through her back. Thorns piercing her like poisonous needles growing out of the roses. Where had he gone? Not knowing what happened, she grabbed her neck...then realized her wish had come true.



The Rose Garden



This true story proves that a hot summer day can bring out the best in people.

*****

We had arranged for the children to be at summer camp for the week. I had been out of town on business for the first four nights. During that time, you had enjoyed the time alone - getting up a bit later, reading the morning paper with a coffee and doing a few things leisurely around the house. You had sunbathed on the back deck for several days. 

That morning, you had noticed the tan lines on your body created by the bikini you had worn. Standing before the mirror, you had realized how good you looked and imagined my reaction. You cupped your breasts and tweaked your nipple. "He's going to like this!" you thought.

You decided to walk down to the craft stores in the village. Excited by how you looked and your thought of me returning home this evening, you reached for your light summer dress with spaghetti straps. You decided against wearing panties and bra. They were still firm enough you thought. It was going to be the hottest day on record. 

A young man honked his car horn as he drove by. He looked at you in his rear view mirror. You smiled. His reaction made you stand taller - more proud of how you looked - as you walked. You could feel the weight of your breasts as they bounced.

A new store had opened in the village. You walked in attracted by a pair of ear rings in the window. They were made of silver and dangly. "I love that pair of ear rings in the window" you said to the sales clerk.

"They're my hobby" she explained. Looking around, you noticed the store was predominantly ear rings and temporary tattoos. You must have looked puzzled. "Funny combination, eh?" she remarked. "I just find that in the summer when women are showing more of their bodies, they are more open to...this" she said sweeping her hand across the store.

You had noticed the pause. Did she mean to say open to feeling more sensuous or being more erotic? You felt an attraction. "What do you mean?" you asked.

She smiled looking a bit uncomfortable. "Try these" she said. You put them on and looked in the mirror. You liked how they framed your face. "They are striking" she said stepping back.

"My husband would call them lures" you said with a chuckle.

You noticed her looking at you in a different way. As she helped you place different sets on, you could feel the warm, light touch of her finger on your ear lobe. Was it on purpose? It excited you. "How about these?" she asked. 

"I like the first pair better" you said looking into the mirror. At that moment, you noticed her scanning your body when she thought you weren't looking. Your nipples were erect and showing through the light cloth of your summer dress. "I guess the ear rings are doing the trick" you quipped looking down at your nipples. You both laughed. 

"I love your dress" she said. You noticed her low cut blouse showed full breasts. Her tight skirt highlighted a well-rounded ass. Had she noticed you eyeing her? Feeling a mutual attraction but not knowing what to say, the tattoos caught your eye. "Do you find many women buy temporary tattoos?" you asked.

"Some more than others" she said. It was obvious she was feeling a bit awkward too. She handed you a temporary tattoo of lady bugs. "These would go lovely with your dress" she said.

"Where would you place them?" you asked.

"Well, perhaps here" she said placing them on the inside of your right breast leading into your cleavage. You felt the touch of her warm hand as she pressed them against your breast. Did she linger? "Others might place them..." she paused "where they aren't seen." You both laughed knowingly.

"Well, I'll take these ear rings" you said. Excited by the moment and her touch, you added "And the lady bugs. It should be fun seeing my husband's reaction...wherever I end up placing them."

She smiled. "I remember my husband's first reaction seeing my tattoo. He couldn't take his eyes off it." She stopped and looked down at the till. It looked as though she was thinking whether to say more. She placed your purchases in a bag and took your money. It was an awkward, silent moment for you both. Such a tension had built up between the two of you. As you turned to go, she said "I hope he likes them."

She led you to the door. "I'm sure he will" you said. Your arm rubbed unintentionally against her breast as you walked by her. Suddenly, you had embraced! Had she initiated it? Or was it you? It wasn't something you normally did. And yet, on thinking back, it was not surprising. You had felt her natural attraction from the moment you had entered the store. Why were you the one to pull back from the embrace after lingering? You hoped that she hadn't thought you were uncomfortable in her arms - not at all! You had been excited by her warmth, the sweet smell of her and wanted more. You waved as you looked back at her standing in the doorway.

Once home and showered, you still couldn't get the thought of her out of your mind. At the same time, you looked forward to go out for supper with me in the evening. You knew what to expect there! I was always horny and lusting for you whenever I arrived home after a few days away. You decided to shave your cunt to signal how much you wanted me to finger and suck you. You placed the lady bug tattoo where she had suggested - on the inside of your right breast leading down into your cleavage. There was something else at the bottom of the bag - another tattoo of three hearts linked. She must have thrown that in for you! You placed it just above your shaved cunt.

You put on my favourite demi-cup bra and thong then decided on your white low cut sleeveless blouse and long skirt. You reached for your red high heels and went to the kitchen where you mixed yourself a gin and tonic. Going out to the deck, you stretched out on the lounge. The gin had relaxed you. Your hands ran over your legs as you thought about the day - your tan lines, the man honking at you, your embrace with the woman at the store. One hand fondled your breast while the other felt the smooth area between your legs. Your pelvis rose as you inserted a finger. Oh, you were wet! 

At that point, you heard the front door open. You managed to quickly rearrange your clothes before I came out to the deck looking for you. "There you are!" I said. "You're looking quite relaxed. Have you had a nice time?"

"Yes, but I've been looking forward to you coming home!" you replied while reaching up to kiss me. "Feel me" you said taking my hand and placing it between your legs.

"You've shaved!" I said as I slid a finger over your cunt. "Wow you're wet! And what are these?" I asked pointing at the lady bugs. "What've you been doing?" I asked. You smiled but said nothing. It was obvious you were excited. "Well, let me shower and get ready so that we can get going. It's late" I said.

In a short time, we were driving to the restaurant. Sitting in the car, you felt so aroused. You couldn't keep still. You reached over and placed your hand on my crotch. "I've missed you" you said. You could feel my cock stiffen. Your fingers traced the bulge in my pants - pressing here and pressing there. You noticed a dark spot forming from my leakage. "God that feels good" I said as I exhaled. You smiled proud of the effect you had on me.

Getting out of the car, we walked toward the restaurant. We noticed the path leading up an embankment to the rose garden. It was getting dark. The sound of running water was pleasant as we walked over the pedestrian suspension bridge. We stopped for a moment and hugged. The roof top area of the restaurant was open. No one was seated outside. Everyone must prefer the air conditioning, I thought. "Let's sit outside. It's a lovely night."

We ordered a bottle of wine and several appetizers preferring to eat light. I gestured for you to lean toward me. I ran my fingers along the trail of lady bugs into your cleavage and grabbed your breast. You startled. But I held on firmly and asked "What have you been up to today? Then let go smiling.

You described your day - looking in the mirror at your tan lines, shaving yourself, walking to the store and the young man honking at you. But you spent most of the time talking about your time in a store with a sales clerk. It was obvious there had been an attraction. "I can't get her out of my mind" you said.

The night was unusually hot and humid. There was a full moon creating a slight haze. A couple sat down at a table behind you as you were talking. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed him looking at you. The contour of your breast was visible through your armless blouse. She followed his glance, raised her eyebrows and sat forward in her chair. She looked at me and smiled. Then, turning toward her husband she said a few words. She stood up and walked over to you. "Fancy meeting you here!" she said. "Hello, I'm Lana."

"Oh, hi!" you responded. "I was just telling my husband about you...I mean about your store."

"I see you have my ear rings and tattoo on. Maybe two tattoos?" she said arching her right eyebrow. You blushed. Turning to me she asked "What do you think?"

"Very nice!" I said. It was clear to me you were interested in talking more with her. "Would you like to join us?"

She motioned to her husband who rose to come over. She sat down beside you. They were both pleasant and it wasn't long before we felt relaxed in their company. We laughed at her experiences with customers at the store. "I hope you didn't mind me hugging you as you left. I had enjoyed our time together - perhaps too much" she said with a smile.

"No, not at all! Actually, I thought I had hugged you!" you said. "I had enjoyed our time shopping together. I was just explaining...". The waiter arrived suddenly with the food. They ordered a bottle of wine and some salads. He started up the conversation again by asking me where we lived and what we did. We spoke about our children and plans for the summer. As he and I spoke, you felt her leg touching yours. Your eyes met. You removed your feet from your shoes and ran your toes over hers. She rested her hand on yours and stroked you fingers. You could feel your juices running down the inside of your thighs. 

Our conversation continued throughout the meal until they left for the washroom together. When they returned, they said "Well, I'm afraid it's time for us to go.' She then leaned over and whispered in your ear "We'll be in the Rose Garden."

I didn't hear what she had said but it seemed all too sudden an end to a nice evening. You stood up and hugged her again. We shook hands and I said "We should get in touch sometime." I hastily wrote down our telephone number and gave it to him.

After they left, you went to the washroom and returned saying that you'd like to go. Why so quickly I wondered but I noticed we were the last ones in the restaurant. As we walked back over the suspension bridge, I had my arm around your waist. My hand cupped the underside of your breast. I could feel your breast bounce with each step. Half way, I pulled you toward me and kissed you. I ran my hands tightly up along your sides. I backed you up against railing. You could feel my hard cock. 

Your fingers traced the outline of my cock. You squeezed my shaft through my pants. Looking into my eyes, you asked "Would you like to fuck me?" You undid my zipper and pulled out my cock. You turned around and pulled up your skirt. "Please!" I pulled your thong to the side and slid my shaft between your legs. I could hear you groan softly as I entered. "That feels so nice!" you said. Holding onto your hips, I began to pump harder. My cock glided back and forth through your warm juices. I began to cum. "I can feel it!" you whispered. With my final ejaculation, I lowered my chest onto your back, kissed your neck and held the weight of your breasts in my hands savouring the moment. 

"It's running down my thighs" you said excitedly. We pulled apart. I took off your thong and used the little cloth available to wipe my cum off your thighs. But you seemed in a hurry. "Let's go" you said. Walking toward the car, you took the path up to the Rose Garden. 

"Where are you going?" I asked. 

"Just follow me" you said. We walked up the steps. As we got closer to the garden, we could hear some heavy breathing. 

"I think someone beat you to it!" I whispered. 

"Shhhh!" You grabbed my hand and led me forward in the dark. Lit only by the moon, we could see a woman bent over with her hands on a park bench and her legs spread. A man was fucking her from behind. Her bare breasts swung with each thrust. It was Lana! She gestured to you. You sat down on the bench in front of her as he continued to fuck her. You kissed her and began tugging on her nipples. Her head bobbed up and down. She stuck out her tongue begging you to lick hers. Your tongues entwined as you continued to milk her tits gently. You could feel her body begin to tense and then shake. Her head twisted from side to side. You could hear her husband begin to grunt with each ejaculation. As her eyes rolled back into her head, she came and came and came. You could feel her warm breath on your face as each wave of her orgasm overcame her.

Slowly kneeling down, she placed her hands on your shoulders and gently pushed you back against me. She rolled up your skirt and began licking your cunt. "I can taste you've been busy" she said looking up at me. You were enjoying her tongue too much to laugh. 

I laid you down on the bench and unbuttoned your blouse as she continued to lick you. I pulled your tits out and began to knead them. She ran her tongue slowly, lightly along your cunt lips - one long lick always in the same direction. Every so often, she sucked your clit rhythmically as if she were eating you. You could hear her spatter your juices.

Looking up at me wildly, you ordered "Give me your cock!" I pulled it out. You swallowed me frantically. Your excitement grew as my shaft hardened in your mouth. I could feel your lips tightening around me - locking on as your body began to shake. Your head rocked from side to side. The sensation of her devouring your cunt overwhelmed you. Your body writhed and we could hear you gasping for breath as you came.

She looked up and smiled. Your eyes met. You shook your head, breathed in deeply and smiled. "That was lovely!" you said. You reached for her and pulled her tight against your body. You kissed in the moonlight bathing in the smells of sex.



The Rose Garden



It was a Wednesday in July, and we were on vacation. Traveling the countryside, we visited places of interest, had delicious meals, and made love in a new hotel every night. This particular day, we stopped by a manorhouse known for its art collection and park with a famous rose garden. We arrived right after lunch, and judging by the parking lot, there were few other visitors. The manorhouse was a lovely 18th century building, and the art collection typical of the era. In one room, there was an interesting collection of erotic art, which we paid special attention. Most of the actions and positions were well-known and -tried, but the execution of the paintings and statuettes was still inspiring.

Slightly aroused, we went outside to see the park. Walking along the well-kept paths, we passed trees, flowerbeds and the occasional pond. Signs pointed towards the rose garden, and soon we entered the sweet-smelling haven. Admiring the many varieties of roses, we came to a part of the garden where a circle of rose-covered trellises surrounded a well. There was a wooden grate covering the well, and in the seclusion of this spot we stopped to kiss. Our kissing turned more passionate, and our eager hands found their way under our clothes.

"Wait," you said, and turned to rummage through your handbag. You produced four silk scarves which you handed to me.

"So, how do you want me?" you asked teasingly.

"Hmm... You can start with stripping," I said.

You obliged, slipping out of your light summer dress, then slowly removing your bra and panties, finally standing there in all your naked glory. I savoured your breasts, hips, mound with its little tuft, and long, shapely legs.

"Lie down on that grate," I said, indicating the well cover. You did as I told you, and I adjusted your position. Using two of the silk scarves, I tied your hands to the grate. Then I tied your feet together, the soles against each other so your legs parted and your pussy open for the world to see. The last scarf was used as a blindfold, leaving you in my control. You could hear me circling the well, feeling like a sacrifice on an altar devoted to a sex god.

You heard some rustling, and then my steps closing in. The breeze stirred the hairs on your mound, and you shivered in anticipation. Then you felt my tongue on your nipples, first one, then the other. They began to rise. You felt my lips close on your left nipple. I sucked it gently, then caught it lightly between my teeth and let the tip of my tongue flick over it. You gasped as the sensations spread. Something soft started to brush your right nipple, and you moaned with pleasure.

Circling your aerola with the soft object, I kissed your mouth. You responded, and my tongue played with yours while your nipple was teased. I passed the object under your nose, and you could feel the fragrant smell of a rose. Then I shifted my mouth to your right nipple, sucking it, catching it and teasing it with my tongue. You felt the petals of the rose circle your other breast, then slowly travel down your naked skin towards your pussy.

The rose brushed against your tuft, then the sides of your delta, moving to and fro. Slowly, each stroke got closer and closer to your clit. You squirmed, moaning "Please, please" under your breath. Then the petals flicked over your clit, and you gasped. As I was brushing it lightly, maddeningly, you tried to move, but the restraints made it impossible. I let go of your nipple, and you heard me take a couple steps so I was between legs. Then, at the same time, you felt not just one, but two roses brushing your nipples while my tongue teased your pearl. This time, your moan was louder, and you arched your back as my tongue made your clit send jolts of pleasure through your body.

"Do you want to come, love?" I asked, pausing my licking momentarily. Your juices covered my tongue, letting me savour the subtle tones I had loved from the very first time I tasted you.

"Yes! Yes!" you gasped.

"Not yet, love," I said in a teasing tone, resuming my licking while the roses brushed your nipples and breasts.

You squirmed and whimpered, and I decided it was time to up the game. You felt two fingers slide inside your wet pussy, stroking you slowly in the right spot. My thumb circled and rubbed your clit, and I kissed you again, letting you taste your own juices. Your breath got shorter as you neared the climax. A third finger entered you, twisting and wiggling.

"Please!" you begged. "I want to come! Fuck me! Fuck me!"

My fingers slid out, and you heard the faint sound of my zipper. The next thing you felt was the tip of my cock being flicked over your clit, then how it was rammed home to the hilt. I grasped your hands while I made thrust after powerful thrust in your flowing cleft. We were both nearing our climax when you heard me cursing under my strained breath.

"What... is... it?" you asked while I moved inside you.

"Busload... of... tourists... coming... our... way," I replied.

"Can't... stop... now. So... close!" you gasped.

I redoubled my efforts, angling myself so my cock would hit your sweet spot with every thrust. I saw the group of tourists getting closer. In a couple of minutes, they would see us. When I felt your pussy begin to squeeze my engorged cock, I knew we could make it. Releasing your left hand, I moved my hand to your mound and rubbed your clit. You bucked as the orgasm took you, then I came, filling you with spurt after spurt. Our moans blended and echoed through the grate down the well.

A glance told me that the tourists would see us any minute now. My glistening cock slipped out of you, and I quickly shoved the still-erect member down my boxers and pulling up my pants. I tugged at the knots, releasing you from the scarves. You pulled off the blindfold, blinking at the sunlight as I handed you your dress. Collecting panties, bra and scarves and ramming them down your bag, we tried to compose ourselves as we left the rose garden. Flushed and still horny in the afterglow of our love-making, we pushed past the tourists, heading for the exit. We both knew we would continue when back at our hotel. Meanwhile, by the well in the rose garden, two roses lay on the ground, the only trace of the act of passion mere minutes ago...