Rosenjack *** Chapters 18

Chapters 18 - 23 *** Educating Rose

...it's a sad, sad situation, and it's getting more and more absurd... Sorry Seems To Be The Hardest Word (Elton John)

When I woke up the next morning with a sick feeling in my stomach and a gaping hole in my chest where my heart used to be, all I could do was wonder how long it would take before the cops finally did show up. There was probably all kinds of paperwork they'd have to fill out first, and the thought of my sweet little Rose, shivering and afraid as she sat across the desk from some big dumb cop as he looked her up and down and asked her humiliating questions, made my blood boil. Didn't those stupid cops have anything better to do than get their jollies by asking a twelve-year-old girl about her first sex? But as the day wore on and no cops came, I started to get worried, then even more heartsick. Where was she? What was she doing? What was she feeling? Was she somewhere alone and scared, crying harder than I had cried last night?

I was to suffer those questions for more than a week, during which time I didn't see Rose so much as once. I was afraid to go anyplace where I might see her by accident, so I kept as close to my room as possible. I was being devoured alive with regret and desire. I had to know how my little Rose was doing, but I didn't dare try to find out. Every day I vowed to end it all by going out into the complex and letting Rose find me and make whatever screaming scene she wanted to, letting the frightened residents call the cops to haul me away, letting Fortune have whatever kicks it felt like delivering, and every day the nauseous nervelessness and utter sense of loss peered out from the hole in my gut where they had taken up residence and refused to let me go out there. The few times I ventured from my room to take care of duties I couldn't avoid, I ran like a maddened thing, sliding around corners and trying to get from one place to another without being seen, my heart threatening to blast itself into a million guilt-stained shreds.

Self-torture became my constant companion. When I wasn't trying to picture Rose, my head filled with the nightmares yet to be endured when my dad found out. I hadn't seen him in over twenty years, not since I left home after school to strike out on my own, but I knew that this would draw him to me, would bring him to see me in jail, so he could lay his revulsion on me, blast me with the firehose of his righteous indignation while I cowered in the corner of my cell. I even went him one better with my furious self-incrimination, replaying the accusations endlessly in my aching head, until I was ready to rip out my own throat to make it stop. 'You sick MORON. You IDIOT. What were you THINKING? How could you RAPE a twelve-year-old GIRL? You're a PERVERT. You're a CHILD RAPIST. Did that feel GOOD, RAPING that little GIRL? Hope it feels that GOOD when they CUT your DICK off so you can't RAPE any more CHILDREN, you sick FUCK.'

One day that week (was it two days after The Encounter? Three days? Five days? the whole week was a nasueous blur), I saw Marjorie at Sav-Rite on 37th. In fact, she was in line ahead of me at the checkstand, as I waited with the fifteen bags of salt I needed to spread on the complex's sidewalks and she waited with a package of sausages, a box of tampons, and a fifth of Jack Daniels. I tried to exit the line, but I was trapped by the person behind me. As I tried to make an excuse and back up, Marjorie looked up and recognized me immediately. She moved in close to put the now familar hand in the small of my back. I could smell a faint toxin of alcohol on her breath as she leaned in close to ask if Rose and I had had a fight. I don't know how I answered her; my brain shut down, so my mouth must have been on autopilot. Whatever I said, it must have satisfied her, because she backed off saying, "Well, I hope you make it up soon, she's been an absolute terror, ransacking through the apartment, tearing through my stuff like she was looking for something precious." She gave my arm a half-hearted squeeze and vanished into the night, leaving me standing there trying ferociously to remember why I was in a Sav-Rite checkout lane with a cart full of salt.

...if I could reach the stars, pull one down for you, shine it on my heart, so you could see the truth... Change The World (Eric Clapton)

The night Rose came back to me was the single greatest joy of my entire life. It was after 10:00 pm on Sunday and I was sitting in my room in the dark with the door shut, trying to pretend I was anywhere else and anyone else, when I heard her familiar knock. I had thought I was ready for it, but the sudden prospect of opening the door to see her standing there next to my arrestors filled me with dread. I turned on the light and opened the door and there she was; alone, sans police; and radiant like I'd never seen her before. She was wearing lipstick, eyeliner and blush, and as she stepped into my room and whirled to face me, the scent of something sweet filled my head. She was wearing perfume! I was so knocked out that I felt my knees start to give, and I had to sit on the cot before I collapsed. She was wearing her newest jeans and the "Dark Side of the Moon" t-shirt (small enough on her now that her midriff was constantly exposed), and as she leaned over to wrap her hands around my neck, I could see glitter on her shoulders and chest; and I could look down the front of the shirt to see that she wasn't wearing a bra. The wave of scent that washed over me was a rush of relief that jumped up and slammed into my chest like a wrecking ball. She closed and locked the door, then turned back to me with a haunted expression. I could see in her eyes how badly she wanted me to be pleased with her looks and smell. She had done this for me! She had listened to my heart and heard it declare that what it ached for most in this world was a friend and a lover divine; the two most precious people in my life; and she had vowed to be both of those people.

Sinking to her knees before me, she took my hands in hers and squeezed so hard that it almost hurt, as if she were afraid to let go, as if she might never have another chance to hold onto me if she released me.

"Do you remember what you told me that night? Right after we did that? I mean, after we made love, after you, you, you... you ate... ate my pussy?" she asked. "You said you loved me, like the way a man loves a woman." I nodded. "Was it true, Jack? Did you mean it? Is it still true? Do you still love me? Or do you want me to go away? If you do, I'll understand Jack, I promise, I'll go, I'll go away and I won't ever bother you again for the rest of your life, but oh God, Jack, please please please before heaven and earth don't say no, I'm begging you please don't say no, don't send me away, Jack, please please please let me stay."

"Oh my God," I breathed, still reveling in the feeling of release from dread and exulting in the fact that our friendship was not dead, "Rose, my little Rose, you are the most beautiful thing I've ever seen! Nothing and nobody under heaven is as beautiful to me as you are, and more so at this moment that I ever would have dreamed possible! Yes, Rose, I do love you. I do. I love you." I took one of her hands and put it through my shirt, resting her palm on the left side of my chest. She felt the rapid rhythm of my heart against her fingers, and through the layers of blush make-up, I could see a genuine blush, a furious rush of blood, come to her cheeks. I tried to get the next part out before my tears of relief started falling, but I didn't quite make it. "Rose, what happened? Where did you go that night? I've been worried sick about you, worried literally to death about you."

"When you said you wouldn't... wouldn't fuck me, I was scared you didn't want me any more. I was afraid you thought I was just a dumb, confused kid, and I didn't blame you for not wanting to fuck a dumb, confused kid. But I'm not confused, everything is so clear, I know I'll love you forever, I swear I will. I know you probably think I'm too young, but I'm old enough to know how badly I want to be your woman. Even if we can't get married, it doesn't matter, I'll always love you, and it'll always be right. Don't you remember telling me about Iris? How you said you'd always love her to your dying day? And Lilly? You feel the same about Lilly, too, you said you did." I nodded briefly, wishing I hadn't told her that. How was I to know I'd be undercutting myself? Rose pressed on, "Well it's the same for me! I'll love you later the way I love you now, so we might as well be together right now!" She leaped at me and hugged me around the neck, straddling my lap as I sat on the cot. "You see that, don't you? You see my love, you have to know how much I love you. Please let me give you this." All I could do in response was pull her close and hug her to me as tight as I could. I laid back on the cot and laid her down beside me, stroking her hair, looking at those soft features that would never look like a child's face to me again, and a huge part of me moaned over that loss.

"I'm ready now, Jack, as ready as I'll ever be. Lay with me and love me, put your penis inside me and let me wrap my vagina around you and hold you close down there and make you cum, let me make you feel how much I love you."

"Rose, telling you yes would give me the greatest pleasure I could hope for in this life, but for right now, you have to let me say No, not yet," I whispered, rubbing at my eyes. "I'm not denying you, please believe that. You just have to trust me. We'll know when it's the right moment, we just have to be patient. I swear to you it's true." At her look of hope restored, I nodded. "Yes, we will do it, and when we finally do, you'll understand why it's worth waiting for."

She snuggled into me, and I wrapped my arms around her and pulled her close once more. The perfume was rich in my nose, and up close I could see how inexpertly the eyeliner had been applied. It was too much to believe, too much to hope for. The other shoe had dropped, and it was lighter than a ballerina's slipper. The governor had called just before the switch was thrown. I had drawn an orange card from the top of the deck to see my own "Get out of jail free" card. She was here, now, wrapped up in my arms, and the relief was almost more painful than the ache that had preceeded it. She buried her face in my neck and kissed my throat, and I was stroking her hair, caressing her back, running my hand hungrily over her soft rump, gently squeezing her thighs. She giggled and reached down to my crotch. "I can feel something getting big-ger," she said in a cute little sing-song. She looked at me earnestly before saying, "Can I see it go from soft to hard? I want to see how that happens." I had to smile, knowing I couldn't deny her.

"Oh, okay," I said in a mock growl of irritation; then, in all earnestness, "hang on, it might take a while to get it soft again, give me a moment," I said, and I laid back and thought of boring things until I felt the erection collapse. "Okay," I said, "but we have to hurry, it'll probably start getting hard again right away." I pulled my pants and shorts down to my knees and lay back. My softness was already starting to leave as a full erection surged back. She grinned to see it rise like that.

"OhmyGod, that's like a magic trick," she purred, "that's so cool! Can I touch it?" And without waiting for an answer, she reached out to wrap her delicate fingers around the shaft, glancing nervously at me as I groaned from the bottom of my balls. "What should I do with it? How can I make you feel good?" I put my hand on hers and showed her how to stroke the shaft. She enjoyed that immensely, sitting up so she could use both hands, then leaning down to get a close-up view of what she was doing. The feeling was incredible, her soft hands were warm and tender, and she was by turns gentle and vigorous. "Hey, what's this called?" she asked. "What I'm doing right now, is there a special name for this?" I said I didn't know how special it was, but it was just called a handjob. "But it's not a job, it's fun!" she laughed, and I had to laugh with her in spite of myself. I told her it was also called jacking off. She sounded it off silently to herself, then gazed at me with amazed humor, stroking me rhythmically and softly chanting, "Jack, Jack, your name is Jack, I love you Jack, I love to jack, I love to jack you off, Jack!" I could only moan in response, it felt so good to be touched by her that I couldn't have stopped it for anything in the world, and the smell of her perfume just kept rolling over me.

She paused, then leaned forward and put her hands on my chest to stare earnestly into my eyes. "You know, it seems like more than half the pictures in your magazine showed those women putting a penis in their mouth, and I really want to do that for you. Except I don't know what it's called. If I put your penis in my mouth, is that called eating you?"

"No, it's called a blowjob," I told her, my sense of shock definitely less than it should have been, and I could see a lightbulb come on over her head, "except you don't blow, you suck on it. I don't know why it's called a blowjob, it just is."

"Oh wow," she said, "that's a blowjob? I heard Brittany use that word when she was talking to some of her posse, she said she gave her boyfriend a blowjob and that it was a big mess, and I had no idea what she meant, and I wasn't about to ask her, but I didn't know who else to ask. I almost asked you, but I was almost sure it was probably something filthy, and I didn't want you to think I was a filthy girl. So then, what Brittany meant ab out the big mess, she must have been talking about her boyfriend cumming. OhmyGod, do you think he cummed in her mouth?" Her soft eyes got so big at the thought that I started laughing uncontrollably, but she just ignored my hilarity. "What happens if cum gets in your mouth? You can't get pregnant from getting cum in your mouth, can you?"

"No," I said, after I stopped laughing long enough to catch my breath, "you can only get pregnant if the cum gets in your vagina, if it gets anywhere else, you're safe." I thought for a few seconds. "It's also called sucking cock," I added, wondering if she had heard that one too.

"Sucking cock," she repeated thoughtfully, "a penis is also called a cock," as she touched it reverently. "I used to hear Brittany use that word all the time, like 'I won't touch his cock until he's taken a shower', and 'I never let him stick his cock in until he's been begging for an hour.'" She pursed her lips thoughtfully and started idly stroking me, then asked, "What it's like to suck cock, what does it taste like?" I had to tell her I didn't know, but given the difference in smell between a cock and a pussy, and knowing how a pussy tastes, I assumed a cock would taste different. Rose nodded thoughtfully for a moment, then bent down to breathe on the head. We both held our breaths for a long second, and then she put her lips on the tip and slowly, slooowly took the whole head into her mouth. Her tongue was running around the edge, lapping and tasting, and I could see her cheeks moving in and out as she sucked. The sensation was unbelievable, and I could only groan helplessly, "Oh God, oh God, ohmyGod." She kept it up for long minutes, working her way farther and farther down the shaft, until she had half the length in her mouth, her ponytail bobbing up and down as she sucked and sucked and sucked, until I reached the point when I knew I would only last for a few more seconds. I stopped her by gripping her shoulder and pushing her back. "What's wrong? What did I do wrong?" she worried.

"Nothing, sweetheart, you were doing great. But we have to go a little slower, that's all. We have to save some for later. You were about to make me cum." Her eyes flew open at the thought of her success.

"You're kidding," she said, "you mean you were going to cum in my mouth?"

"I would have, if you'd kept it up," I told her.

"Then why did you stop me, Jack? I want you to cum in my mouth, I want to make you cum like you made me cum."

"Let's not think about that just yet, we have to take it slow and enjoy the wait, enjoy exploring each other and taking our time. Here, let me give you a massage. Oh God, Rose, I do love you, I swear I do."

I slowly pulled her shirt over her head, stopping after it was off to admire her hard nipples and the glitter sparkling across her chest. I pulled up and fastened my pants with some difficulty, stripped off my shirt, then slowly, teasingly slowly, I undid her pants and pulled them off, rolling her over on her stomach. As I rubbed her shoulders and neck, she began making little animal moans of pleasure. Her perfume was rich in my nose, and I lay down on top of her, burying my nose in her hair, kissing and nibbling her neck. I started kissing my way down to the small of her back, then moved down to her ankles and kissed my way slowly up her legs, until I was gently licking the backs of her thighs. I rubbed her beautifully rounded butt through the panties for a bit, then slipped underneath to continue rubbing. She helped me slip the panties off, and as she lay there naked before me, I showed her what it felt like to have someone kiss her butt. The gentle globes of her ass were tenderly delicious, and the soft, earthy smell between them was a magical aphrodisiac in it's own right. At first, she clenched her ass cheeks together, trying to keep me out, not quite understanding what was going on, or why I was plowing my lips so deeply into the crack. As my tongue made first contact, she suddenly relaxed with an almost soundless "ooooohhhhhhhhhh", and I gently pulled the cleavage aside to get my first glimpse of the puckered little rosebud of her rectum. My tongue was doing all the work now, swirling around the hole, darting over it, gently gently gently penetrating the opening, and Rose made a series of little "ahh, ahh, ahh" noises, each one the punctuation of one of my tongue stabs. As this was going on, my fingers were inching ever closer to her moist vagina, and as I touched the lips, it felt like she was getting ready to let loose a flood. My erection was as hard as it had ever been in my life.

The sound of the clubhouse door opening and someone walking back toward the pool threw us into a blind panic. I pulled my shirt on and struggled to get my erection to go away, and Rose pulled on her panties and pants even faster that the other time I had seen her pull them on like that. By the time the footsteps reached us, we were both fully dressed and sitting on opposite sides of the room from each other. As we feared, there was a knock on the door.

"Brent, have you seen Rose?" Marjorie asked from the other side of the door. Rose's hands flew up to her mouth and she looked petrified. I leaned over, put my mouth against her ear, and whispered so quietly that she could barely hear me, "It's okay, sweetheart, just be cool, I know you can do this." Then to the locked door, "Yes, I have seen Rose." I swung open the door and jerked a thumb over my shoulder, blocking Marjorie's view of her daughter to give Rose time to compose herself. "She's in here with me, we've just been shooting the breeze. She didn't tell me she had any certain time she had to be home, is she in trouble?"

"Oh God no," Marjorie laughed, slurring her words almost imperceptibly, "I just didn't want to win any Worst Mother awards by not knowing where my child is this late on a school night. I'm relieved to know she's with you, it's comforting to know she's here instead of out causing trouble." Marjorie put a hand on my shoulder to lean around me and look in at Rose, and for the first time, I felt her breasts pushing up against my chest. I glanced over my shoulder and was gratified to see Rose looking completely normal and relaxed. "Rose, honey, it's very late, come on home now, I'm sure Brent needs his rest too, don't overstay your welcome."

"Don't be silly," I said, a little too loudly, "Rose is welcome here anytime day or night, for as long as she likes." Marjorie glanced at me just a shade too sharply for comfort, but then she just smiled and, as God is my witness, she ruffled my hair as she said, "Well don't be a stranger, feel free to drop over whenever, I know Rose would be glad of the company after ages and ages of her old battleaxe mom." Rose made a face and stuck out her tongue at Marjorie, and the relief of being able to laugh at this was so intense that I knew I was in danger of becoming hysterical. Marjorie wished me a good night, and Rose and I stood there in the door watching her stagger ever so slightly as she made her way out.

When we were back in my room with the door closed behind us, Rose took my hand and put it on her chest, under her shirt. I thought at first it was an overture to lovemaking, but then I felt her heart doing a staccato triphammer in her ribcage, and I knew she was sharing her terror with me.

"It's okay, baby, everything's okay now." I held her close, stroking her hair and cooing softly. "You see? We must have a guardian angel." Rose made a noise that seemed perfectly balanced between a hearty laugh and a mournful sob.

"Oh God, Jack, I love you so much it feels like my heart's going into meltdown. I love you, I love you, please make it so we can be together. Please make everything be okay so we can be like this always. I've got so much love in my heart, I feel like I'm going to burst." All I could do was sigh. When she finally pulled away, she grabbed my neck to pull my mouth down to hers, for the most soulful and sincere kiss I've ever had, before or since. After she was gone, I paid a visit to the shower, to clean off and give myself release; the release I hoped to be able to share with her sooner or later. If we were able to tap dance our way through this minefield, that was.

...baby I'm amazed at the way you love me all the time, maybe I'm afraid of the way I love you... Maybe I'm Amazed (Paul McCartney)

In the days that followed, Rose delighted in tormenting me in dozens of small, playful, cruel ways. Leaning across the billiard table, in full view of other tenants who were lounging in the recreation area, she made sure I could see straight down the front of her shirt, could see her braless bareness, her stiff nipples, as she leaned over the felt to consider her shot. At the swimming pool, she developed a sudden passion for jumping backward off the diving board, making sure I had an unrestricted view of her hips, her sweet rounded buttocks, pushing out as she pretended to line up her jump. Once, helping me to clean up the upstairs dining room after a party that some of the tenants had given, she backed into me and ground her hips orgiastically into my crotch in a way that would have done a veteran stripper proud, stopping only a split-second before one of the tenants who had attended the party stuck his head up the stairs looking for a lost jacket. Why had I not noticed all those grey hairs in the mirror before? All these lines in my face getting clearer...

After that night when Rose saw me in the shower, and while she had been struggling so hard with her unspoken desires, our relationship had been a shadow of what it was. Now that the tension between us was resolved, our feelings for each other did far more than resume their rightful place, they transformed, became sweeter and deeper than I would have known possible. Once again, we were meeting in my room on a daily basis, but now there was much less talk of trivial things. Our conversations, if they can be called that, were much more about pleasing each other and were showered with sweet nothings and gentle caresses. Now it was honey this, and darling that, and it felt like every other word was "beloved", as we touched here and there on each other's bodies, kissed this part or licked that part of each other. We were careful not to stay too long or get too distracted to be mindful of our surroundings. While it was fairly stressful, being constantly on the alert for anyone coming too close for comfort while trying to just relax in each others' arms, it was worth it. We felt now like we had all the time in the world to just explore and learn about each other. Her kiss was always fresh, always new and sharp and welcoming and intent and inquisitive and warm. Countless times we lay there together naked beneath the sheets, slowly stroking each other's bodies and learning the little tendernesses that were most appreciated by the other. She would kiss me all over, starting with my forehead and working her way down to my toes, then back up again, her tongue exploring each curve and crevice with an intensity that left me shivering, and she allowed (encouraged) me to return the favor in full measure.

March came in like a lion, all bitter winds and grey days, but within a week's time, showed that it was serious about ushering in Spring. After only a few days' worth of unseasonal warmth, most of the snow and ice had vanished. On a lazy Sunday afternoon, as we lay on the floor of my room, me in a t-shirt and briefs, Rose in her bra and panties, deliciously massaging each other's chests, Rose suddenly looked me square in the eyes and said, "Tell me about Iris." I was a little... well, not startled, but definitely uneasy. After a few seconds' consideration, I asked what she wanted to know.

"What did you do with her? I mean, did you just kiss, or hug, or... did you..." and as she beamed her pixie smile at me, she waggled her eyebrows with such Groucho-style comic abandon that I was reduced to tears of laughter.

When I could breathe again, I said, "No, we never actually had sex... well, yes, what we did was sexual, but we never made love... hmmm... okay, yes, it was love-making, but we never actually fucked. She did give me a few blowjobs, but I was never close to cumming with her, not like with you. Most of what Iris and I did was what you and I are doing now, just touching and caressing. And we spent a lot of time dry-humping."

"!!! Dry-humping? What's that?" she asked, taking her hands off me so she could sit up; I took this as a signal that she considered it a serious discussion and wanted to give her full attention to the conversation.

"Well, humping is another way of describing intercourse, less harsh, I suppose, than the word 'fucking', but not really any less vulgar. Dry-humping is like fucking, except you leave your underwear on, so your genitals don't actually touch."

"And just when were you going to tell me about this?" she ranted in mock-indignation. "You mean we could be pretend-fucking right now?"

"To tell the truth, I hadn't thought about it in so long that I completely forgot it was anything I ever did. You're right," I admitted, "it IS something we could do."

"Well then, shut up and let's get down to it, boyfriend!" she laughed. She straddled me, sitting on my chest to begin with, then slowly working her way back, until her cotton-covered buttocks pushed up against the hardness in my briefs. "Mmmmmm, that's nice," she murmured, shifting back and forth, obviously enjoying the sensation of having yet another piece of me trying to work it's way into the crevice. She carefully continued to maneuver her way down, until her sex was pressing up against the underside of my shaft. "Ooooo, that's even nicer," she said with a lazy, greasy smile that made me harder still. I reached out to slip her bra up over her breasts, and she undid the bra and tossed it lightly aside. I was gazing at two gorgeous little mounds of flesh, the nipples sticking straight out, bouncing slightly under the movement of her body. As I reached up to slip my fingers over her nipples, she let out a quiet little "aaahhhhh" and closed her eyes. "Ohhh, that's nice," she purred, that greasy smile sliding further over her face, then, "Hey, wait a sec, I wanna do something." She rolled off me, then pulled her knees up to her chest and slid her panties off. "As long as they don't actually touch, we're okay, right?" And without waiting for my answer, she climbed back on top of me, sliding her now exposed lips up and down over the underside of my trapped shaft. "Ooooo, God, that's even better!" she said, her voice a sultry swirl of satin that made my hardness pulse uncontrollably. When she felt that, felt the throb and felt my cock jump beneath her, she gave a very quiet shriek of delight. "You like that too, huh?" she husked, and her smile just kept getting greasier and sexier, her eyes rolling back in her head as her unrestrained hair fell over her face. She was really getting into it now, sliding up and down, up and down, her tender boobs rippling with the impact on every downstroke, when she reached my balls and started back up again toward the head. The sensation was amazing, and I gently encouraged her to concentrate on riding the head. The feeling was building deliciously slowly, mounting and fading, and it was pure pleasure.

She must have spent a good hour just riding me through my briefs, grinding herself against me, moaning and breathless, until we were both covered in sweat and had each climaxed at least twice (I think it was more like a dozen times for her). We finished the night with separate showers in the locker rooms and a little nighttime swim. We had the pool all to ourselves. God, it was so romantic, splashing around in the water with her so close, the only light coming from the underwater floods, one at each end of the pool, although I think we were emitting some light of our own from the afterglow. It must have been almost 11 pm by the time we were busted by Marjorie, standing there with her hands on her hips and lips pursed, severely annoyed with me for letting Rose stay out so late on a school night. I could only grin foolishly and promise not to let it happen again, and Marjorie just laughed it off, her annoyance seemingly vanished by my boyish charm (hah).

Rose was like a kid with a new toy; she just couldn't get enough of it. We rarely talked like we used to, because as soon as we were alone together, she was all over me. We continued the dry-hump sessions for a couple of weeks, and probably would have kept it up, except that one night she told me she had just started her period and didn't feel up to a session. I played with her a little through her underwear, and we fell to talking about her period. After she had the first one, it had been almost three months before it happened again. The next couple of periods after that were at least a couple of months apart, and she was noticing that they seemed to be settling into a regular rhythm. The last two before this had been about 28 days apart (she had kept such a careful count, proud of herself for both her body's abilities and her attention to this detail), and the one that had started tonight was 29 days in. "Guess I'm almost a complete woman now, right?" she teased, rubbing my thigh playfully with her knee and moving slowly closer to my crotch. "If I wasn't having my period right now, do you think we'd be ready for it?" I rubbed her shoulders and neck slowly, kissing her nose and closed eyelids while I considered my response.

"The first time shouldn't be rushed," I said slowly, "the first time has to be magic, has to be starlight and rose petals and gently billowing curtains, since it will be a memory that has to last throughout your lifetime." Her smile, and the look of love on her face when I told her that, was so beautiful that I almost got watery-eyed right then and there.

The next night, Rose talked me into letting her repeat the blowjob she had started those several weeks before. She wanted to suck me to completion, but I stopped her before I came, and she finished the job by hand, amused and amazed to see my load spurting out onto my stomach and chest. She was so pleased by being able to witness her ability to make me cum that we actually gave up the dry-hump sessions as she repeated the performance every night for three weeks. For the first dozen or so times, I just couldn't bring myself to cum in her mouth, and I always stopped her before I unloaded so she could finish the job by hand. Strange, that I never had any such reluctance with Lilly. Well, not so strange, I guess, Lilly was the teacher in that relationship, whereas here it was me.

The time came, though, when Rose demanded the full experience, the feeling of me shooting into her mouth, so I eventually gave in. The first time I did, I let her know when I was about to shoot, and she became much more vigorous, wanting to pleasure me to the greatest degree she was able. When I finally did climax, her expression was priceless; her eyes got huge as she felt my juice shooting into her mouth, but she kept it up until she knew I was done, then spit it out into a tissue she had with her for that specific purpose, licking her lips as if to better gauge the taste.

"Well," I asked, "what do you think of it?" She had to consider for a few seconds, then said, "It was warm and salty, and gooey, sticky gooey like glue, it wasn't really like anything I've ever tasted before. I think I liked it, but I'll have to try it a few more times to be sure. And if I do, then I'll swallow it."

Now it was my turn to pause and think for a few seconds. "I'm not sure about that, sweetheart," I cautioned, "I don't know if that's really something you want to do." As much as I had loved Lilly, there was just something unredeemably whorish about swallowing a man's load, and I didn't know if I was capable of thinking of Rose in that same whorish way. In the final analysis, though, I had to admit that it wasn't up to me; if Rose wanted to swallow my cum, there wasn't much I could do to stop her. I could only wait until the moment happened, and deal with it the best I could when it did; I didn't know at the time that the moment would leave me incapacitated and unable to deal with anything.

The moment came one April night when we were out taking a stroll, enjoying the newly warming season. We had walked to the Gas-N-Save station that sat on the entrance to the cul-de-sac where the complex was, for a tray of nachos and a couple of games of pinball. Before we left, I bought each of us a hot dog, making her snort soda pop through her nose when I called them tube steaks, then we ate them as we slowly strolled back through the gloom of early evening, down the street that dead ended in front of the manager's office. When we got back, Rose took me by the hand and pulled me behind the row of garages that sat next to the office; we were in a narrow space between the buildngs, just big enough for the two of us to walk side by side. Still holding my hand, Rose pulled me around a bend in the space that completely isolated us from any outside eyes, then stopped and turned to me. "That tube steak was good," she grinned in the dusk, "I think I'm ready for another one." Before I knew what she was about, she had dropped to her knees and pulled my pants and underwear down in one smooth motion. I was still soft when she took me in her mouth; that lasted about two seconds, and I got a full, raging erection faster than I ever had in my life. Then she was sliding her tongue up and down my stiff member, licking and sucking, teasing my balls with her fingers. I remember glancing up nervously, trying to see if there was any way we could be seen by anybody; we were completely concealed between the buildings, and only somone walking directly down that little space toward us would have seen us. Her mouth was wet and incredible, and as I realized I was almost ready to explode, I also realized what she was doing and why. As her fingers slipped down past my balls and worked their way back between my thighs, her wriggling fingernails touched what felt to me like an electric wire that had been jammed between my legs. As the orgasm overwhelmed me and I shot my load, she was ready, her warm, willing mouth covering the head and aborbing my spurt. She gagged just a little, then hit her stride and swallowed every last drop, milking me with her mouth and keeping up the pressure with her fingernails on that little magic button, as if she might be pushing the last little bits of cum out of my balls, until my legs turned to jelly and collapsed. Before I knew what had happened, I was laying on my back, looking up in wonder at the little strip of stars that showed between the buildings, trying to catch my breath while the aftershocks raced the length of my legs and made little lightning strikes up my spine. She climbed on top of me and nestled my still throbbing organ between her thighs, laughing and coughing. "I made you fall down!" she whispered delightedly, "I sucked you dry and you fell down!" I could only grunt in response. As good as Lilly had been, as many times as she had sucked me off, it had never felt anything like this. I heard myself breathing as I lay there, and still the aftershocks were jolting me, sending electric blasts through the area beneath my balls. I could only guess that she had somehow triggered something in my prostate that kept sending rushes of pleasure for long minutes after the orgasm. It was an altered state, like being high on a drug. All I could do was lay there and twitch and breathe for such a long time that Rose started to get worried about me, then scared she had damaged me somehow. With a supreme effort, I took her hand and squeezed, and managed to give her a weak smile, and after another few minutes I was able to sit up. "My God," I told her, "that was the most intense thing I've ever felt in my life. I don't think I could stand that on a daily basis, my heart would explode!" Rose just grinned manically, and I could see she was taking careful note for future reference.

It wasn't all one direction, no it wasn't. I performed orally on Rose at least every other day, replaying our first encounter, with my mouth travelling the length and breadth of her body and always ending up with my tongue deep in her valley, great handfuls of my hair between her grasping fingers as urged me on, panting and shaking and cumming in my mouth with her delicate spicy essence, her thighs battering my ears and her heels pounding me on the back (a strangely relaxing pummeling). These sessions were usually exciting enough for me that I wound up cumming along with her, ejaculating without ever touching my penis, simply reaching a spontaneous orgasm from the sheer thrill of making her feel so good. When I pointed this out to Rose, she just touched my face and whispered, "It's love, you dope, love that's giving us all this happiness. I love you, Jack, with all my body and soul."

...A fat pink cloud hangs over a hill, unfolding like a rose, if you hold my hand and sit real still, you can hear the grass as it grows... It's a hazy afternoon, and I know a place that's quiet 'cept for daisies running riot, and there's no one passing by it to see... Lazy Afternoon (Vanessa Williams)

As the weather warmed and spring moved in to stay, the savage thrill, the raw newness of sex that made her want it constantly, had begun to fade, to be replaced by a gentler rhythm that had less to do with animal lust and more to do with lifelong friends who shared the most intimate part of each other. We still did it every day, and sometimes two and three times a day, but it no longer had the urgent, almost manic quality of pounding down shots of tequila; now it was more the tender, quiet loveplay of soulmates who savored each moment like fine wine.

We started riding our bikes again. Rose had discovered a hiking path that intersected with Griffin Ridge, and we rode down it into the newly greening woods that wound between the river and the interstate, stopping occasionally to share something we'd seen with each other, or to briefly embrace and steal a kiss before moving on down the path. There were a few empty patches here and there, areas devoid of trees for a space of perhaps 20 to 30 feet across, with a wealth of long, yellow grasses that surrounded the tiny path on either side. As we came to the edge of one of these clearings, Rose stopped and climbed off her bike, letting it down gently to rest on the soft ground where the grasses started. I did the same, and taking my hand to pull me along, Rose led us into the middle of the clearing, where we lay down in the long grass next to each other. The warmth of the sun on our bodies was a perfect counterpoint to the sound of highway traffic some 60 or 80 feet above us and the constant rush of the river, not two minutes' walk from where we lay. Rose wiggled out of her pants and tucked the hips of her panties up to simulate a high-cut bathing suit, then pulled her shirt off and unhooked her bra, but left the bra covering her breasts as she lay down in the meadowlet. "Trying to get a jump on some swimsuit tan lines," she grinned up at me. Leaning over her, I could see only now in the full sunlight a faint sprinkling of freckles across her chest. I'd never seen this part of her in light this strong. I idly traced the pattern of the freckles and must have tickled her, because she giggled and pushed my hand away. "They've been fading for a while now," she explained, "and I think they'll probably be completely gone in another year or two." She reached up under my t-shirt to rub my chest. We spent an idyllic hour or so, softly kissing and teasing, idly stroking, with no sense of urgency or need to do anything more than what we were doing, and no pressure of any kind to perform or move on. We repeated the experience often throughout that spring and summer, just holding each other close and being with each other. If there is any kind of Heaven, and we are allowed to have any say in what it's like for us, and I am not turned away at the gates, then I think those hours we spent together in the grass comes closest to what I would want my Heaven to be like. I was so in love with her, and she with me, that everything was right between us, everything flowed, everything was exactly where it was supposed to be. It was a sweet spot, a pocket of such utter divine bliss that we knew we had arrived in each other's hearts and found we were in exactly the same place.

...I walk to the horizon and there I find another, it all seems so surprising, and then I find that I know... Anywhere Is (Enya)

The new school year brought the usual complaints from Rose about teachers and students, even as she started in a new environment: the pirhana pit known as junior high. The school was only ten blocks away from the apartments. That, plus the fact that the school day was over a good half hour earlier than at her last school, meant that Rose was usually home before 3:30 every day. Most days, she didn't even go by their apartment first; Marjorie never got home from work before 5:30, which meant that we usually spent the afternoons together. When Rose would come breezing through the clubhouse door, if she was certain nobody else was around, she would sing out, "Hi, honey, I'm home!" and then wrap her arms around me to give me her sweet lips. It was just like being married, and homier than anything I had known with Lilly.

Rose wanted to start preparing dinner in the afternoons. Prior to this, the evening meal for her all too often had been whatever simple thing Marjorie had the energy to fix after a long day at the office; mac and cheese, frozen pizza, sometimes just cereal and toast, or the occasional burger and fries from a drive-through on the way home. Rose was learning things in her Life Skills cooking class that she wanted to try out. She also wanted to show she was appreciative of her mother's energy being taken by her job, and she wanted to show Marjorie some of that appreciation by taking over meal preparations. The fact that the clubhouse kitchen was twice as large as the kitchen in their apartment, more room, more utensils, two ovens, three sinks, pretty much everything she could have wanted, made it a natural that she would want to work there. Well, that and the fact that I was always right there helping her out. Many nights we stood side by side in the kitchen, peeling potatoes or frying up rice, boiling noodles or stirring sauces, whatever Rose could think of to make dinner a little more special. It felt like we were an old married couple, doing the household chores together, sharing life in a way that had somehow escaped me during my time with Lilly, and my heart throbbed with the unfamiliar feeling of domesticity. Yet one more way in which my tender little flower brought me bliss.

Following the meal preparation, Rose would leave me a third of the food and take the rest home, and she and Marjorie would have their time together, after which Rose would do her homework (if she had any, which she usually didn't, or if we had neglected it during the afternoon) and then head back to the clubhouse for her evenings with me. Usually it was movies or TV, cards or Scrabble or swimming, but we always left at least the last half hour for lovemaking behind the locked door of my room.

That was the way we spent almost every weekday evening, for the first few weeks of the school year. Eventually, Marjorie managed to browbeat me into stopping by their apartment to share supper with them at least once a week, and then I usually stayed around for awhile after supper, sitting on the couch to watch TV with Rose on one side and Marjorie on the other. Occasionally, Marjorie had to busy herself at the kitchen table with work she had brought home, and Rose and I took special pleasure in slinking down into the couch cushions, below Marjorie's line of vision, to steal a kiss every now and then. More often, though, Marjorie joined us on the couch, and then I had the unusual sensation of a slight resentment of Marjorie's presence preventing Rose and I from cuddling, mixed with a pleasant lassitude at finding myself ensconced between the beauty that was my lover and the beauty that was her mother. Marjorie usually had a mixed drink in hand, and I took to sharing a drink with her; and occasionally, her hand would stray to my knee, to rest there for perhaps five or ten minutes, before being withdrawn. I'm not entirely sure Marjorie was always aware she did this; it seemed somehow like force of habit, or perhaps a familiarity she had never learned to give up. Whatever the reason, I never remarked or acted on it. The first few times it happened, Rose and I exchanged significant glances, but then it just seemed to become part of the evening, and nothing noteworthy. Dinner, small talk, TV, hand on the knee, and at the end of the evening, Rose would walk me back to my room for a few sweet nothings, then race home and try to get into bed without having to speak to Marjorie (so that my voice would be the last thing she heard before going to sleep; sigh).

...Back in the classroom, open your books, the teacher don't know how mean she looks... School Day (Chuck Berry)

At first, Rose had been worried that moving up to a whole new level of school might be more difficult than what she was ready for. After the first few days, though, she came to realize that in a lot of ways, seventh grade was actually easier than sixth grade had been. Her class was made up of a blend of students from several different elementary schools, and the curriculum had been to geared to the lowest common denominator. She found her assignments (in everything but algebra) to be a cakewalk, and it wasn't very often that she wasn't able to complete her work during the school day. Sometimes she got so far ahead that she had time to sit in class and observe the other students. While her descriptions of the other kids in class were always hilarious and we shared hearty laughs over her witticisms, one or two kept me nervously guessing. In her American Literature class, a boy named Ben seemed to be particularly adept at insulting Mr. Malkin (the teacher) without Malkin's appearing to understand he was being twitted. In Computer Skills, it was Javier, a quiet dark-skinned guy who sat across the aisle from her and who seemed to always be giving her sideways glances whenever she looked over at him. It is a hard and bitter thing to hear your lady love talk about other men, especially when you're doing your damnedest to appear nonchalant while your heart is on a taffy-stretcher.

Having caught up to Brittany and company, she found they at least didn't object when she spent every lunch hour at the same table with them, eavesdropping on their stories about boys trying to get into their pants and the ways they kept them at bay (or gave in, depending on which girl was talking and which boy she was talking about). Sometimes she was content to just listen, she said, but sometimes she was dying to tell them, to recount some of her own exploits, just to feel like part of the group, to be able to share that rapport with them. At the worried expression on my face, she just laughed and said, "I'd never do that to you, Jack, I know it has to stay a secret, I swear it always will. It's just that sometimes, I feel like I'm going to bust open if I can't tell someone about my lover and how good he makes me feel. I'd even be one up on them, because all they ever do is complain about their boyfriends being rude and rushing them through things, and not doing anything to make THEM feel good, and I want SO BAD to tell them that I know how a real gentleman acts, that I have a lover who makes me feel like the most precious thing in the world, who rocks me until I can't breathe. I've thought about telling them, you know, just being vague enough so they wouldn't know who I was talking about, but then I thought, no, that just sounds like a pretend lover even to me. It could only be worth it if they believed me, believed I've done the stuff they talk about, the blowjobs and stuff, and I could make them SO jealous when I tell them about how much a REAL man LIKES to eat pussy, and then they'd have to meet you in person so they could see what I'm talking about."

"Angel, I wish I could oblige you. I think it would be fun to help you out like that, it would be a blast to see Brittany's face when you introduce me as your lover, I'll bet that would give her a nasty turn." What I'd heard of Brittany made me think she was a stuck-up little whore who knew how much power she had over males and didn't mind exercising that power. It was fun to think of her being deflated by Rose, when she learned of Rose's power over ME. "But then Brittany would tell someone, and..." Rose put her little hand on my mouth to tell me that she had already been through that in her head and that it was okay, she knew it had to stay secret. What the hell. Tiffany was probably well-known as a cumdumpster anyway, it would be her word against Rose's (and mine, I suppose), and as far as I knew, Rose and I hadn't done anything to make anybody else suspicious; but I just couldn't risk it, couldn't risk tearing us apart like that.

Rose's schedule for the year included the usual mix of classes. I noticed that her English Literature class, scheduled for the spring semester, was being taught by the same teacher that she had this semester for American Literature. I learned from Rose that the G in G Malkin was for Garry. I also learned that Ben's penchant for messing with this teacher included subtly mispronouncing his name (maudlin, makin', mulekin) to see if Malkin would notice or rise to the bait. Either he hadn't caught on or was just too intimidated to deal with it.

Apparently, when Malkin made an assignment for his students to write a paper about an author, he didn't confine the choice of author to ones they had discussed, but threw the entire category open for choice. Rose wondered if, during her English Literature class with him, when she selected Lewis Carroll as the subject of a paper, whether she might be able to just recycle her "Alices" paper from last year. She had gotten an A+ on it, and was intrigued by the idea of claiming two grades for one paper, but a little worried over whether that was ethical. I don't think I was corrupting her by telling her there wasn't anything wrong with it; her thoughts on the books, I said, wouldn't have changed enough in one year to justify writing a whole new paper. We were in the alley behind the Dairy Suite on Gannon when we had this discussion, and my opinion on the subject earned me a sloppy milkshake kiss that ended up with both of us having ice cream all over our mouths and chins. We were laughing so hard over it that we couldn't get back on our bikes for five minutes.