Bed of Rose's: Jack_Straw

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jack_straw
jack_straw
3,219 Followers

"Please, mister, I haven't eaten in five days (which was true)," I said. "Can't you spare something?"

Nothing, although the daughter looked back at me with some pity.

Another couple walked by, and they looked right through me and didn't even slow down. Two more families ignored me as they walked by, headed for their big, fancy church, and finally one man cursed me and told me to get lost or he was going to call the cops.

Out of nowhere, a woman swooped in.

"You fucking hypocrite," she bellowed, and the man looked startled. "You don't mind spending a little money on me on the side, then you go in your god-damn church, where you sit there in your nice fancy clothes with your prissy little wife and your obnoxious brat of a son. But you can't spare a dollar for some down-and-out kid. Why, you ought to be ashamed of yourself!"

"Please, Rose, not here," the man hissed as he looked around to see that a few people from across the street had turned to see what the commotion was all about. He hurriedly fished a twenty out of his billfold, threw it on the ground in front of me and walked away quickly.

"Bastard," the woman muttered.

I scrabbled on the ground to pick up the bill, then looked up to see who it was that had come to my rescue. That was my first good look at Rose Madison.

As I said, I'd never been in love before, but I felt something the first time I laid eyes on Rose. She was a little older, probably 35 or so, and while she wasn't a raving beauty, she was good-looking enough.

Handsome; that's what you would call her. She had a pleasant, open face, with an unobtrusive nose, mischievous eyes, lips that were meant to be kissed and long hair that was a natural brunette color.

She was kind of smallish, maybe 5-foot-4, if that, but she had a very nice body. She was slim, but not skinny, with breasts that were just a shade over perfect, a curvy butt and trim legs. She was dressed in jeans, a snug sweater and a waist-length jacket, with a long scarf thrown around her neck.

"What's your name, son?" she asked in a voice that sounded like she was from some place up north.

"Uh, Jack, ma'am," I said. "Jack Strahan, but my friends call me Jack Straw from Wichita."

"You must be joking," she said with a snort of laughter. "A fucking Deadhead in the birthplace of Elvis. Oh, that's rich."

"Seriously, ma'am," I said. "Jack Strahan really is my name, and I am from Wichita."

She just looked at me with amusement in her eyes.

"First thing you need to know about me," she said. "I am not 'ma'am.' My name is Rose, not ma'am. And it's a pleasure to meet you, Jack Straw from Wichita. I was headed over to the café when I saw you over there. Care to join me?"

I couldn't turn down an invitation like that, so I gathered up my things and followed her down the street to this greasy spoon diner. A few of the patrons greeted her, but some just avoided her eyes, even as she winked at them knowingly.

It didn't take me long to figure out that she was a hooker. The exchange in front of the church had been the first clue, and the way some of the men and women in the diner treated her was the clincher.

As I wolfed down a full plate of bacon, eggs, grits and pancakes (yes, I'd gotten used to grits), Rose managed to pry my story out of me. She was good at that.

"So, where do you want to go?" she asked, and I noticed a sparkling in her eyes and a serious look on her face.

"I don't know," I said sullenly. "I've got no place to go. It's Christmas and I've got nobody to love, nowhere to be, nothing to do. I'm just nothing."

"Don't you ever say that!" she said sternly. "Everybody is somebody. We all have a soul and we all deserve somebody to love. Look, maybe I can help you. Why don't you come with me, and get cleaned up, get some rest. You probably haven't had a good night's sleep in ages. I've got a friend who could use a helper, if you're willing to work. Tomorrow, I'll chat with him, and see if maybe we can work something out."

I guess the look on my face gave me away, because she looked at me seriously.

"There won't be any of that," she said, then she smiled. "I don't give that away to just anybody. Now, you coming?"

You bet I was. At that point, I was already smitten in a way I had never been before. Forget having sex; I just wanted to be with her, to talk to her and listen to her. Nobody had taken the time to treat me with any kindness in almost two years, and I was like a kid in a candy store.

We left the café, and walked a half-block to where she had her car parked. It was small, but functional, and she drove a mile or so to a small house in a quiet, lower-middle class neighborhood. It looked neat and well kept, except for some things that looked like they needed repair.

I looked around and saw the Christmas tree in the front window, with a few presents underneath, and a few decorations scattered about. I felt my heart breaking as I recalled the Christmases I'd enjoyed at home when I still had a family to enjoy them with.

Rose showed me where the bathroom was, told me to empty my pack of the dirty laundry I'd been carrying around, then laid out a T-shirt, flannel shirt, jeans and underwear on the bed in what she called her guest room. They were men's clothes, but I knew better than to ask where they came from.

It had been so long since I'd taken a hot shower in a real bathtub that it was almost an orgasmic experience. When the weather was warm, I could find a stream in which to bathe, and occasionally I could find a park or some place that might have a public shower. But those places were few and far between.

When I finally used up all of the hot water, I wrapped a towel around my waist and walked into the spare room to dress. After a full breakfast and a hot shower, I was feeling kind of drowsy, but I had several questions in my mind that I needed to have answered.

The clothes were a little loose, but they were clean and warm, and I wasn't about to complain. Rose was sitting in her front room doing some knitting and watching a football game on television when I walked in and sat down across from her.

"Rose, why are you doing this for me?" I asked. "For all you know, I could be some drug-crazed maniac, yet you welcomed me into your home like I belonged here. I don't get it."

"I'm not sure why," she said, putting down her knitting and looking at me evenly. "You just looked so lost. In my business, I've learned how to read a man, and I could tell you were harmless, at least to me. You were hungry, dirty, cold and alone, and I guess I'm just a sucker for a good sob story. Plus, you're cute."

She smiled at me then and returned to her knitting, and I swear I felt my emotions tumbling. Right then, I decided that I would do anything this woman wanted, anything, just to have a chance to love her.

"Oh, by the way, your clothes are in the washing machine," she said. "Now, you look like you're about to fall out, so go get some rest."

So began my relationship with Rose Madison.

The next day, she took me to see her friend, Joe Murphy, who owned the Skyview Inn, over on Highway 78. Joe needed a handyman, someone to do odd jobs around the place. He let me live in one of the rooms at the far end of the building and took out a nominal amount out of my pay for rent.

I didn't see Rose for a couple of nights, then I happened to be sitting in the room when I heard her voice outside, then her throaty laughter. I walked to the window and saw her escorting some fellow to one of the rooms nearby. They kissed at the doorway, then went inside.

They were in there for about an hour, then he left. I watched, then 20 minutes later, a car pulled up, another man got out, went to the door and Rose let him in. I gave up after the third man went in.

For some reason, I was filled with jealousy and remorse. I mean, I knew on an intellectual level that Rose was a whore, but somehow I had separated that knowledge from my emotions.

But seeing it like that seemed to stick a dagger in my heart. I was already falling in love with her, and I didn't want to think about those men fucking a woman I loved.

I know; it was pretty childish of me, but you have to understand how raw my emotions were during that period.

I had lost my entire family in one fell swoop, I had pretty much been abandoned by the friends I'd thought I had in Wichita and I had been used unspeakably by the friend I'd met up with in New Orleans.

And, of course, living hand-to-mouth on the road with no place to call home and no idea where my next meal was going to come from had played havoc with my mind.

Uncannily, she seemed to sense something was wrong, because she came to see me the next day. She wanted to take me to get some Christmas presents, but I just kind of gave her the cold shoulder.

"Jack, what's wrong?" she asked.

"I ... I saw you last night," I said. "I heard your voice outside, and at first, I thought you were coming to see me, but..."

"Jack, honey, I was working," she said softly, brushing a hand over my face and rubbing my tears into her palms. "It's what I do. Joe lets me come here with my dates, where I know it's safe, and now that you're here, I feel even safer. Jack, this is my job. I'm not proud of it, but it is what I am. Come on, I'll tell you about it while we shop."

And she did. Turned out we had more in common than I thought.

Rose was originally from New York, as I had suspected, and had come to the South with her husband and daughter. He'd been a bit of a lowlife, a Southern charmer with a wandering eye for the ladies and a penchant for drug trafficking.

Apparently, he'd ripped off some dealer up north and had fled to his old hometown to flee the dealer's wrath. It had taken them a couple of years, but they had tracked him down and shot him to death.

Rose could have handled that all right, except that when they did find him, her daughter was with him, so they killed her too, to eliminate any witnesses.

Devastated, Rose could have left Tupelo, and its bad memories, except that she didn't want to leave the place where her little girl was buried.

A year or so after that, Rose had brought her mother down to live there, so she could take care of her. Her mom was just senile enough to require someone to look after her at the assisted-living home, to run errands for her and be there to help with the doctor's visits and getting her medicine taken care of.

So Rose needed a night job, and there wasn't a night job in Tupelo that paid as well as prostitution, especially the way she practiced it. She had a pretty upscale clientele, and they paid her well for her services.

Behind the closed doors at the Skyview Inn, her men were her friends, lovers and confidantes, but out in public, she was a filthy little whore, someone to be ignored or talked about in disapproving tones.

To the outside world, she put up her Yankee shield of brass to make people think she didn't care what they thought about her. But I was soon to learn that behind that shield was a caring, vulnerable woman who cried at night at the cruel things people said about her, often to her face.

I discovered how caring she was that first Christmas. She invited me to spend the day with her and her "family." Her mom was there, and so was Joe, along with a few other misfits and lowlifes that she called friends.

And Joe brought along his daughter, a gawky 12-year-old named Kathleen. Joe was divorced, and his ex-wife in Jackson had custody of his daughter, but every other year Kathleen spent Christmas with him, and this was his year to have her for the holiday.

At the time, I really didn't think much of her. I mean, she was nice and all, and pretty in a girlish way, but she was just a kid, and, besides, right then I only had eyes for Rose.

We opened some presents, and I was gratified to see that there were a few for me, including a much-needed pair of boots. Then we all sat down to Christmas dinner, and in the middle of it, I had to leave the room. I closed the door to the guestroom and just broke down and cried.

I had pretty much bottled up my emotions about my family, but that day it all came rushing out. These people didn't have much to give, but they had opened their hearts to a stranger and had accepted me as one of them.

After awhile, I heard the door open, and Rose came in. She just held me while I let it all out, and she whispered in my ear that I could always come to her, that she'd always be there for me.

I dried my eyes, then rejoined the party. Later, after the table was cleared from dinner, we all sat around and sang Christmas carols. Under the circumstances, it was one of the best Christmases I've ever had.

Over the next year, Rose -- and Joe -- helped me get on my feet. I was able to save some money, and move into a small place of my own, and bought a working automobile. It wasn't much, but it ran. In addition to working around the motel, I also fixed up some things around Rose's house.

Every Sunday, she'd invite me over for lunch and we'd talk. She had quickly figured out that I wasn't just some dumb doper, that I was actually quite intelligent. She gave me books to read, and encouraged me to think about my education.

With her help, I started studying to get my GED, so I could at least think about going on to college. I finally cut off my lengthy ponytail and started trying to look like a more respectable person in hopes of making a better impression on her.

I don't know if that was what did it or not, but for some reason, she started being more affectionate toward me, and I started catching those glimpses of longing in her eyes.

Whenever we got together, we would get into some incredibly deep philosophical conversations. We would often talk about why God had taken from us the people we loved most in the world, whether it was through some moral flaw of ours or whether it was just the way things happened.

Thanks to those conversations, I was able to finally come to grips with the tragedy that had so scarred my life, and I think I helped her come to terms with her loss. That, as much as anything, was the thing that bound us together spiritually and emotionally.

A year passed, and it was Christmas Eve, a Sunday that year. Rose invited me to her house, saying she had a special present for me that she wanted to give me that night.

I honestly had no clue what was going to happen. I mean, I'd dreamed about making love with Rose almost from the first moment I'd seen her, but I really never thought I had a chance.

In some ways, I had regressed socially since leaving Wichita. Back there, I could usually pick up some chick and fuck her, but the months of being homeless and rootless had taken me out of my comfort zone, plus I didn't have drugs as an enticement.

That was especially true once I got settled in Tupelo. For some reason, I just couldn't connect with the few women I encountered there. I knew Rose would never tolerate my getting back into drugs, and I loved her too much to risk losing her over that.

But it seemed that without that as a prop, I couldn't get over that hump.

Rose's house was warm and cozy when I arrived a little after dark. She had fixed a nice meal, and had dressed in a fairly snug dress that accentuated her cleavage without being showy.

After dinner, we adjourned to her living room, and she sat real close to me on the sofa. She threw her long brown hair back and looked at me in a very disconcerting way.

"Jack," she said in a sultry voice. "Back in Kansas, did you ever have a girlfriend, someone you really, really liked?"

"Honestly, no," I said. "I mean, I knew some girls, and I even... you know."

"Fucked them," she finished.

"Yeah, but I've never been in love," I said. "Or at least I hadn't been, until..."

"Until what?" she said.

"God, Rose, do I have to spell it out?" I stammered. "Until I met you. Don't you realize how much I love you? How I've felt about you since the first time I met you. You picked me up -- a filthy, hungry kid -- fed me, took me in, found me a job and helped me get my life back. I owe you my life, and, God, I love you so much I can't stand it."

"You sweet, sweet boy," she said, bringing her face up close to mine. "Wait here. I have a surprise for you."

My eyes were on stalks when she emerged from her bedroom dressed in a transparent negligee of a filmy black material. I was mesmerized by the way her breasts swayed, and at the almost nonexistent pubic bush that the material failed to hide.

My mouth was dry and I was blinking rapidly at the vision of loveliness before me. She sauntered into the room until she stood right in front of where I was seated.

"Of course I've known how you felt," she whispered. "I saw it in your eyes that first day a year ago. But I needed to know you, to see if you were worth my time and trouble. Love is an easy word to throw about, but there is a difference between love and infatuation, between love and sex. Sex, to me, is something I sell one piece at a time to anyone with the money to afford me. But love? I don't give away my love to just anyone any more. I made that mistake once, and it cost me everything I hold dear. But, for you, Jack... For you, I'll give you my love, because you need it. You need me, and... I need you."

With that, she bent over, took my head in her hands and kissed me, deeply and insistently. I could feel my cock throbbing in my jeans, threatening to bore a hole right through the material.

It had been almost two years since I'd been with a woman, since right before my trip to New Orleans, and while I jacked off with some regularity to relieve the tension, it's not the same.

She stared into my eyes as we broke apart and she pulled me up from the sofa.

"Come on, love, let me show you how a man loves a woman," she said in a voice that sent goose bumps all over me.

When I got in her bedroom, and saw the big double bed, with the covers turned down just so, I almost blew my load right there. Even more, she'd lit votive candles all around the room, giving it a soft, sexy glow.

Slowly, she stripped off my shirt, then the T-shirt I had on under it. She raked her fingers over my chest then bent down to lick and suck my rock-hard nipples. The whole time, she was massaging my throbbing cock through my jeans.

She stood up then and we kissed again, and this time I filled my hands with her beautiful tits. They were nice and plump, with brown tips and nipples that were jutting out stiff in arousal. I must have been doing something right, because she closed her eyes in reverie and hummed in approval.

Satisfied that I had the right idea, she pushed me gently until I fell back on the bed, then pulled off my shoes, my socks and my pants, leaving my jockeys to where a big, slug-like ridge bulged.

"Nice, very nice," she said softly. "You have a very nice cock, Jack Straw from Wichita."

But she didn't do anything with it right away. Rather, she got up on the bed and lay across my body, and we kissed again, feverishly. I felt her soft skin against my body, and I felt like I'd died and gone to heaven.

I reached down with one hand and caressed her butt, then ventured further, to the well-trimmed space between her legs, and discovered that she was dripping wet.

Somehow, that sent my arousal soaring. Until that moment, there had been that little kernel of concern that she was merely doing this just for charity, that she really didn't have her mind, body and soul in it. But her wetness told me differently. She may not have loved me like I loved her, but her feelings were sincere.

"Oh, Rose..." I started, but she just shushed me and slid down the bed.

When she got up between my legs, she flipped my underwear down, and my cock sprang up as if it was on a trampoline. She took it in her hands and softly caressed it, then swirled a finger around the tip, getting the crown nice and wet.

jack_straw
jack_straw
3,219 Followers