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."