A Rose for Laurel

“But you make it seem so easy,” I said, turning toward her, “being so confident and so beautiful and so alive. Besides, what do I have to give? My life is so confused right now, that I don’t know where to turn next.”

“The hardest part of giving is always finding the handle to the spout,” she said. “But once it’s firmly within your grasp, all you have to do then is tip it and let your true self come pouring out on its own. You know it’s there inside you, Elise, ready and waiting to begin pouring forth. It just needs a little gentle tipping of the handle, that’s all.”

Her fingers walked across my chest then slid over my breast, gently stroking and fondling it. Then her hand slowly crept over my belly and underneath the waist band of my pants. I could feel her quivering breath in my ear, summoning me to let my legs part for her once more. Her long slender fingers then slid over my panties and inserted themselves between my thighs. They hugged and massaged the labia through the cotton.

“Let it pour, Elise,” her lips blew into my ear. “Let it pour for me.”

Her fingers were rubbing my already hardened clitoris. I gripped the car seat and lifted myself, arching my back and straining not to give in. But my eyelids were fluttering and begging to close, as the warm vibrations sang to me to let go. But then a car passed, and with its suddenness my eyes were forced open with a gasp. Gripping her forearm, I quickly pulled Laurel’s hand out of my pants.

“I have to go,” I said, and opened the door.

After standing outside the car and catching my breath, I then stooped and peered in one last time. Laurel was leaning over the seat, smiling and rubbing her fingers together. She sniffed them like they were fresh flowers, then she licked and sucked them like they were dripping with honey. I closed the door and began walking toward the apartments. My pace quickened, then suddenly I was running, driven by the echoes of her whispering and the shadow of her hand on my crotch.

“. . . let it pour . . .”

I couldn’t get into the shower fast enough. Leaving a trail of clothes in the hallway, I turned the handles and let the water slap me in the face. It was cold, and I needed it to be. But it grew warm, then hot. I jumped back and quickly turned the cold handle. Feeling the water cool again, I splashed some on my chest and continued splashing, till a stiff nipple was accidentally brushed, and I was suddenly on fire again and squeezing my breasts hard. A hand then slid downward, down over my slippery belly, down through the bushy curls, down and under and over the dripping labia, fingers bending and easily inserting themselves, the thumb riding the pointy clit, faster and faster, harder and harder.

“. . . LET IT POUR . . .”

The thick string was being strummed once more, as the notes of the melody dripped like water in my brain. My body slid down the shower wall and sank onto the floor, as I continued working my vagina. The water rained down on me, drenching me, but not yet quenching the fire that still raged within. I rubbed and pumped harder, imagining Laurel’s long slender fingers inside me. Laurel, so confident and so beautiful, reaching deep inside me and bringing such sweetness to the surface.

“Yes, Laurel!” I moaned. “Oh, yes! Be my butterfly! Sting me, Laurel! Sting me!”

“. . . LET . . . IT . . . POURRRRRRRR!!!!!”

The intensity of the image of Laurel with huge and colorful butterfly wings, kneeling over me and ramming her fingers deep into my pussy, was so undeniable. The colors of her wings were woven from the melodies in counterpoint inside my head. The handle was slipping from my hand, and suddenly, the force of the contractions was shooting a raging torrent from my spout. I cried out, unable to hold it in any longer, singing the sweet song of freedom and release. Finally, I lay there quietly for several minutes, watching the colorful image of Laurel melt like crayons in the rain and letting the sweetness spill forth from my insides as the music faded down the drain. I had hoped the stream of water would finish off the remaining embers and cleanse the madness from my head. But it was no use. The whispered words continued to smolder, and the handle was ready to be tipped once more. So, with a new found feeling of wild abandon, I eagerly tipped it again and again and again. The thick string was strummed with greater fury, as the colors reassembled themselves into more dazzling and fantastic wings fluttering over me and drenching me with showers of greens, blues, purples, golden yellows, fiery pinks, . . .

I remember myself next sitting curled up on the couch in a bathrobe with my hands wrapped around a cup of chamomile tea, when Jeannine unlocked the front door and entered.

“Hey,” she said. “How was your walk?”

“What do you think about sunbathing in the nude?” I asked.

“Are you serious?” asked Jeannine. “Someone might see us.” “And tattoos,” I said. “We should get tattoos. There’s a place downtown, next to that bar.”

“Are you crazy?” she said. “I wouldn’t be caught dead in that neighborhood.”

“I want mine to be a rose,” I said. “Yours can be whatever you like.”

“I am not getting a tattoo,” said Jeannine. “And no sunbathing, except in a bikini, of course.”

“I wonder if they’re open on Sundays,” I said.

“Elise!” said Jeannine, “don’t you dare go down there alone!”

“I’m not,” I said. “You’re coming with me.”

“No I’m not!” she said.

“Yes you are,” I said, setting down my cup. “We’re going to go get tattoos put on our butts, Jeannine. Then we’re going to go get drunk and drive down to the lake and sunbathe in the nude. I want to see you naked, Jeannine.”

“Elise Richardson!” said Jeannine, “what have you been drinking this morning, girl?”

“Just tea,” I said, picking up the cup again, “with a little honey, of course.”

“Oh, silly!” she said. “We’re out of honey.”

“I know,” I said. “I substituted something just as sweet. Would you like to try some?”

Jeannine chickened out on the tattoo. Just as well. The tattoo parlor was closed. So was the bar. So I picked up a cheap bottle of Chablis at a convenience store and returned to the apartment. Jeannine was watching TV and refused to share the bottle with me. After sipping a few glasses on my bed, I began to fill heady and decided to flip on the computer. I wanted to find the raunchiest, most decadent porn site on the Internet, preferably one showing women with women. But before I could get going, the inbox was showing me a new message being received. It was from a “lady_grey.” Laurel! Sweet, sweet Laurel! Her subject line read, “under the oak,” and the message read, “they say that there’s nothing more delicious than love in the rain.” It was signed, “TGB,” and the words of the postscript read, “let it pour.”

Suddenly, my heart began to pound mightily in my chest, and my hands shook uncontrollably. I set down the glass and curled up in the chair, staring at the screen. Not since the morning shower had I been so scared to death. It was as though I had been driving recklessly at 100 miles per hour, then had suddenly found myself just 100 feet from the edge of the Grand Canyon. I was almost ready to bale out, to delete the message and let it vanish from memory, when something re-ignited deep inside me. I could feel Laurel’s fingers being chuffed up my pussy again, stinging me, re-intoxicating me. I was breathing heavily, and my whole body was now shaking. I could feel the handle tipping once more, and I was so ready to floor the gas pedal.

“Elise?” said Jeannine from the bedroom door.

I jumped in the chair and frantically tried to cover the screen.

“Sorry about that,” she said. “So what were you looking at anyway?”

“Nothing,” I said. “Just an email.”

“Secret admirer, huh?” she said. “So that’s what had you acting so strange this morning. Anyway, just wanted to let you know I noticed something wrong with the AC earlier. I called Mr. Potter, but he said it’ll have to wait till morning. So I thought we should . . .”

I was staring at the screen, oblivious to what Jeannine was saying. I was still shocked at what had come over me, drinking heavily and thinking of tattoos and porn sites and sex in the rain. Oh, god! Had I actually told Jeannine that I wanted to see her naked? And what had possessed me to flavor my tea with . . .? But it was so wickedly delicious, and I wanted more. I really did want to see Jeannine naked. She looked so delectable standing there in the doorway in her nighty. And I really did want a tattoo, a rose for Laurel’s butterfly to play with. And I wanted more than anything to have delicious sex with Laurel in the rain. Never having had sex before in my life, I wanted it wet and wild and with none other than the Grey Butterfly herself fluttering over my rose as it blossomed in the rain.

So that is how I came to stand in the middle of Fellowship Square at two-thirty in the morning, waiting and watching the branches of the oak sway in the breeze, as the thunder pounded at the door of my brain. And then, it came. I began to feel cool drops on my legs and hands. Next, heavier drops were pelting my shoulder and cheek. Soon I was under assault from the sky, as drops were coming down faster, more numerous, stabbing me like a million darts. My t-shirt and panties were clinging to my skin, as the water streamed down my arms and legs and between my thighs. The branches of the oak swayed wildly, drunk with the new rain. I ran under them and leaned my back against the trunk, then sank down and sat between two huge roots. Sparkling beads covered the lenses of my glasses. I removed the frames, and the world became a blur of shifting lights and shadows. Then, I heard a voice calling my name. Looking up, I saw the blurred image of Laurel standing over me wearing what looked like a leather vest and short denim cutoffs. I stood and threw my arms around her neck. Our lips locked together, and we kissed each other madly, held each other tightly, sheltered each other warmly.

The rain softened. The wind lessened its force. Laurel leaned me against the tree and wiped the hair from my face and smiled.

“I waited all night for you,” she said. “I knew you would come.”

“I want you, Laurel,” I said. “I know I don’t deserve you, but I want you so badly. I’ve wanted you ever since I first met you, but I wasn’t sure of what I was feeling then. You once asked me what I wanted, and now you know.”

“And so you came to the oak,” she said, “to stand in the rain and give yourself to me. I think that deserves something, Elise.”

She unsnapped her vest and spread it open, then she laid my hand within the warm space between her bare breasts. The rapid pulse inside her chest pounded at the floor of my open palm.

“Feel my heart, Elise,” she said. “It beats for you. For you’ve set it free by your coming here tonight and giving yourself to me. And tonight my love, you will sing to me more of your sweet poetry.”

In the shifting shadows of the swaying branches, I felt Laurel’s warm breath on my face as her lips neared mine. I puckered for her, molding my lips to her lips, but soon her sweet tongue had parted the doors of my mouth and was swelling up inside me. I felt the tree trunk hit the back of my head, as she probed more deeply and forcefully. I was unprepared for such wildness and tried pushing her away. But her fingers were all in my hair, and her body was leaning and pressing mine harder against the rough trunk. One of my hands was still trapped with hers between our chests, while the other was clinging desperately to her shoulder. And the longer her tongue played in my mouth, the more I came to relish its taste and feel. Suddenly, she broke away, and we stood there within inches of each other breathing heavily.

“Sing to me, my love! my beautiful!” she said.

Laurel then took my hand and hungrily sucked my fingers one by one. Then she pressed them hard against her breast, rubbing them into the supple flesh and over the stiff nipple.

“I can’t find words to express what I feel right now,” I said, finding it harder to breath again. “Say anything,” said Laurel, “anything that comes into your mind.”

She was sucking and licking my fingers again and moaning. The sensation was sending delicious signals to my brain, electrifying it. Words began to flow from my mouth like the rain water dripping from the branches overhead.

“Sunlight kisses the tips of my petals in the morning,” I said.

Her lips and tongue rolled around in the palm of my hand.

“Through the furrows of my leaves the summer breeze slips.”

She kissed my wrist with a smack, then her lips lightly bounced down my forearm.

“And dew drops trickle down my stem.”

She placed my arms over my head and held them against the trunk, breathing heavily.

“More, Elise,” she grunted. “Tell me more.”

She kissed me again and again, trying to re-energize my lips, as her hands slid down my arms, down my chest and to my waist. She began frantically peeling the soaked t-shirt from my body, lifting it higher and higher. My arms were stretched upward and letting the dripping shirt slip off and away.

“Mmm, the breeze lifts the wings of my leaves high into the air. I feel my petals starting to unfold.”

I laughed uncontrollably, feeling a swelling and a tingling build between my thighs. Laurel then caressed my sides with her fingertips, while sucking on one of my breasts. Little charges followed in the wake of her fingertips along my rib cage. She took the hardened nipple between her teeth and gently tugged on it, then let it go with a snap. I felt a sudden tightening in my belly.

“Aah! Yes! How it tugs at my petals and caresses my stem.”

The tip of her tongue circled the nipple and flicked it rapidly.

“Playing with my sweet bud, coaxing it to open further.”

I felt delirious, not even paying attention to the babble coming from my mouth. Maybe it was the wine, maybe it was the rain. Or maybe it was just Laurel’s mad lovemaking that had me so intoxicated. I squealed as my panties, soaked with more than just rain water, were peeled away from my swollen labia. Laurel kissed my knee, then her lips strolled up my thigh to my hip, my waist, then all over my belly. Her tongue twirled inside my navel, as I played with her slippery hair and pressed her face harder against me.

“The wind bores through my tight petals, trying to force entry.”

Another tightening inside me, but lower than before. Her lips followed it, sucking their way down my belly, over the wet patch, then trying to wiggle between my thighs. I lifted a leg for her, and her mouth was all over my pussy, sucking it, licking it, pressing through and spreading the labia. My head hit the trunk, when her lips pushed back the fleshy curtain and found the exposed and highly sensitive knob. Words then became useless. All I could respond with were deep moans and breathy squeals. My fingers were pulling my hair and clawing at the tree bark. I felt a raging fire burning inside me.

The rain continued to come down in a steady stream. The thunder rolled away into the east. The wind blew less. My body shuddered as the electric buzz shot through me. When I felt like I could take no more, Laurel released me with a suddenness, and I slid down the bumpy bark. In the darkness at the base of the oak, I sank naked into the soft mud and puddled water, oblivious to the filth of it. Laurel stood over me, silhouetted against the distant street lights. I heard the snap and zip of her shorts, then saw them drop to her ankles. She then placed her legs on either side of me and, holding onto the trunk, lowered herself close to my face. My fingers quickly slid over my slick and sensitized labia and softly touched the exposed live wire of my clitoris.

I tilted my head back and parted my lips. I felt like a baby bird ready to be fed for the first time. Her warm scent enveloped my face, as I stretched out my tongue in anticipation. And there they were, her inner labia hanging just within reach of my tongue. It was so incredible to finally taste them. I licked the sweet drops that dangled from her honeycomb, while rubbing my own more vigorously. Sitting up, I ran my mouth all over it, slurping and swallowing. The taste of her mingling with that of the rain was sensational. And her moaning excited me even more. I ran my tongue inside her, and the deeper I probed, the louder she moaned. The power I had over her was thrilling. I grabbed her thighs and pulled myself up to devour more of her sweet orifice. I dug my fingers into the soft flesh of her buttocks, as her hips gyrated, smearing my face with more of her stickiness. The harder I lapped and sucked, the more seemed to come out of her, trickling down my chin and neck.

The protrusion of her hardened clitoris had just penetrated my lips, when Laurel cried out and her body jolted suddenly, causing her to lose her grip on the tree. She slipped from my hands and fell backward, sliding across the wet and muddy ground. I knew her most sensitive spot had been just within my grasp, and I was not ready to let it go just yet. I scrambled to crawl between her arched legs again, but my feet slipped and I slid sideways in the mud. Before I knew it, she had me pinned down on my back. Her dark figure was kneeling over me, just as I had imagined it in the shower.

“Now my darling, it’s your turn,” she said.

We playful fought with each other in the mud. I was giddy with delight at the contest, but felt helpless to free myself from her hold. She inserted one of her knees between my thighs, while her hand attacked my pussy and started rubbing hard against the fleshy labia. She then arched two fingers and sank them deep into my burning hole. My muscles uncontrollably flinched and clinched her invading fingers. She rapidly stroked the inner lining as if stirring thick syrup, while the tip of her thumb ground against my tender tusk. I screamed with pleasure, submitting to the sweet torture, but I would not give up so easily. I fought back, my hand groping up her thigh in search of her own soft fleshy mound. When my fingers dug into that sopping treasure chest, she screamed as well and arched her back. Bucking her hips against my probing fingers and trapping both our hands in between, she churned her fingers inside me with increased vigor.

A flash of lightning, a crack of thunder. Another blinding flash and another ear-splitting explosion. We rocked each other in the mud, grunting and groaning like animals, more rain pouring down over us, heavier rain. The sky seemed to be draining itself of every last drop. We rolled in the mud, out fingers working frantically together, each of us battling with the other, determined not to release her hold until the other gave. And did it ever. My string was strummed to the breaking point and begin whipping my insides, throwing everything it could at Laurel’s ravenous fingers. I felt my own fingers being squeezed tightly as her warm juices overflowed them. When she finally collapsed on top of me, we both laid there letting the rain wash over us. Soon it slackened as the sky was finally being drained of its strength. After much panting and many rapid heart beats, Laurel pulled her fingers out of my aching pussy and brought them to my open mouth, inserting them. I sucked on them greedily. She then brought my hand to her mouth and sucked and licked it hungrily. Finally, our lips locked together and our tongues lashed at each other, mingling the taste of our shared sex.

There was another flash of light, but this one lingered. I opened my eyes to see a blinding light enveloping Laurel’s and mine’s naked figures. I squinted at it and heard what sounded like a voice on a radio. Then a man’s voice behind the brightness.

“Holy shit!” he said.

“Come again, 18,” the voice on the radio said.

“10-4, Central,” he said. “Looks like we’ve got a couple of dykes screwing under the tree out here. O.K. you two, get your clothes on. We’re going over to the station.”