A Rose for Laurel

I quickly turned my head and shut my eyes tightly. I felt Laurel’s hand on my shoulder, her fingers gripping the flesh.

The campus security officer was kind enough to lend us blankets to wrap ourselves in, as we sat in the back of the patrol car. I remember sitting later in a chair in the station holding a cup of coffee between my hands and hearing Laurel argue with the desk sergeant. But I remember little else of the next couple of hours, except for my constant staring into the blackness of the liquid and Laurel’s persistent arguing against the charges: trespassing, indecent exposure, and possibly illicit behavior with a juvenile. I knew I had no proof of age with me, but we were fortunate when an officer coming in for duty said he recognized me as being an upperclassman, as well as an honor student.

Laurel then phoned her attorney who was not too pleased to see us when he arrived. The trespass charge was quickly dropped, when it was reasoned that we were members of the campus community, and the Square was open to us as such. As for indecent exposure, the attorney held up my academic standing, as well as Laurel’s professional reputation, as worth preserving. The arresting officer was finally persuaded to relent, and we were told that we were free to go, but with a reprimand.

“And for gosh sakes, ladies,” said the sergeant, “keep it indoors, will ya?”

Laurel then sat down next to me and placed her hand on my shoulder.

“They’re letting us go, Elise,” she said.

“You can go now, young lady,” said the sergeant.

I felt myself unable to move, frozen to the chair, with all those eyes staring at me. My own eyes stayed fixed on the cold and bitter blackness inside the cup I was holding. But Laurel took the cup from my hands and set it aside. Then she leaned toward me and whispered in my ear.

“You fought gallantly in the mud, my dear. I knew you had it in you. Now, let’s walk out of here with our heads held high and big smiles on our faces.”

I stared into Laurel’s smiling gray eyes and felt a warmth building inside myself.

“And remember, Elise,” she said, “don’t give them what they want, only what they deserve.”

The candle that had been lit briefly several weeks before was now burning brightly again in my mind and heart. As I took Laurel’s hand, we stood up together and threw the blankets off our mud-stained bodies. We walked out of the station hand in hand, and I mean hand in hand, together, beaming bright smiles at everyone we passed.

The attorney drove us to where Laurel’s car was parked. Then the two of us rode together to her house, where we took a much needed, and much deserved, warm shower, together. Then we collapsed naked onto her bed, wrapped in each other’s arms. When I awoke, it must have been late afternoon. The sun was shining through the window near the foot of the bed, and I felt a warm and tingling sensation in my vagina. Lifting myself up, I saw Laurel’s blond hair ablaze with a golden light between my thighs. She looked up and smiled at me, the sunlight forming a halo around her head. I thought I saw huge colorful wings attached to her back and rising up behind her.

“Well, a butterfly must have her nectar,” she said, “shouldn’t she?”

I laughed as I laid my head back down, then I let Laurel’s tongue and lips bring me to one sweet orgasm after another.

“So,” you might ask, “is that it? Is that how the story ends?”

But you must understand, the story did not end there. It was only just beginning. For you see, Central was a small university, spanning little more than two or three blocks of Willingsport. So by the end of the first week of the Fall semester, the rumors and the gossip had spread from one end of campus to the other. Guys who would normally flirt with me, shunned me and made lewd remarks behind my back. Girls snickered and gave me disgusted looks. But I let it all slide off me like water off a duck’s butt, as Laurel would say.

Laurel’s next concert tour began the third week of the semester. I had begged to go with her, but she had insisted that I instead attend to my studies. She had given me a key to her house and had said that I could move into the spare bedroom anytime I wanted. However, she hoped that when she returned, I would be more inclined to share her bed. She had also given me the key to her studio, told me to pick several scores from the steamer trunk, and that we would work on them together when she returned.

During the next few weeks, I began to lose friends whom I had known for years. But I did not wait for Jeannine to ask me to leave. I had my car loaded and was ready to go, when she came out of the apartment to say goodbye.

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” she said. “I mean, I can live with it, with the fact that you’re . . .”

“Jeannine,” I said, taking her hands in mine, “you’ve been a great roommate and friend, but it’s time for me to move on.”

I hugged her, then planted a quick kiss right on her lips, like that first one Laurel had given me that morning in early June. She just stood there with a stunned look on her face, which I could not understand. After all, a pretty girl like her deserved to be kissed. Sure, I was losing some friends, but I was soon gaining some new ones as well, a few of which who stayed close for many years. And even though two of them offered me the thrilling temptation of joining them in a threesome, I decided instead to remain true to Laurel.

I was standing in the doorway of her house wearing a bathrobe, when she drove up that morning in late September. She quickly came up the walkway wearing a straw hat and sunglasses, and a t-shirt under denim overalls. She took me in her arms, then gave me a kiss like never before. After we brought in her things, we were standing in the bedroom, and she began pulling the straps of the overalls off her shoulders with one hand, while pulling me toward the bed with the other. I played shy, but with a smile I could not hide.

“What is it?” she asked, letting the overalls crumple to her feet.

“I have something for you,” I said. “A little surprise.”

“A gift?” she said. “For me? Well, where is it?”

“Well, you’re suppose to unwrap it first,” I said, waving the strap of my bathrobe at her.

She grabbed the strap and yanked it completely from around my waist. As the robe fell open, I lifted my leg and propped it on the bed with a big grin on my face. Laurel gasped, then laughed with delight upon seeing the inner thigh.

“Why, Elise!” she said. “You do like butterflies.”

And there it was, and still is to this day:

A rose. So sweet and delicate, yet so very passionate. Soft petals etched close to the skin, light shades of pink peeping through the flaps of the robe with a secret meant only for one. A rose, so passionate, slipped between Laurel’s naked thighs and kissed the butterfly good morning.