Hummingbird Rose Ch. 01

For Rose Colibrì, it begins with a riddle.

Rose encounters the riddle one Sunday morning at an outdoor farmer's market she frequents. A piece of jewelry catches her eye. It's dazzling, a black rose inside a Celtic knot inset with three tiny red stones

The stall she's stopped at has a banner declaring itself "Madame Gémeaux's New Age Jewelry." Necklaces, bracelets, and earrings are on display. Incense burns in the corner, its acrid scent tickling Rose's nostrils.

Signs arrayed in front of the jewelry describe assorted benefits the various designs allegedly bestow. Some help you heal, apparently. Others, they claim, boost confidence or promote patience.

The black rose pendant is part of the assortment labeled "Erotic Energy." Rose smirks. Of course.

"That one has special meaning," an old woman with long gray hair standing behind the table says.

"And what's that?" Rose asks.

"That symbol is the rós na draíochta. The magic rose."

Rose raises an eyebrow. "Magic?"

Madame Gémeaux--Rose assumes that's who it is--glances from side to side and leans forward. "It is an ancient symbol, sacred among the Celts thousands of years ago. It bestows certain unique benefits."

"Is that so?"

Madame Gémeaux lowers her voice to a whisper. "Its owner is granted their deepest erotic desires."

A string of sarcastic remarks pop into Rose's head, but she resists them. Her biting wit, her soon-to-be-ex insists, is one of the reasons for their impending divorce. "Deepest desires, you say?"

Madame Gémeaux nods gravely. "So it is said. But only if you know the riddle of the magic rose."

Do people fall for this? "I'll bite. What's the riddle?"

"The riddle is 'what is the magic rose'? If you solve it, you unleash its power."

Whatever. Rose returns to studying the pendant. Silly sales pitch or not, it's a gorgeous piece and matches her style. There's also the affinity she has for roses.

"How much?" Rose asks.

"One hundred and fifty," Madame Gémeaux says.

Why not? It's a reasonable price, especially considering the sex magic included. You'd think people would pay more for getting to realize all their fantasies, though. One hundred and sixty bucks, at least.

"I'll take it."

Rose pays for the pendant and sticks it in her purse. She browses a few more stalls. One sells artisanal cheeses, another fresh flowers. A younger guy selling gourmet mushrooms can't take his eyes off her as she browses.

It never fails. Rose estimates a tenth of men prefer big girls like her. Maybe less, maybe more.

When it comes to those guys who do, though, she knows what she represents. She's their physical ideal, her size twenty-six curves driving them mad. She has everything the admirer of larger ladies can ask for: Beautiful face, huge tits, round belly, fat ass, and soft, plump thighs. Five feet five inches of pure BBW sex appeal.

Rose wanders into a stall selling locally made jams and jellies. She picks up a jar, examining it.

A man standing nearby looks in her direction. She glances at him, his head turning away. Another one, huh? I should stop by this market more often.

Hadn't she seen him earlier? She'd noticed him looking her way when she first got to the market.

Rose glances his way again. He's a cute one, that's for sure. Classic features and light brown hair worn closely cropped. In his forties, she guesses, but youthful. Slim. Average height, but his upright bearing makes him seem taller.

He looks familiar.

He glances her way again, this time smiling. He approaches her. "It's Rose, isn't it?"

This is a nice turn of events. "We've met, I take it?"

"Jason and Rachel's party."

Of course. It all falls into place. The party was nearly a year ago. They talked for at least a half hour, laughing and vibing. Rose found him handsome and definitely felt a spark between them. But he was there with someone else.

"Patrick," Rose says. "The pilot, right?"

A wide, charming grin crosses his face. "That's me."

God, that smile. What a gorgeous man. "What've you been up to?"

"The usual," he says. "You know. Work, life, all that. Yourself?"

"I've been well," she says. "How's Diane?"

"I hear she's well," he says. "She moved to Chicago a few months back."

Did she? How interesting. "Oh. Sorry to hear that."

"These things happen," he says.

They step outside the stall. A litany of small talk topics commence. Their mutual friends, the weather, how awesome the farmers market is. Rose doesn't care about any of it.

Rose looks into his gunmetal gray eyes, somehow both smoldering and bright. She gives him another minute to ask her out or she'll make a move herself.

"You know," he says. "It's funny I ran into you."

Is this the wind up? "How's that?"

"I was talking to Jason a few weeks ago and asked about you."

"And what did he have to say?"

"He mentioned your divorce was being finalized," Patrick says.

"Yeah, there's that," Rose says. "Time to start the next chapter in my life, and all."

"That's the right attitude," he says. "Say, are you in a rush? There's a stall here with amazing coffee."

"I'd love to," Rose says. "But I'm meeting my mom for lunch."

He hides his disappointment well. "Some other time."

Rose isn't about to let this one get away. Not this time.

"You know what?" she says. "Let's make a point of getting together another time. Do you have your phone on you? Let me give you my number."

Patrick's face brightens. They exchange numbers and go their separate ways. There's a new spring in her step as she heads back to her car.

She doesn't need to turn around to know he's checking out her ass.

***

Olive's Cafe. An offbeat place serving soups, salads, sandwiches, and assorted coffee drinks. Lots of bright, eclectic art on the walls and the waitresses tend to have pink hair and lots of piercings. Rose's kind of place.

That's one reason she chose it for her lunch date with Patrick. Plus, it's five minutes from her house and she knows everyone there. Home turf.

She parks her Outback and checks her makeup in the mirror one last time. She takes a deep breath.

Why the hell is she so nervous? She's done a few guys while her divorce went through the courts. There's Eric, too, whom she's been fucking regularly. Nothing serious, though.

Except now she's officially divorced. Free to date whomever and however. That's it. This is a date, not a hook-up. Maybe leading to other dates. Emotional attachment.

She makes a decision. There will be no warm, fuzzy feelings. No starry-eyed emotions. Friendship and fun? Fine. But nothing more.

Time to dive in. Rose walks towards the cafe. It's a workday and she's dressed conservatively. Lemon yellow sweater with a white blouse underneath. Black leggings and boots. All chosen to highlight her abundant assets in the best light.

Horn-rimmed glasses matching her sweater, multiple earrings per ear, and a stud nose ring complete the tableaux. Her tattoos are covered. Patrick saw her arm ink at the farmer's market, though, so he's cool with it.

The aroma of fresh coffee hits her nostrils as she enters. Patrick waits at a nearby table.

He stands. His appreciation of her is unmistakable. It's always the same, no matter the BBW admirer. They can't hide it. The hunger in their eyes and the way their gaze locks-in gives it away. Every time.

Patrick mentioned on the phone the other day he was turning fifty next year. Seeing him, it's hard to believe. He looks much younger. His trim physique helps. So does the boyish face and the vigorous aura he projects.

He offers his hand. "Hello, Rose."

"Hello, you." She kisses him on the cheek instead--a last second impulse which surprises them both--then a quick hug. Her soft curves press against his hard frame for a brief moment. How nice.

They sit and talk about trivialities. Traffic on the way over. The mild weather. The cafe itself.

A waitress Rose knows comes over. She makes eye contact with Rose, grinning and tilting her head towards Patrick.

Rose gives her a smirk. Alison may be twenty, skinny, and turned-on by how hot Patrick is, but too bad for her. He's with Rose.

They order. A Greek salad for Rose and a beet burger for Patrick.

More small talk. Rose hates small talk. It's all part of the ritual, though. The pre-flirting. The bullshit before you see if anything's there.

Patrick moves on to the main event. "I have to say, you look fantastic today."

Standard enough line, but at least it's begun. "Thanks. You're not so bad yourself."

The poor man. He's hooked. She can tell by the silent intensity in the way he looks at her.

She feigns shyness, brushing a stray black lock of black hair from her blue eyes. She throws him a playful glance.

"I mean it," he says. "You're a striking woman. I hope that's not too forward."

He has balls. Good. "Not at all."

"But you already knew that, didn't you?" he says.

Damn right. "Tell me more about you."

"What would you like to know?" he says.

"How about your navy career? How long did you say you were in?"

"Twenty three years."

"That's where you learned to fly?" she says.

"NAS Command. Pensacola, Florida. Fun times."

She plays with the straw in her water, twirling it around. "What's it like, flying a plane?"

"Gosh. How to describe it? It's a thrill which never gets old, you could say."

A thrill which never gets old? I can think of something else like that. "And now you work for a flight school."

"I own the flight school."

"Impressive. What made you decide to open it? Why not fly for an airline?"

"Better work-life balance," he says.

Good answer. Conveys he's not a workaholic. "That's important."

"It was also a perfect business opportunity," he says. "I bought an existing school."

"That's great."

Rose sips water through her straw. Patrick glances at her hands.

"What?" Rose asks.

"Your nail polish matches your sweater. And your glasses."

"Oh, these." She holds up her fingers, wiggling them. "I like to be coordinated."

"It looks great." His brow furrows.

"But?" Rose asks.

"Do you usually wear yellow, to coordinate with your glasses?"

She laughs. "No, I just own a lot of eyeglasses."

His face lights up. "You do?"

Rose nods. "Over a hundred."

"For real?"

"Every color of the rainbow," she says. "Antique glasses going back to the fifties, you name it. I've painted dozens of frames to match my outfits. Like these."

"That's a unique hobby," he says.

Wait till you discover my other interests. She leans forward, lowering her voice. "But do you want to know the strange part?"

He looks into her eyes. "Absolutely I do."

My god his eyes are gorgeous. "I have perfect eyesight."

His eyebrows go up. "Really?"

"I like eyeglasses," she says. "The lenses are all clear glass so they don't cost much and they're a wonderful accessory."

"Since you shared, can I tell you a secret?"

Yes, please. Is it a kinky secret? Let it be a kinky secret. "Of course."

"I've got a thing for girls in glasses."

Is that a kink? I guess it depends on how far one takes it. "Then you're in luck. One of the things I've in abundance are glasses."

"This interest in eyeglasses," he says. "Is that why you became an optometrist?"

"Merely a happy coincidence," Rose says.

"Do you like it?"

"What's not to like?" she says. "Good money, low stress."

"That's a winning combination," he says.

"I enjoy it, too."

Rose notices Patrick glancing at her chest, trying not to be obvious about it. Guys are all the same. At least, in Rose's experience, the ones into fat chicks. They love Rose's soft shoulders and arms. They really love her thick thighs and round, bountiful ass.

But what always grabs them--Patrick no exception, evidently--are her tits. Her showstoppers, she calls them. Her 38H gals.

"The hours aren't bad, either," Rose says.

"What?" Patrick says.

Yup, all the same. "My job. I said the hours are good."

"Right."

He's putty in my hands. "No appointments before nine. I put my daughter on the bus at eight-thirty and head to work."

"That sounds nice."

The waitress arrives with their food. Conversation pauses as the dishes are placed in front of them. She gives Rose another approving look.

"I inherited the practice, actually." Rose says. "It was my dad's."

"Was it?"

Rose picks up her fork and spears a piece of salad. "I was reluctant at first. I didn't want to be my dad's employee for half my life."

"That's understandable."

"I was considering medical school at the time," Rose says. "But my heart wasn't in it."

"So you went with optometry," Patrick says.

"You know," Rose says. "Better work-life balance."

Patrick nods. "I've heard that's important."

"In the end," Rose says. "He made me an offer I couldn't refuse. Go to optometry school followed by five years working in the practice with him, learning the ropes. Then buy him out and take over. "

"You can't beat that deal," Rose says.

"He lives in Colorado now," she says. "Hiking in the mountains and smoking tons of legal weed with his sculptor girlfriend."

"Good for him. And you, too, all set up in your own practice."

"It's a big responsibility. People's vision is in your hands."

"I can imagine." He picks up his burger. "Vision health is crucial in my field."

"That's why it's not boring." Rose eats a forkful of salad. "Boring's decidedly not my thing."

"I bet." He takes a bite of his burger.

You've no idea. "You're not boring, are you?"

He finishes chewing. "I hope not."

"You're a pilot," she says. "Zipping through the clouds is the antithesis of boring, isn't it?"

"I don't know about that," he says. "But I've never been bored in the cockpit. There's always an ambient danger lurking in the background, waiting to screw you if you let your guard down."

Never bored in the cockpit, huh? Rose resists the lure of her juvenile sense of humor, stifling a dozen possible puns.

Patrick eats a French fry. "I'd love to take you up sometimes."

Rose can't resist. "Take me up?" she says, feigning offense. "Is that some sort of euphemism?"

"In my plane," Patrick stammers. "Take you up in my plane."

I'm such a bitch. "I know." She plucks a fry off his plate and bites it. "I like to tease."

"I might've known," Patrick says. "You're funny."

Go for it. Dive in. Go full Joe Pesci. "I'm funny, how? I mean, I'm funny like a clown? Like I amuse you?"

Patrick laughs. Hearty, genuine laughter. "Holy shit. That's spot-on."

Not threatened by a funny woman. Key hurtle passed. "I've been known to crack a joke. Some say I have a sarcastic streak."

"Do they?" He raises an eyebrow. "I can't imagine why."

Their eyes meet. Rose forks an olive and a bit of feta.

This is a good start.

***

Rose heads back to work after lunch. Four eye exams to tackle this afternoon.

Her practice is at one end of a strip mall, a Starbucks at the other. Chinese food, pizza, and the Pink Turtle brewery in between.

Rose makes sure to walk past the brewery. The front is all glass, its sliding doors open when the weather's nice.

Rose pauses. Violet's inside, helping customers at the counter pick out beers. The bright pink neon sign in the shape of a turtle blazes above her. She sees Rose and raises an eyebrow in inquiry.

Rose tilts her head and smiles as she passes

Violet pops her head into Rose's office five minutes later. "Well?"

Rose turns towards her. "What's that?"

Violet grins and Rose's heart skips a beat. She's a fellow BBW a few years younger than Rose. A redhead with beguiling green eyes, a round ass, and large tits. A constant reminder of Rose's bisexuality.

"You know damn well what," Violet says. "How'd it go?"

Rose grins. "Great."

Violet sits across from her. "I knew it. You're seeing him again, I take it?"

"Friday."

"Not wasting any time."

"Alan's week with Gina starts at six, so I might as well jump in," Rose says. "You know, free at last."

"Free at last? Your divorce has been final, for what--"

Rose glances at the clock. "Almost twenty four hours."

"Twenty-four hours," Violet says.

"Why waste time?"

Violet rolls her eyes. Looking adorable doing so.

How great would it be to kiss her? Rose pictures it, girl on girl making-out. Shutting the door and getting naked. Their curvy bodies pressing against each other. Fingering each other's pussies and licking each other's clits. BBW on BBW fun all afternoon. Alas.

"You go, girl," Violet says. "Go with the flow."

"Don't I always?"

***

Friday evening. Rose is optimistic. Horny as hell, too.

Not a little horny. That's easy. Lock the bedroom door. Take out the lube and the vibrator. Problem solved.

No. This is a whole other level of horny.

Peak horny. In heat horny. Need to get fucked ten times in a row or she'll go crazy horny.

Better do this right. Rose goes bold with her outfit. A shoulderless red dress with white polka dots showcasing her assets. Matched with a white shawl covering most of her upper arm tats.

Rose finishes her makeup, going darker than at work. Time to wow Patrick. Drive the poor guy out of his mind.

She scans her collection of eyeglasses. They're organized in the drawer according to color and style. She shakes her head, opening a second draw. A third.

There's the one. A bright blue, horn-rimmed pair. The perfect contrast to her dress.

Something's missing. Her eyes fall upon the pendant sitting on the counter. She holds it up, watching the fake rubies flicker. Why not?

She puts it on. Magical nonsense or not, it's the missing piece in her ensemble.

Rose summons an Uber and heads downstairs. Her phone buzzes. It's a text from Eric. How long has it been since their last hook-up? A month already? It feels like only last week.

Eric. Tall, blonde, nerdy. Sweet guy, too. Rose loves being around him. She can be her geeky self without feeling self-conscious.

"Hey," the text reads. "Turns out I'm going to be in town this weekend. Mid-afternoon work meeting. Would love to see you."

Rose frowns. Eric's a full-time podcaster. Who knew meetings were even part of the job, especially on a Saturday?

They text back and forth, making plans. Eric will come by lunchtime tomorrow. He'll go to his meeting, they'll have dinner at Rose's, and he'll stay over.

Excellent. Eric's guaranteed tomorrow, even if tonight doesn't work out. If things do go the way she hopes, though, she's hit the jackpot. Patrick tonight, Eric tomorrow. What could be better? How about Eric and Patrick nailing her at the same time?

Yes! That'd be something, wouldn't it? Rose kneeling between them, sucking them each off in turn. Getting spitroasted. Riding one while sucking off the other. So many possibilities.

Rose feels flush, fingering her pendant absent-mindedly. Damn.

***

Rose arrives at Osteria Roma a few minutes late. Patrick is in the waiting area by the hostess station.

"Sorry," she says.

"I just got here myself." He gives her a quick kiss on the cheek. "You look amazing."

Rose casts him a playful grin. "You're looking pretty good yourself, Flyboy."

"Flyboy? Is that my nickname?"

"Nah," Rose says. "Too obvious. We'll have to find something else."

"I'm sure you'll come up with something," he says.

The hostess leads them to their table. A pair of good-looking guys at the bar watch her with unconcealed yearning as she saunters by. Some other time, boys.