My Rose Does Bloom Ch. 04

Author notes

This chapter continues Millie's romp through life with a nice over the top wedding fantasy that I hope you enjoy. I added a few paragraphs to backtrack for anyone jumping into the story at this juncture, but you may want to read the prologue and initial chapters to get a sense of the story. I've also created a character list so you can keep up with the main players.

Millie- An 18-year-old high school senior who is talented in writing and art. She falls in love with Rose at first sight, but is uncontrollably attracted to women after accepting she is a lesbian. Rose calls her Lancelot, knight in shining armor and Sherlock Holmes.

Rose- A stunning Latina with captivating dark eyes and a low opinion of herself. She has a learning disability, but inner strength and brilliance that Millie loves. Millie calls her Watson, Cheesecakes and Guinevere.

Ms. Jensen- An attractive fortyish woman with a pronounced limp. She is a caring teacher who desires for both girls to be successful. She serves as Millie's mentor.

Trisha- A sexy senior who oozes sensuality.

Vivian- A lithe punkish cheerleader who tries to seduce Millie.

Becka- Millie's three year old little sister.

Millie's father- A bastard who wants to have sex with his daughter.

Millie's mother- A drunken woman who cares little for her daughters.

Johnnie- A gang member who initially is Rose's boyfriend.

Puppet- Johnnie's younger brother. He is a follower and troublemaker.

Albert- A high school jock.

Eunice- Ms. Jensen's now senile lover.

nofaceinthemirror

*******

Chapter 4

After school let out on the day I had sex with Trisha, I absentmindedly wandered through the halls to find Rose and apologize. Being one not to believe in love at first sight, I cynically questioned what was happening to me. These feelings for Rose were so rich and new that I welled with a few tears. How could I stupidly fall in love so quickly with a girl I barely knew? At some point, I'd have incredible pain over falling for her because things like this didn't happen to a girl like me. Surely, I would fuck this up like I fuck everything up. But I did love her, of this I was certain. This was insane, what was happening to me? My feelings of wanting and loving her were too overpowering.

I passed a few richy-type girls who snickered when I walked by. Over the years, I became used to the Northside girls and their upturned noses at those of us who didn't wear the latest name brands or designer shoes. Jeez, I felt lucky to get a new pair of tennis shoes and was rather proud of my K-Mart specials. They were smart looking, with some cool frogs and butterflies. To hell with them if they didn't like my style. The bitches viewed our high school as their own little kingdom, falsely ruling with wicked smiles, expensive perfumes and cruel hearts. They reminded me of chilled milk when opened quickly to quench thirst. Initially tempting, then putrid as you swallow a huge gulp and discover it's sour .

Passing the gym, I noticed Albert and some of the jocks putting on their cool for a racially mixed group of cheerleaders painting posters in the bleachers for one of the last games of the basketball season. Eight girls in all, with a couple of hot Latina's, an Asian who made my mouth water, even a girl from the Middle East with bushy eyebrows and a super sexy body all worked diligently on the project. Of course, there were the obligatory bitches, who seemingly ruled the squad. They stood around smacking on their gum and talking on cell phones. Three of the four richies sported various shades of dyed blonde, except one beauty with purple streaks in her red hair, several tattoos and a nose piercing. That one turned me on, and she checked out my ass as I walked by them to my little hiding place on the opposite side of the gym.

Most of the Northside cheerleaders had surgically fine tuned titties, noses and teeth, along with the best fragrances and makeup. The one with the red hair wasn't surgically fine tuned, not that she needed it. Small breasts, thin athletic frame and tall, she was a very pretty girl in a punkish sort of way, and I loved the thought of her pierced tongue eating my pussy. I wondered what other parts of her anatomy might be pierced. Little did I know at that time that I would find out exactly what parts were pierced. I despised them all, loved them all, wanted to kick their asses and fuck them at the same time, especially the babe with the red hair.

Albert saw me and gave me a funny look, then he walked over to me making sure he was out of earshot of his buddies and said in a somewhat embarrassed tone, "Millie, I was a shit to that girl. Just wanted to say I was sorry about that. Sometimes I'm an asshole."

I wanted to ask him, 'Sometimes?' Why was it when guys, and girls for that matter, were around their buddies they had to act like shits? Why couldn't they be just be as they were and leave good enough alone. Albert was an okay guy, he was just easily influenced.

"Don't think anything of it Albert. I wasn't exactly very ladylike in the class either. I just felt sorry for her, everybody was giving her such a hard time."

"Yah, but you won't mention what Ms. Jensen did will ya?"

His real reason for talking to me suddenly became evident and I snapped back, "Will you get your friends to leave Rose alone?"

"Blackmail?"

I smiled, "No, just a little leverage to keep the assholes at bay."

"Including me?"

"You said it Albert."

He grinned, "I can be an asshole Millie, but I can also be a friend. I'll see that she isn't messed with any more." We were both silent for a few seconds then he asked, " So how about the game, you going?"

"I might, you asking?"

He looked surprised by the question and said, "N-No, but maybe sometime we could get a coffee or something, that is if you wanted to." He looked down to the ground, his face as cute as a little puppy dog. Albert was kinda cute, but guys, they just didn't do it for me.

"Me?" I responded. "You're slumming today. Northsider seen with Southside trash. What about your rep?"

"Well, it's just . . ." Then two of his friends approached us, and he quickly changed his tune whispering, "Ah fuck it all. Just keep it between us, okay?"

"Keep what between us," I played dumb as the boys came to his side.

He looked at me, begging with his eyes for my silence. I complied and decided to help him out. "Oh that, okay, just return it to me in the morning." I reached in my backpack and took out my algebra assignment and gave it to him.

"Thanks Millie," he said sincerely. Then the three walked away and I overheard him saying,

"She's hot for me."

I grinned and thought, Once an asshole . . .

The gym had a quiet corner that I often hid in to kill some time until Becka arrived at home. I hated going home, dad would already be drunk and mom stoned. Becka didn't get home until after dark, so I was safe for awhile. Sitting down in a chair in a small niche hidden by the bleacher, I pulled out a copy of Metamorphosis, by Franz Kafka and started reading.

Surprisingly, the red haired girl came and found me in my spot and I became a little flustered. She was a gorgeous girl, and I felt a little intimidated by her height and exciting body. "Hey Millie," she said, further frustrating me because she knew my name, "how was P.E. today? Tricia told me that you two got in a good shower." She grinned knowingly, bringing a reddish flush to my face.

"Uhm-yes, we pretty much lost the game though," I clumsily answered.

She stood right in front of me, and I could sense she might be interested in more than just P.E. Her hand purposely lifted her skirt up just enough to give me a good view of her white cotton panties. Moving the crotch of the sheer garment to the side, she revealed her pussy which had a small oval piercing in her protruding lips. She was moist and glistening, and I was too shocked for words.

Putting her foot right on the edge of the chair and placing her pussy within inches of my open mouth, she said, "Her loss could be your gain sweetie," Then her hand started rubbing her labium, and she sighed, "Her loss."

I tried to back away, but was trapped in the chair in my little hidey hole and had no place to go. The sight and smell of her pussy was killing me, and I was becoming insatiably aroused. She slowly masturbated so close to my mouth that I could smell and taste her pussy. I fought uselessly to prevent an emotional response, but to no avail. I wanted her for sex as bad as I wanted Trisha only earlier that same day. It was only for sex, because I knew who I loved. No, I tried to rationalize, Rose, I love Rose. However, it was futile. I wanted to taste this tempting woman.

Then she moved in close, removed her fingers and put them to my lips and whispered seductively in my ear, "I'd advise you to stay away from the coach, she gets a little possessive of her girls. My names Vivian, and Tricia and I go back to middle school. "Now open your mouth a little bit and have a taste of what you can get."

Completely mesmerized, I opened my mouth, and then Vivian stroked my tongue with her finger. "Mmm, that's a good girl . . . Trisha's good, don't get me wrong. But you have no idea what I could do for you, the orgasms you would have would be thrilling. And if you like a little pain, I could help you out with that. Let me see your hand." Not giving me a chance to respond, Vivian took my hand, turned it over and wrote something with a pen. Then she checked to make sure no one was coming and whispered in my ear again, "I wanna fuck you. Tricia said you were the best fuck she ever had, and she's fucked me, so I know you're good. I like 'em submissive and cute, and you are cute and small, maybe just a bit submissive. Give me a call on my cell."

Then she went back to her group, turning once and mouthing, "Call me." Vivian joined her friends seemingly without a care in the world, smacking her gum, never missing a beat, and leaving me breathlessly hot for her. She could have made me do anything at that moment, and I would have. The girl knew what she was doing.

I immediately left the gym a little shaky, wondering what Vivian meant by 'submissive and cute.' Hoping that word of my indiscretion wasn't all over the school, I thought, What if Rose found out? Jeez, did I even care at that moment? I would certainly lose my shot at her, was she even a lesbian? Turning my hand over to look, I saw flowery script that read, our little secret, 490-555-0701, Kisses. I knew I should erase that number immediately, but for some reason I couldn't.

Trish opened my Pandora's Box, and every girl I saw was making me horny. It was very difficult to keep my focus on Rose, my need for sex with women was suddenly so consuming. I had to purposely calm myself several times as more guilt ravaged my heart. Girls, the way they moved, laughed, looked, smelled; everything about them turned me on like a rabbit in heat. It wasn't just the girls, some of the female teachers were getting me hot and bothered also, especially my thoughts of one teacher, and I couldn't figure out why because she gave me no indication of anything but pure interest in my welfare. Ms. Jensen was old enough to be my mother. Inexplicably, I ended up in front of the door to her room.

The fortyish teacher with a pronounced limp infused me with an insane desire for hope, something I don't ever remember having before. In my confusion regarding my recent sexual exploits with Trisha, Becka's future, and my newly found love of Rose, I needed someone to trust. I held a remote wish that somehow, someway, Ms. Jensen was to be this confidant, my Sophia, to teach me of the feminine mystique, providing the light from my darkened tunnel and purging my religious albatross. There were always quiet whispers about her, rumors that she was a lesbian, not ever being married or even dating. I wanted her to be a lesbian, because then she would understand.

Still unable to come to terms with the fact of how I'd completely fallen in love with Rose after only one day. I wanted to talk to Ms. Jensen about love. Rose was my Dr. Watson, my Guinevere, and my Cheesecakes . . . delicious, a little bumbling and beautiful, with large breasts, thick body and beautiful soulful eyes that made me melt. In my adolescent fantasies, I wanted to dress in a tuxedo, get down on my knee and ask her to marry me. But to be honest, as horny as I was I just about wanted to fuck anything that walked at that moment . I was losing control and fast. Was my love for Rose strong enough to keep me away from these lascivious desires for any cute female I saw?

As I peeked through the window of Ms. Jensen's door to check to see if she was alone, I was astounded to see Rose at the chalkboard working out an algebra problem. Ms. Jensen was close behind her, intimately close, with her hand casually on Rose's waist. The two focused with intensity, immune to their surroundings and deep in concentration. Rose seemed to get frustrated, but Ms. Jensen demonstrated a solution to a complex problem time and time again in several unconventional manners.

I watched for perhaps five minutes, neither of the women noticing. Then something clicked in Rose, and like a child learning to walk, she had the brightest smile I'd ever seen on her. She jumped up and down and the two of them hugged, a very close and loving hug, but from my vantage point, it didn't appear to be sexual. It was obvious that the two cared for each other deeply, and I was feeling a strong love for Ms. Jensen too. Actually, I wasn't even jealous at the thought of Rose loving someone like Ms. Jensen. I marveled at that thought. Was it possible to love a girl so much that her happiness superseded the love between the two of you? At that moment, I thought yes, and honestly enjoyed the thought of Rose receiving sexual satisfaction from another woman if it made her happy . . . if the woman was one like a Ms. Jensen. Jeez, then I realized that I loved Ms. Jensen and Rose. My feelings for both of them were sexual. My heart opening to Rose and my recent sexual activity with Trisha seemingly exploded an awakening in my mind. I could love and enjoy sex with women, and it was marvelous.

I left my vantage point and walked down the hallway stimulated and wet, desiring the satisfaction of masturbation with fantasies of Rose, and yes, Ms. Jensen. My feelings for the two of them were overwhelming, and I sought out a peaceful location, which is not easy at a noisy high school. I ventured to the drama room, which I knew held a large storage closet, full of props, furniture and old clothes. The room held an old couch used in last year's production of Our Town, in which I played Emily Webb. My parents didn't bother showing up to see me. I had made out on that couch with the lead actor after getting a little drunk on wine and sneaking in the school late one night after a production party. But this time, I wouldn't be thinking about a male, I had two females filling my mind with fantastic sexual imagery. If I could not have the two women in reality, nothing could stop me from having them in my mind. That was the place where I quickly discovered I could be totally free, and that freedom was needed at that particular juncture in my life. No one could control my fantasies and need for women, not even me. With the slightest touch of remorse over what I was about to do, I locked the door.

Sitting on the couch, I touched the rough texture and inhaled the smell of mildew, mothballs and age. Clothes, props and furniture emitted an erotic smell to me, bringing back the memory of perhaps my greatest triumph when I received a standing ovation at the end of the play. I was a damn good actress. Perhaps Ms. Jensen was correct, maybe I was a prodigy, truly talented in many areas and unable to see the gifts that I might have due to the shitty life that I lived.

Spying a wedding dress and a tuxedo on two mannequins, my fantasy took hold and I laid back, unzipped my blue jeans then pushed them to my knees. My fingers went under my pink cotton panties and freed my small swollen clit from its hiding place. The first touch sent a shiver down my spine, and the fantasy owned me.

*******

"I now pronounce you wife and wife," said Ms. Jensen seductively. She was younger, dressed in a purple flowing gown that wafted gently in the brisk air conditioning. She no longer suffered with the malaise of age, or the deformity of her leg. Her firm supple breasts rested seductively on her chest, obviously naked underneath the sheer material of her clothing.

I looked at Rose, and she looked at me and giggled. We were both dressed in our marriage regalia, her in a wonderful white silk and lace gown while holding a bouquet of roses. I was in tux and tails, white gloves and sporting a top hat. A rather large dildo that was harnessed to my waist showed clearly under my skin-tight trousers.

"You may kiss the bride," whispered Ms. Jensen.

Rose giggled again, and I joined her with a chuckle. Her face, hair and seductive eyes entranced me, drawing my lips magically to hers. We kissed, lightly at first, barely touching our lips together with tongues calmly tickling. The type of kiss only a woman can give another woman, soft, wet and sensuous, full of love, patience and kindness. Then the kiss quickly became deeper as we pressed into each other and tightly embraced. My love for her was complete, full, intense; I couldn't hold her tight enough, love her strong enough, or get enough of her love.

We separated, and both looked at Ms Jensen, who grinned from ear to ear. "Don't mind me girls, just go ahead, enjoy your love." She went over to a nearby chair and settled in, apparently prepared to witness the consummation of our marriage. Rose and I were happy to have her share this moment with us, because the love we felt for Ms. Jensen was true and good, more than daughterly or motherly, the three of us were lesbian sisters searching and finding meaning.

Rose clutched my hand tightly and looked into my eyes, "I love you baby."

I sighed, tears of joy and happiness rolled down my cheeks. We embraced in a passionate frenzy, consumed with the want and need of each other's bodies, our persons and our hearts. If this was not greater than the love written by Browning, Shakespeare, Lennon or Keats, then there is no such thing as love. I went to my knees and grabbed her waist, crying and loving her with all my being. Rose removed my top hat, threw it to the side and started running her fingers sweetly through my hair.

Removing my gloves, I then trailed my hand down to the hem of her wedding dress lovingly sensing the corporeal texture of the material. Slowly, I went up her leg, finding silky white hose, a garter belt and no panties. Her absence of panties excited me as I felt her moist pussy waiting for pleasure. My fingers sought her clitoris, which was full, needy, ready and slick with her anticipation. Rose obviously aroused, cooed gently as I tickled her flower between my forefinger and thumb.

Cringing in stimulation, Rose dropped her bouquet and fell to the nearby couch. I followed her closely, my hand never leaving her stirred soaking opening. She spread her legs widely, inviting me to freely explore her wetness. Lifting her wedding dress to her waste, I marveled at her muscular legs encased in the sheer, white, thigh high hose. Taking both of my hands, I caressed the silky smoothness of the material, kissing her calves then up to her knees, lightly massaging her thick, firm thighs, while unconsciously thrusting my hips back and forth in my desire to show her my love.

My eyes gazed upon her garden, covered in bold, jet-black curly hair that trailed upward ending at a peak near her navel. Looking at her pussy, I was mesmerized. Her huge clitoris clearly extended and throbbing, was surrounded by luscious pink lips dripping with her moist and honeyed dew. Black hairs soaked with juice glistened brightly, serving to increase my hunger to taste her to an uncontrollable level. I moved forward and blew my breath on her pussy, causing her to writhe and moan in delight, "Please," she begged.