Red Roses

I considered that. Maybe she really meant that nothing would be different. The idea was heartening. That meant I could ignore what had happened and our friendship would continue.

The next few weeks were the same and I felt better and better about things. Outwardly, Trish acted like nothing was different. She was as warm, and upbeat, and fun as she ever was. Each interaction strengthened my belief that we could put this behind us—treat it as "temporary insanity" as she called it. I got more relaxed and started to put her letter out of my mind.

Until ...

There's always an "until." I called Trish on a Thursday from work. She answered, "Hey, guy. What's up?"

"Nothing. You got plans for tomorrow night? Was thinking about catching a movie."

Her voice was guarded. "Sorry, Justin, I have a date."

"Oh? With anyone I know?"

"No. It's a guy I work with. His name is Matt."

"Okay. Well, have fun. I will talk to you this weekend."

"Yep. Talk to you later."

As I hung up, I realized this was the first date Trish had been on since the night of the letter. That by itself wasn't unusual; she sometimes went a few months without going out with anyone. But now, there was an elephant in the room. She'd admitted to herself what she wanted. It had been a month and I had not answered her. Her desire and frustration had to be building. What if she tried to convince Matt to do what she asked me to do? What if he went to far and hurt her? What if—

I shook my head. It was ridiculous. Trish wouldn't do that.

Would she?

I fretted all through Friday night. I made myself wait until about noon Saturday to call her. It went to voicemail. I texted. There was no answer.

I couldn't take it. I hopped in the car and drove to her house. Trish had a small house out past suburbia, but it sat on two acres, giving her a little privacy. It was a nice place and I'd spent many happy days hanging with her there.

Now, I drove there, half-expecting to find her face down in a pool of her own blood.

A rational part of my brain kept telling me that she was fine and just missed the call. And the text. And the second text.

And what if she had decided that this guy Matt was to be her faux-rapist? Maybe that's what she wanted. Who was I tell her otherwise?

I was almost insane with worry and anxiety when I pulled in her gravel drive. Her red Camry was parked next to the house. Her front door was open, though the steel screen door was closed and locked, but I knew where she hid the spare. I unlocked the door and hurried inside. "Trish? Trish, you here?"

"Justin?" Her voice drifted from the back. She emerged wearing her robe, with a towel wrapped around her wet hair. Her eyes were concerned. "Is everything okay?"

A shower. I am such a dumbass.

"Uhm, yeah everything is fine. I tried to call and you didn't answer, so I came over."

Her eyebrow rose. "That's it? You've never come over before when I missed a call."

There it was. I couldn't say anything without treading into that territory that she swore she'd never speak of in person. I stammered, "I was just worried about you for some reason."

She smiled but I could see in her eyes that she was working it out in her head. She knew why I was really there. I knew it, and she knew that I knew. I felt like an idiot.

Fortunately, she took pity on me. "Well, since you are here, do you want some late breakfast?"

"Sure."

She laughed. "Then get your butt in the kitchen. Scrambled eggs for me, please. I'll get dressed."

I grinned. I was getting off light.

I visited with her for a while then went home. For the first time since that night, I pulled out the black envelopes and re-read that letter. When I was done, I got a beer and sat, staring at the wall.

One thing was clear to me. Trish was going to go through with it at some point. After reading the letter again, the strength of her desire was obvious. Sooner or later, she would crack. If she got desperate and got in a bad situation, she might get seriously injured.

And that was something I couldn't allow to happen.

I took out the note card and checked the box marked, "I'm In." I stuffed it back in the envelope, sealed it, and walked it to the corner mailbox. Before I could change my mind, I tossed it in the chute.

There. Nothing to do but wait.

#

At the time, I would have said my motives were purely altruistic. I would have said I was just trying to protect my friend from random danger.

Bullshit, of course. In retrospect, I have to say that the idea of laying the pipe to Trish's hard body was an enticement all on its own. Not that I didn't want to protect her, but an atavistic part of my mind reasoned that if protecting her meant getting laid too, then what was the downside?

Men really are pigs sometimes.

The downside was, of course, the potential harm to a lifelong relationship that I valued more dearly than anything.

The Thursday after I sent the return card, Trish and I met a circle of friends for after-work drinks. I kept an eye on Trish but nothing was different. She was her normal ebullient self. I knew she had to have received the card by now. Cross-town mail took, at most, two business days, and it had been four. Had she not gotten it? Had she changed her mind?

I had to stop myself. Trish waited patiently on me to respond to her initial letter, though if she felt as frazzled as I now did while she was waiting for that response, then I owed her a hell of an apology for making her wait. If we could speak about the issue aloud, that is.

I got back from work late on Friday. I parked and walked to the door. I was still thinking about a mechanical problem we'd encountered on one of the designs that day, so I wasn't really paying attention to the mail as I pulled it from the box. I moved to open my door, stopped, and looked down.

I was holding a black envelope. The return address was Trish's.

My hands began to tremble. I went inside, placed the envelope on the coffee table, and went to change. When I had stalled long enough, I sat, took a deep breath, and opened the envelope. Two smaller ones fell out. A business letter size and one the same size as my previous return card. Trish's approach was so business-like and precise.

I opened the business letter, sat back, and started reading.

* * * * * * *

Ground Rules For Encounters

The following are the proposed rules for potential sexual encounters. The person delivering said attention is designated as the invader. The person receiving said attention is designated the recipient. For reasons of privacy and security all encounters will take place at the recipient's home.

1) At designated times, the recipient will place a single red rose on the door of the invader's home. The invader will understand this as a signal that the recipient will be at her place of residence between the hours of 9PM and 6AM, starting the evening the rose is left on the door.

1a) The invader will not attempt entry at any time other than those designated by the placement of a rose.

1b) The invader is under no obligation to arrive due to the placement of the rose and may choose to pursue or not pursue any given opportunity. The invader will not notify the recipient in advance whether he will or will not arrive for a given encounter.

1c) The recipient is responsible for ensuring her presence during those hours and that all matters and conflicts that might interfere have been resolved.

1d) Should the recipient be unable to be present for emergency reasons or otherwise after scheduling an encounter, she will notify the invader per (8) below.

* * * * * * *

I rubbed my eyes and said to myself, "Man, she lawyered the hell out of this." But it made sense. With clear understanding, it would prevent some problems. I kept going.

* * * * * * *

2) The recipient will leave the rear door of her domicile unlocked during the hours noted above during the time of a designated encounter.

3) The invader is not responsible for procuring or using birth control. Both the invader and recipient will make reasonable efforts to ensure they are disease-free.

* * * * * * *

I blinked. She wanted me to go bareback.

* * * * * * *

4) The invader understands that the recipient will resist. Both the invader and the recipient may scream, struggle, scratch, bite, swat or lightly kick. No closed fists will be used. Forehand slaps are permitted.

5) No weapons or firearms will be used by the recipient or invader. Use of restraints, toys, or other devices are permitted as long as they do not violate the exceptions in (6).

6) Any sexual activity is permitted if the invader successfully subdues, coerces, or forces the recipient, with the following exceptions:

- scat or urine

- extreme pain

- marking of public-visible parts of the body (ie, no marks on the neck or shaving the head)

- marking with implements (such as branding or cigarette butts)

- presence of any other parties, beyond the recipient and the invader

- bestiality

* * * * * * *

I had to laugh at the last one. I figured she was just being thorough. Then I realized I was basically being given carte blanche. I could tie her up. I could cum on her face. She hadn't even mentioned anal, which is something I had never done. I admit, my cock twitched at the thought.

* * * * * * *

7) No video cameras or recording devices shall be employed by either the invader or recipient.

8) The safe word is "Cincinnati."

8a) The invader should strive to use this word to establish positive identity without breaking the scenario, ideally within the first few moments of an encounter if possible, though this is not mandatory.

8b) If the recipient uses the safe word, the invader will cease and desist all activity. If the recipient says, "Akron," the invader may resume. If the recipient says the safe word twice, the invader will depart. Explanations will occur through correspondence.

8c) If the recipient texts the safe word to the invader prior to 9PM on the night of an encounter, the invader will act as if the encounter is canceled. This will occur even if it is 859PM and the invader is standing outside the recipient's domicile.

* * * * * * *

I nodded. Trish gave herself an escape hatch. That made sense. I would abide by it, as she knew I would.

* * * * * * *

9) The invader will depart no later than 6AM on the night of an encounter, under all circumstances.

10) The invader and the recipient will not discuss any matters involving an encounter except in correspondence, save for matters of medical emergency.

11) Either the recipient or the invader can completely cancel this arrangement at any time by sending a card labeled with the words, "I'm Out." Alterations to the arrangement will be accomplished by correspondence. No encounters will be planned while outstanding changes are under consideration.

If the invader agrees to these terms, please indicate so on the enclosed card and return to the recipient via the provided envelope. If the invader wishes to propose changes or additional terms, please use one of the cards enclosed with the recipient's original letter. The recipient will consider any requested addenda and agree or counter-propose.

* * * * * * *

I put the letter down and thought. It was all pretty reasonable—for something that was bat-shit insane, anyway. I decided to sleep on it a night or two and see if anything leapt out at me or came to mind with a fresh review.

But by Sunday, I had to admit I was pretty much stumped. Trish had covered things so well I couldn't see anything left out. I scribbled my acceptance and dropped in the mailbox.

I went back to my townhouse and collapsed on the bed. How would I react when I saw a rose?

Hell if I knew.

#

As it turns out, the rose was somewhat anti-climactic. It was two weeks after I'd agreed to the Ground Rules. I'd had a rough day at work, having had to threaten one of my team members with firing and I got a flat tire on the way home. I was scowling at the ground when I reached my front door. Then I saw it.

The rose was wedged next to the door handle, held firm by a piece of tape. I stared at it a moment, absorbing the meaning. It was almost seven. Fifteen miles away, my best friend was undoubtedly cleaning up after dinner. Then she'd watch tv or do some reading before getting into bed. Was she on pins and needles? Would she be expecting me? The rules said I didn't have to take her up on any opportunity, but how would she feel if I didn't show?

I slumped. I was fucking exhausted. The day had been long and I hadn't eaten since breakfast. Trish would just have to be kept in suspense. I ate something, cleaned up, surfed the internet, then crashed into bed.

My phone rang around eleven the next day. I didn't look at the caller ID. "Hello?"

"Hey, Justin."

"Hey, Trish. What's up?"

"Nothing. Want to meet me at O'Malley's tonight? Bri, Ben, and Jill are going to be there."

"That sounds good. What time?"

"Around eight."

"Cool, see you there."

"Bye bye!"

Trish disconnected. I guess I should not have been surprised. Nothing else had changed, so why would one missed opportunity? She was as happy-go-lucky as ever.

The evening went well. The girls ganged up on me and poor Ben in darts but we held our own right to the very end and our wallets got lightened after we had to buy a couple of rounds.

"So, Trish," Brianne said to Trish over her Long Island Iced Tea, "what'cha been up to?"

"Oh, same old, same old."

"I tried to call you last night, see if you wanted to come out."

Trish bit her lip. "Ah, I just felt like staying in last night."

Jillian laughed. "You hermit."

Trish managed not to look at me. "Sometimes, it's better to hang out at home."

The next rose arrived several weeks after that on a Wednesday. Unfortunately, I'd been told that day that I had to take a no-notice business trip out of town. I wasn't going to tell Trish I wouldn't take up the offer—one of the rules said I didn't have to—but we were supposed to go hiking that Saturday and I didn't think it was fair to leave her hanging.

Hey. Sry, have to go to Chicago tnite for 2 dys. Bk Saturday. Have to move hike

Her response came back while I was packing.

No prob, trvl safe! :)

She didn't seem upset and she even called me Thursday night to say hi and ask if I'd had a chance to do anything exciting in Chicago. I laughed and told her I had been stuck in meetings all day. She asked me to bring her home a trinket from the Windy City.

So two roses and two dismissals by me. I wondered if she thought I was ducking her.

I wasn't but the coincidences were in my favor. I still wasn't sure I could go through with it. The idea—the very idea—went against my integrity and my conscience. At the same time, I felt like Trish was counting on me, and I had entered into this to protect her. Yeah, and to fuck her, but I'd completely passed up one chance and missed a second. The internal back-and-forth was killing me. I did my best to put it out of my mind but it hovered around the periphery, threatening to drive me nuts.

Things were normal for six weeks or so. I got busy at work but that was about it. Trish and I were able to hang out here and there. She had another date with Matt from her work but said she was taking it slow. Me, I hadn't been out with a girl for several months and I was getting real tired of my right hand.

Friday came and I ducked out a few hours early. My boss pretended to be annoyed by stuff like that but we had just put a major project to bed, and I didn't do it very often, so he looked the other way. It was about 3PM when I pulled up to my townhouse. I grabbed my briefcase and headed up the walk. It was gonna be a quiet night; most of our friends were hung up doing stuff, so I looked forward to logging a little Playstation marathon. I'd been so beat I hadn't played in weeks.

I was practically skipping by the time I reached my door. I had the key in my hand. I reached for the door—and froze.

A red rose.

I stared at it. And ... I couldn't help it. For the first time since Trish had proposed all this insanity, the notion of fucking her made me incredibly hard. My dick was at full attention.

Except, it wouldn't be sex. It would be rape.

Except it wouldn't be rape, because she was sanctioning it.

I'll just go inside. I'll rub this out. That'll be it. Right?

I shook my head.

This isn't going to stop until I do it. Okay. So do it right.

I hurried inside and sketched out a list. I glanced at the clock, suddenly glad I'd left work early.

I had things to do.

#

I doused the car lights as I turned into her driveway. Luckily, the moon was full, giving more than enough light to creep up to her house. Luck, or Trish had planned it that way.

I stopped about halfway down the drive and killed the ignition. My window was open, so I sat and listened. Nothing came back to me save the chirp of crickets.

Trish's house was dark. She kept the front porch light on at night on but otherwise, nothing. I glanced at my watch. 10:45.

I nodded. Time to go to work.

I slid out of the car. I was wearing a dark blue zip-down hoodie, a pair of black sweats, and old running shoes. All I had on underneath was a pair of jockey shorts. I normally wore boxers but Trish knew that and I wanted to keep this as separate as possible from reality.

I carried a small bag with a few implements in it. In the hand pouch of my hoodie, I had a pair of handcuffs, the key to those cuffs, and a tiny pair of scissors.

I stopped and donned a black ski mask. I wasn't crazy about the itch but it just didn't feel right giving Trish my face to stare into for this. Maybe I could come up with something better for the next time.

Next time? Jesus, dude. Just get through this first.

I slunk down the driveway, trying to stay quiet and low. All kinds of scenarios ran through my head. What if Trish was setting me up for something? What if a neighbor saw me?

I frowned. What if Trish kicked my ass?

Well, then it will be over with, at least.

I stole to the rear of the house. The back porch light was out. I fished my phone from the bag and checked for last minute texts. No Cincinnati. I put the phone on vibrate and replaced it in the bag.

I hesitated at the door. If I opened it, I was really committing to doing this. I grabbed the knob and twisted.

It was unlocked.

The latch was horribly loud in the silence of the night. I winced and waited but there was no reaction from within. I stepped inside, gently pulled the door closed, and twisted the deadbolt.

I was in Trish's kitchen. I knew the layout of her house and moved through the living room, towards her bedroom, taking care to go slow and quiet. The door to her bedroom was open. I peered inside.

The curtains on the windows were pulled back and moonlight filled the room. Trish lay on her side on the queen bed, half under the blankets. It looked like she was wearing a tank top and flannel pajama bottoms.

My hands were shaking so hard I could barely do it but I withdrew the handcuffs and unlocked each cuff. Trish's bed had a decorative antique headboard with crisscrossed wrought-iron bars . It was tailor made for handcuffs. I smiled. Trish had always been so proud of that bed. I wondered how proud she would be after tonight.

I paced close to the bed, expecting her leap up at any second. But the rhythmic pulse of her breathing told me she was asleep, or at least faking it well.

I hovered over her, on the right side of her bed. I slipped the handcuffs through the headboard and back around. It took several agonizing seconds to finagle the open cuff back through. I gazed down at my friend. She looked so peaceful, so serene in the moonlight—and yes, quite beautiful. A stray strand of hair had fallen over the pale skin of her cheek.