The Yellow Rose Zone

A guy goes to a party wondering if he'll get lucky, a gal goes there knowing if she'll get lucky...that silly, sexist joke had been playing on a loop in Martha's mind all day. She wasn't sure what the bigger surprise was: that she was so uptight about getting a guy in bed on Valentine's Day of all days, or that the guy in question was Denny. Little Denny, her best friend's annoying younger brother, whom she had once cared only to tease.

Then again, she admitted to herself yet again, there was a reason why she'd felt compelled to tease him back in the day.

Little Denny wasn't so little anymore. Five years in the Navy had matured him in more ways than one, which was why she initially hadn't recognized the clean-cut, muscular young man on their chance meeting downtown a few weeks before. But that boyish grin of his hadn't changed a bit. That plus the fact that he'd called her by her old nickname had done the trick a moment too late.

"Maddy?! It is you!"

"Hi, um..."

"It's Denny, Clara's brother?"

"Oh my God, Denny!" And she'd thrown herself at him in a way she wouldn't have been caught dead doing back in high school. "Sorry, it's Martha now. I retired Maddy the Tomboy halfway through college." On that note she had touched her hair, which was now much longer than when Denny had last seen it.

Grad school being what it was, Martha did usually still dress the way Maddy the Tomboy had. She did own a few skirts now, but none of them had the right look for the occasion at all. That was why she had bought the red and blue plaid one she was now wearing. She felt like an impostor in it, but together with her favorite red sweater it did make the perfect Valentine's Day outfit.

Clara, who had joined her at the mall last weekend, had agreed -- for all the wrong reasons. "Don't tell me you've gone over to the dark side, Martha," she had said when a display of seasonal red apparel had caught her eye.

"Okay," Martha had replied with a chuckle. "I won't tell you."

She had, thank heavens, also not told Clara that her brother had anything to do with her old friend's change of heart; in this moment she'd realized just what a good call that was. "Martha," Clara had said with an exasperated sigh, "Don't you remember anything about high school? Valentines for the beautiful people only? Didn't it always make us feel like shit?"

"Of course I remember," Martha said, and indeed she did recall. Chubby Clara and too-tall Martha, still taller than most of the boys even after they hit their growth spurts, had always been shut firmly out of the cool kids' clique. "But that was years ago and we're older, Clara."

"It's still a patriarchal mess, all about making women feel inadequate for being on our own in the middle of winter!"

"Only if we let it make us feel that way." Martha had been more focused on the skirt she was holding up to her waist in the store mirror. Designed to be ankle-length, it hung just past her knees. But Martha was used to making things like that work, and she felt utterly flirtatious even just holding it over her jeans.

"Martha!" Clara's outraged whine hadn't changed a bit since they were teenagers. "You're a grad student! You're too smart to fall for all that manipulative commercial stuff."

"For heaven's sake, Clara, we're not kids anymore!" Martha had replied. "It's fine to be on your own on Valentine's Day, and it's also fine to celebrate love! Don't you ever get tired of always thinking anything romantic is saccharine? Or patriarchal?"

"God, you sound like my brother," Clara had grumbled as she had reluctantly followed Martha to the checkout counter. "He's at the university too now, by the way, did I tell you that? He's a freshman, probably the oldest one in his class, but at least he's getting started."

"No, you didn't tell me." Martha had barely managed to keep a straight face.

"The Navy didn't do him any favors, I'll tell you that much," Clara had grumbled. "I figured it at least would've toughened him up a little, but last week at home he was all about some poor woman he was hoping to ring in Valentine's Day with. Same little starry-eyed twerp as always!"

"What's wrong with hoping for a date, on any day of the year?" It had taken every bit of resolve Martha had to avoid outward expression of the way her heart was flying all of a sudden, but she had pulled it off.

"Nothing, if you get that no means no. I told him, Denny honey, I just hope you understand if she says no, that it's Valentine's Day doesn't mean anything."

"Clara, your brother is no rapist!"

"You don't know him anymore, Martha. And what's worse, he said she was an old friend, and I'm like, so you're pretending to be her friend so you can get in her pants? Shame on you!"

"Right, because friendship can never grow into love," Martha had said, knowing already that Clara would miss the sarcasm in her voice.

Sure enough, she had. "Exactly, Martha. But I don't think too many men get that, and certainly not my brother."

Not a moment had gone by then without Martha thanking her lucky stars that she hadn't told her old friend about her chance meeting with Denny. She clearly did not need to know about that, or that Martha and Denny had met up for drinks and conversation twice since then, or that she had already decided to invite him to her place on Valentine's Day.

Or that she hoped it would be for a great deal more than drinks and conversation this time.

The muffins were in the oven, the wine was uncorked, and Martha was made up from head to toe, having optimistically worn her sexiest red bra and panties under her clothes, which still felt like a costume. At least it was a sexy costume, she reasoned as she sat down on the couch to wait for the knock at the door.

"A yellow rose?" Pete asked as soon as he and Denny were out of the flower shop. "Are you trying to wine and dine this lady, or insult her?"

"Yellow is for friendship," Denny said with a smile and a shrug as he zipped his coat back up. "And we've been -- well, I don't know if you can say we were friends before, but we've known each other a long time."

"Wait, Denny, you're in the friend zone with this lady?" Pete let out a haughty laugh. "You are a glutton for punishment, aren't you?"

"Man, give it a rest with that!" Denny said. "Don't you see how sexist that 'friend zone' stuff is? And calling her a 'lady' makes her sound fifty years old. She's only a year older than I am."

"Sorry, Mister Politically Correct," Pete said, not even trying to hide his annoyance at his friend. "Man, I look up to you, you know that, even if you are a freshman and I'm a junior. You've been around the block more than I have, I get that. So why are you falling for all this feminazi baloney?"

"It's not feminazi baloney!" Denny said. "And yeah, I saw my share of guys who didn't know a damn thing about how to treat a woman. That's how I know what not to do, starting with pushing too hard when she probably does think of me as just a friend. This is my way of saying, hey, that's fine if that's all you want, but maybe we can talk about bigger and better stuff."

"Sounds like feminazi baloney to me," Pete reiterated.

"I know feminazi baloney when I hear it," Denny said. "You should hear my sister."

"Right, you told me about her," Pete said. "What'd you call her, a ball of rage?"

"That's about right," Denny admitted. "You should've heard the earful she gave me about the gal I bought this for." Then he chuckled. "If only she knew."

"Knew what?"

"Well, Pete..." Denny wasn't at all sure he wanted to give out the big secret, but he conceded he'd already pushed the envelope too far. "The gal I bought this for? Is my sister's best friend from high school."

"WHAT?" Pete was more amused than outraged, and he doubled over laughing. "Man, you must've fallen overboard a time too many!"

"Yeah, well, maybe I did," Denny said. "But she's not like my sister, not anymore. She's also not really the romantic type, so you know, I'm already pushing my luck a little bit with yellow here."

"Doesn't sound like that's all you're pushing, man," Pete said. "Anything your sister doesn't know about you two?"

"She doesn't even know we've re-met."

"No, I mean before. You knew her when you were younger, right? Ever have a quickie in the basement while your sister was on the phone or something?"

Denny laughed. "You kidding? I was her friend's pesky younger brother! I mean, I would've if she were willing, but she was never the type. Except..." He paused and sighed at the guilty pleasure of a memory that had just bubbled up.

"Except what, man?"

"Well, a couple of times, she was changing clothes in my sister's room, and the door was ajar..."

"What'd you see?"

"First time I ever saw a girl in her bra. Poor thing probably still has no idea."

"And you think you're going to get somewhere being a gentleman now?" Pete's scepticism wasn't even dented. "Besides, any friend of your sister's...isn't she going to just think Valentine's Day is nothing but commercial bullshit for selling flowers and candy? 'Cause, I mean, that's exactly what it is, Denny, you know that."

"Do I?" Denny asked. "I mean, yeah, there is that side to it, but what's wrong with a day to celebrate romance?"

"You don't believe in romance, man, do you? We're guys, aren't we?"

Denny laughed to keep from losing his temper at his friend. "I ought to set you up with my sister. You guys'd be perfect together."

Denny was still half-amused, half horrified at Pete's reaction as he made his way up the block to Martha's building. He'd thought about pointing out just how bad one's language had to be to make an ex-sailor cringe, but he knew Pete well enough to know he'd probably have been flattered by that.

He also knew Pete well enough to know he was the last guy on Earth who ought to be doling out advice about love and friendship, on Valentine's Day or any other day of the year. Yet some of his comments had hit home with Denny. Was he really falling for Martha, or was it all just a matter of fulfilling his long-ago fantasies? They'd bonded up a storm on those two meet-ups (already Denny realized he couldn't call them "dates" when nothing romantic had ever been implied at all), talking for hours that had felt like minutes and getting to know one another far better than they had back in the day. But for all that, Denny had never quite been able to forget all the many times back then he'd jacked off to the fleeting vision of Martha -- Maddy back then -- in her bra.

And the better he'd gotten to know the wonderful woman she'd grown up to be, the guiltier he'd felt about it. He'd been blameless as far as he could tell, happening to be walking down the hall at just the right moment when Clara had left her bedroom door ajar, but still.

Was it really the long, lovely chats that had inspired him to buy the rose that was now clutched in his left hand as he rang her doorbell? Or on some level was he still the horny guy of before hoping to see more this time around?

"Hel-lo!" came her familiar voice, too cheerful by half, clearly expecting a friend and nothing more. Even Pete could have seen that!

"Uh...hi, Martha," he stammered, feeling a throwback to his even younger years. This was worse than a junior high dance.

"Denny, you look frigid out there!" Martha teased. "Come on up and let's get you warmed up!"

The door buzzed, and Denny was equal parts joy and angst as he stepped into the warm lobby. There was an old ashtray set under the prominent no-smoking sign, that could clearly double as a trash can. He paused and looked at the package in his hand. Clearly a mistake, and at least a rose would brighten up the drab lobby a bit. He almost unwrapped the paper, then recalled in the nick of time what Martha had just said -- You look frigid out there. She must have seen him -- and the package.

The damage was done. Maybe they could have a laugh over the whole thing -- to think she would bother with her friend's pesky little kid brother anyway! Denny bit his lip and went up the stairs.

Martha opened the door a crack to let Denny in, and retreated to the kitchen to take the muffins out of the oven. She was feeling utterly tickled by what she thought she had seen on the intercom camera. When was the last time anyone had given her flowers? She couldn't even recall offhand. There was time for one last quick look at herself in the mirror by the kitchen door as she stepped back out. She saw nothing wrong, but was still feeling like a schoolgirl at her first dance when the soft but firm knock came at the door.

"Denny? It's open, silly!" Then just as quickly she wished she could take it back -- all at once she recalled why he wouldn't assume her door was open. Poor guy still probably had no idea.

Silly or not, at least she had a welcoming smile as he stepped in -- a smile that was more than reciprocated when he got his first look at her. "Wow, you look beautiful!" Then he shook his head and cringed. "I mean -- I'm sorry! Just..."

"Sorry for what, that I'm beautiful?" Martha said. "And thank you! Take your coat and boots off already!" As Denny complied and lay the oddly shaped package on the old chair by the door -- she now saw it was just what she'd suspected, for the paper was covered with a flower shop logo -- she felt the same pang of self-doubt she always felt with wonderful guys like him. Maybe he was meeting another woman later who wasn't just an old friend.

"Well, no," Denny said, pulling his boots off. "I just meant, I didn't want you getting the wrong idea, is all."

"The wrong idea about what, Denny?"

"You know, about Valentine's Day, and we're just old friends, and..."

"You haven't been talking to your sister, have you?"

"No need to," Denny said. "I know what she thinks of Valentine's Day! Does she know about us, by the way?"

"I certainly haven't told her," Martha said. "She'd never understand, I know that too."

"Right," Denny said. "I just didn't want you to think I had the wrong idea, about what day it is." His eyes darted briefly to the package he'd left on the chair -- only for an instant, but Martha noticed.

She couldn't resist asking -- if it wasn't what she wanted to hear, at least she would know. "Speaking of which, have you got a hot date later, is that who that's for?"

Denny bit his lip. Honesty was still the best policy. "Well, no," he confessed, picking it up and handing it to her. "It's for you."

"Thank you!" She helped herself to a hug before opening it. "Oh, Denny, it's beautiful!" She pulled it out of the wrapper and sniffed it indulgently. "But, yellow...is that a hint? I mean, if you want to be just friends, I'll understand, but I was hoping..."

"You were?" Denny felt like a weight had just vanished from his shoulders.

Martha laughed, also feeling relieved. "Didn't you say I was beautiful? You think I'd dress up like this for just any friend?"

"I just didn't want to assume, you know, didn't want you to think I was only making friends with you to get more."

"You are your sister's brother!" Martha spun around, enjoying the graceful swish of her skirt and hoping he liked it too. "I'm going to put this in some water, you sit down and pour us some wine, all right?"

"All right," Denny agreed. "And yeah. I am my sister's brother, but that's not the worst of it. I also listened to a friend I really shouldn't have listened to. About women, about romance, and friend zones."

"God, please don't tell me you believe in that 'friend zone' nonsense!" Martha called from the kitchen, where she was setting the muffins in a basket. "Who ever said love couldn't grow out of friendship?"

"Thank you!" Denny poured the wine carefully, and had both glasses ready when Martha returned. "And now that I know it's okay to say it, you really do look gorgeous. That should've been a hint, I know."

"Thanks, and yeah, it should." Martha couldn't help herself. "If I had only friendship on my mind, I'd have greeted you at the door in a t-shirt and sweats. And the kind of guy you were afraid of looking like wouldn't have been discouraged with that, either!"

"I know the type," Denny said. "Too well!"

"And you ought to know by now I know you're not that type!" Martha threw caution to the wind and sat right up next to him on the couch, and kissed his cheek. "Now, cards on the table, Denny, do you want to stay just friends?"

"Not if you don't!" He gave her a boyish grin and picked up his glass for a first sip.

Martha followed suit. "Wonderful. I mean, I don't want to pressure you, but...I mean, I've had such a lovely time getting to know you again, and I always did think you were adorable."

"You did?"

"I couldn't very well flirt with you when I was over your place with your sister, could I?" She let out a naughty giggle. "Not openly anyway."

"Not openly," Denny repeated uncertainly. Then all at once he wasn't uncertain at all. "Wait a minute, that time I walked past Clara's room?"

"Was no accident!" Now Martha laughed hard, so hard she had to set her wine glass down. "I'm sorry, Denny, all these years I didn't even know if you'd seen me..."

"Oh, I saw you all right!" Denny confessed. "And I replayed that sight again and again for I don't even know how long when I...you know."

"Oh my!" Martha felt herself getting wet. "I was my friend's gorgeous brother's reason to masturbate?"

"Gorgeous?" Denny grinned. "Well, thanks. But you can't be surprised seeing you in your bra turned me on!"

"No, I guess not," Martha said. "I just never knew for sure that you'd seen me, or that you liked what you saw.

"I did and I did." He clinked her glass and they each had a long drink. Denny helped himself to a muffin to break the growing tension and complimented her on a great baking job, but it did little to diffuse the pleasant foreboding that hung heavy in the air.

"Got the recipe from a friend who graduated last year," Martha said. "She called them her dissertation muffins, because she kept tweaking the recipe every time she finished another chapter of her thesis."

"If I ever get that far, I'll at least be able to make dinner," Denny said. "I'm getting better at boiling the vegetables just long enough, anyway. It beats the cafeteria."

Martha polished off her muffin and then made fast work of the last of her wine. "Good for you, Denny, but listen. Do you really want to revert to small talk?"

Denny laughed. "Well, I'm not supposed to just say I want to make love, now am I?"

"Why the heck not?" Martha said. "Whoever said there had to be so many mind games when it came to sex?" She slid an arm around his back and placed her other hand on his knee, and hoped he would kiss her already.

Without another word, her wish came true.

The pleasant itch Martha had been feeling for a week or more melted into a deep satisfaction as she felt his arms enfold her, but an utterly more intense desire took over. Feeling his hands trace the band of her bra through her sweater, all at once she longed to be relieved of both. But for the moment she focused on rubbing his back with one hand and his head with the other.

After contenting himself with rubbing her back and sides for some time, Denny wanted to pull her onto his lap. Recalling just in time that she was taller than he was, he instead swung around and climbed onto her lap, facing and straddling her. Martha welcomed the pleasant frustration of him pressing her thighs together as the warm wetness between them was growing more intense by the second, exacerbated by his first gentle caresses on her breasts. That sweet torture would be satiated soon enough, after all. For the moment she contented herself with unbuttoning his shirt and eagerly pushing it off his chest. Finding a faded t-shirt underneath, she gathered it up and pulled it off without a second thought, hoping he would follow her lead with her own clothes.