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From: MichaelD38@aol.com
Subject: RP: {MichaelD} "Sunset on Roses" (mf, teen, rom) (CR305: 10,10,10+) (4/6)
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VII.
We packed up some clothes and hit the road. We got there just after one, and
I got us a room in a vintage hotel near the city center. Then we went for a
walk up State Street and window-shopped. The town was full of kids from UCSB
preparing for the fall semester, and no one gave us a second glance. Tracey
spotted a dress she liked in a display window, and we went inside to try it
on. The saleslady gave me a clever look but said nothing, most likely
assuming Tracey was a college student.
Tracey tried on a few dresses before settling on a little knee-length silk
number in emerald green.
"This goes just wonderfully with your hair," the saleslady said, and Tracey
starting laughing. She glanced at me, then back at the saleslady, who looked
confused.
"Thank you. It does. It's just a little joke with us."
"Of course."
"Could you give us a second?"
"Certainly."
When the saleslady was out of earshot, she looked over at me.
"I love this. But it's way too expensive."
I looked at the tag and saw that it was $345.
"Don't worry about it."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
She hugged me.
"Thank you. Could you wait outside? I want to get some other stuff."
"Okay."
I gave her my Amex card.
"Just get me when its time to sign out."
She walked over to the saleslady, and started talking to her, glancing back
at me as I walked out. I waited outside on a bench for about twenty minutes
before Tracey came to get me, having changed back to street clothes.
"Okay. We're done. The damage isn't too bad."
"It's no problem. I enjoy this."
She leaned in to peck me on the lips.
"Thanks. You're great."
I followed her back in to where the saleslady was waiting for us with a
credit card slip. Whatever else Tracey had gotten had added about a hundred
and fifty bucks to the tab. All of it was wrapped up and bagged. The
saleslady gave me a knowing smile as I signed the slip.
"Thank you so much. Have a wonderful time tonight."
"Thanks," Tracey said. "Bye."
"Good bye."
Once out on the street, we walked back toward the hotel.
"I just told her we were going out to a fancy restaurant tonight, and I
needed to dress up. She was so nice."
"It's her job to sell you things, not judge you."
She stopped and caught her reflection in a store window, playing with her
hair.
"Um."
"What?"
"I know you've spent too much money on me already, but would you mind if
maybe I got my nails done, or my hair?"
Tracey had always been casual about her looks, probably getting the attitude
from her mother. She rarely wore much noticeable makeup, and I had never seen
her with painted nails.
"What brought this on?"
"That dress is so nice. I just feel like if we're dressing up, I should do
it."
"Well, we're on an outing, why not? Get it all done."
She smiled.
"Okay."
We found a salon near the hotel, and I sat in the waiting area for about two
hours reading magazines. When they were done with her, it was a major
transformation. The stylist had taken about an inch off her hair and
feathered it around her face. Her nails were deep red, close to her hair but
different enough to take advantage of the contrast. She didn't have that much
makeup on, but it was certainly more than usual. She did not look seventeen
anymore.
"Wow."
"Do you like it?"
"Very much."
I paid the tab, and we went back to the hotel.
"I feel like a different person," she said when we got back to the room. She
examined her reflection in the mirror, arranging small strands of her hair.
"I like you just the way you are, but it's fun to try stuff like this now and
then."
We had about an hour before our reservations, so we each took quick showers
and then Tracey shut herself in the bathroom with all her new clothes. I put
on my slacks and a sport jacket and waited for her.
She came out after about twenty minutes. She was wearing nylons and green
pumps, which I assumed she had gotten while I was outside the boutique. She
had also gotten a small black purse that she now held.
"What do you think?"
"You're beautiful. Just beautiful."
We went to dinner at a dressy restaurant up the street. I ordered a bottle
of wine, and the waiter didn't give Tracey a second glance. We talked quietly
all through dinner, and Tracey had two glasses of wine.
"Careful," I said when she finished the second.
She giggled.
"I've been drunk before. And we're out of town."
"Okay."
We had dessert and coffee, and walked back to the room. She held my hand and
leaned against me. When we got into the elevator, she put her arms around my
neck and kissed me. I held her and kissed her back until the door opened.
When we got into the room, I hung my jacket over a chair. She kicked off her
pumps and walked up to me, grabbing my tie and pulling it off. I put my arms
around her again and kissed her again. When I reached up to unzip her dress,
she stopped kissing me, trying to stifle a giggle.
"What?"
"You'll see in a second. Keep going."
I unzipped the dress all the way, and she let it fall off her. I saw then
what she had really sent me out of the boutique to buy-a fancy matching bra,
panty and garter belt combination in black lace and burgundy satin. I had to
catch my breath for a second.
"I just thought that if I was dressing up, I shouldn't stop at the dress."
"I love it."
She commenced undressing me, being bolder than usual, probably because of the
wine. I let her do it, and lay back on the bed. She posed for me, pretending
to examine her nails.
"I am the Goddess of Love. Worship me."
"You're drunk, is what you are."
She laughed, and then looked at me, jaw vibrating.
"I love you."
"I love you, too. Come here."
She climbed onto the bed, and I pulled her to me. I peeled the lingerie off
her piece by piece, kissing and nibbling each square inch of flesh as I
exposed it. Last to come off were her panties, and I lowered myself to lick
at that deep red sex of hers. She held my hands as she usually did, writhing
on the bed.
"I love you," she moaned, almost crying. "I love you so much."
I kept at her, watching for the little twitches and squirms I had gotten used
to. She moved herself against me, moaning. When she came, she almost seemed
to be in pain, clawing at my hands and thrashing on the bed. I didn't stop,
continuing to lick her until she came a second, then a third time before
pushing me off in exhaustion.
She curled around to take my penis in her mouth, sucking me hard and bobbing
rapidly until I was aching. Then she lay back, pulling me on top of her, and
I thrust up into her in one quick movement. She wrapped herself around me,
biting at my shoulder.
"Tell me you love me."
"I love you," I gasped, " I love you. I love you."
She groaned, thrusting herself at me repeatedly as I drove into her. We had
lost control by this point, both closing in on our release. She clawed at my
back, trying to pull me deeply into her every time I withdrew.
Her breath started to rush through her nostrils.
"I'm coming."
That did it for me, and as she spiked herself up at me, I thrust up at her,
squirting off inside her. We ground ourselves at each other for a few seconds
before collapsing back onto the bed.
"Did you like that?"
"Yes."
"When I announced myself at the end?"
"Yes. You know I like when you talk like that."
"I don't think about it. It just happens. You make me feel so good, and I
just have to express it."
We lay together for a while.
"I can't believe I have to start school again in two weeks."
"Things will be different then."
"I know. My friends are being a little weird about this, too. They joke
about my being your pampered mistress or something."
"After this weekend, it's not entirely inapt."
She looked up at me.
"I had fun with this, but you know it's not really me. I don't think I can
be like this all the time."
"I don't want you to be. The person I love isn't the one with all the makeup
and lingerie. She's the one with mud all over her face after we've been
digging in my backyard."
She hugged me and wiped a tear out of her eye.
"You make me so happy."
"So do you. I wouldn't trade this summer with you for anything."
We went to sleep, and made love again in the morning. Then we drove home and
got back around two.
She hung up her new dress in my closet.
"I'm going to leave this here, okay? I don't know how my mom would react to
it."
"It's fine."
VIII.
That week was Tracey's last at the firm, and when she left, the atmosphere
was noticeably less tense. She started school again a week after that. I
half expected the "Ally McBeal" nights to come to an end at that point, but
she just rearranged her study schedule to spend the evening with me. The
weekends together didn't stop either. In fact, she usually came straight to
my house after school on Friday, and I finally gave her a key so she could get
in without waiting for me to get off work.
Saturday morning a couple of weeks into September, she came out to the
backyard where I was weeding.
"Is it okay if have one of my friends over? Just to hang out?"
"Sure. Now?"
"A little later. I thought we'd go walk around the beach or something."
"The three of us? Or just you two?"
"Whatever. It doesn't matter."
Her friend, a pretty blonde-haired girl named Rachel, showed up around
eleven. She regarded me warily as Tracey introduced us. Tracey showed her
around the house as I went back to work in the yard. The two of them emerged
a few minutes later.
"You guys work out here a lot?" Rachel asked.
"Yeah."
"We planted all these flowers." Tracey indicated the rows of stargazers and
Lily of the Nile we had planted along one side of the yard.
Rachel inspected the pond in the back.
"Did you build this?"
"Yeah."
"It's neat. I like it."
"I repotted the water lilies," Tracey said.
Rachel looked at me and then back at Tracey, laughing just a little
nervously.
"You guys are like, living together, practically."
Tracey looked at me with concern.
"I just come over a lot on the weekends."
She looked back at Rachel.
"So, what do you think? Want to go down to the beach?"
Rachel glanced at me.
"I guess."
"Are you going to come?" she asked me.
"You guys go. I have more to do, and I'm a mess anyway."
I could see the conflict in her face, but she didn't say anything else. They
left a few minutes later.
Tracey came back alone around three. I was watching TV, and she sat next to
me on the couch.
"Why didn't you want to come with us?"
"Because it was painfully obvious that Rachel didn't want me to come along."
She sighed, and looked down at her hands.
"She was going on about us the whole time. I finally just told her to shut
up about it."
"What was she saying?"
"Oh, just stuff like, 'He's cute but he's so old,' and 'Are you going to move
in with him?' and 'How could you bring him to the Prom?'"
"I was thinking about that myself."
"I don't care about the fucking Prom. I probably couldn't bring you without
causing a scene, and I don't care that much about it anyway."
"This is what I went through at work."
"I know."
She laid her head on my lap and took my hand between hers.
"This just sucks so hard. Why can't people accept that we love each other
and not judge us?"
"It upsets their sense of how the world should be. That makes it a lot
harder for them to understand."
She stayed on my lap for a while.
Sunday morning, I had to go in to work for a few hours, and I left Tracey
behind to do what she wanted. I got back around two, and as I pulled up to my
house, I noticed a car parked behind Tracey's Toyota. I recognized the make
and model, and realized a split-second later who it belonged to-my ex-wife.
I almost drove past my house without stopping. Then I slammed on the brakes
at the last second, and pulled into the driveway. I had to gather myself up
for a few seconds before getting out of the car.
I walked up to the house, and saw the two of them sitting in the living room.
I opened the door, and both of them looked over to me. Tracey looked very
stressed, but Madeline looked, if anything, amused. I hadn't seen her in
about nine or ten months, since our divorce was finalized, and it affected me
more than I had expected. You can't get someone out of your system in just a
year after being with them for over ten. She was a tall, statuesque blonde,
and even at thirty-three, she hadn't lost any of her considerable beauty.
"Hi."
"Hi. I, um, I just stopped by to see how you were doing."
"I'm fine. How are you?"
"Great. I got a job at UCI. I'm working in the Sociology Department. How
is work?"
"Not bad. Nothing new, really. Still doing the same thing."
She stood up, and walked toward the door.
"Tracey, would you excuse us for a second?"
I saw Tracey swallow before answering her.
"Sure."
Madeline went outside, and I followed her. She stopped, putting her hand to
her mouth and looking down, smiling.
"The yard looks nice."
"Thanks."
She paused for a second, trying to keep from laughing.
"I'm not even going to say it, because I'm sure you know what I'm thinking."
"Probably."
"I'll just say that this doesn't surprise me all that much. I mean, all the
times you wanted to pretend we were teenagers when we made love, the pigtails
every now and then. Was that coming from the same place as this?"
"I don't know."
"She's nice, I'll say that for her. I just think you might have waited until
she was old enough to drink."
She finally turned to me and kissed me on the cheek.
"Good bye, Michael. Have fun."
I watched her drive off, and then went into the house. Tracey was where we
had left her, sitting sadly in the chair by the couch, wiping the tears out of
her eyes.
"Are you okay?"
She nodded.
"She just knocks on the door and asks if you're home. She's looking at me
like something is so funny, and I'm wondering, 'Who the hell is this?' Then
she goes, 'I'm Madeline, his ex-wife. And you are?'"
"I'm sorry. If had known she was coming over, I wouldn't have left. I
haven't seen her in almost a year. I had no idea."
"She was so amused by this, you know?" She sniffed and wiped her eyes.
"When I let her in, she goes, 'I'm sorry, I have to ask. How old are you,
exactly?'"
"What did you tell her?"
"I said eighteen. It's not that far off. Then she asked if I was living
here."
"How long was she here?"
"About ten minutes. I thought I was going to die. It was so horrible. She
was asking me all these stupid questions about how we met and what you had
been doing."
"She was picking on you?"
"No, she was being polite. But just having to answer her questions was bad
enough."
I pulled her out of the chair and sat down on the couch to hug her. She
leaned against me and sniffled.
"You make me feel so wonderful. Then things like this happen, and it's like
the whole world thinks what we have, this incredible love I have for you, is
so wrong and perverted. I want to run away somewhere where no one cares about
it."
"So do I, sometimes. But we can't do it. It won't be like this forever. In
a few years, it will be no big deal."
"That's so far away."
"I'm sorry."
I held her and waited for her to calm down.
"She's so beautiful," she said a few minutes later. "Why did you guys get
divorced?"
"It takes more than that. We just grew apart. The thing about having kids
was what finally threw it all into the open."
"She's so much prettier than me."
"Come on, don't start doing that. She's not, and I have a lot of things with
you that I never had with her."
"Like what?"
"She was never into gardening at all. Once in a very long while, she would
help me with it, and all we ever did was fight about what we were going to do.
She was always too busy to read the stuff I wrote. And I could never get her
on a pair of skis no matter how many times we went."
"I like gardening with you."
I hugged her.
"I know. So do I."
She got up a bit later, and managed a smile.
"I'll be okay."
"I'm sorry this happened."
"I'm sorry about Rachel."
"We'll get through it somehow."
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