The Perfect Rose
© Voisard d'Orleans
Airplanes to Mexico make me nervous. Actually, all airplanes make me nervous. Flying out of Los Angeles to the southern tip of Baja, I had my eyes closed pretending I was home in bed. I imagined the comforter as a soft cocoon over my head. I am naked against crisp cotton sheets.
Are you always so nervous about flying? a soft voice next to me said. I opened one eye. In the seat next to me was a pair of attractive, feminine legs. One leg was touching mine.
How can you tell I'm nervous? I asked.
Because you are holding onto the armrests so hard, your knuckles are white.
She was right. I mentally made my hands loosen their grip. I turned my head. Staring back at me were a pair of large, nut-brown eyes. I was surprised that a pretty woman could sit by me without my being acutely aware of her presence. I was startled that she was so beautiful.
Is this your first trip to Mexico? she asked.
She was from Boston and her name was Rose. I'm from Newport Beach. She was a resident physician at a hospital. I had just finished an exciting career at Starbucks to go back to art school. This was her first real vacation. This was a continuation of the vacation I started the day my father symbolically cut my umbilical in the University Hospital maternity ward. She was straight blonde and fair skinned. My arms were covered with dark curly hair. We were both staying at the same hotel. What were the odds of that?
I helped her gather her bags at the carousel and we shared a limousine to our hotel. A bellman in a crisp white jacket helped us with our luggage and showed us to the check-in desk. Rose asked how the bellman could possibly wear a jacket in this tropical heat. The lobby was open and the wind blew through to the turquoise sea. We agreed to meet at the barefoot bar we could see facing the beach to the left, past the swimming pool. I tossed a fifty-centavo coin into the fountain outside the elevator. It landed in the water with a small plop. I believe in wishes.
I imagined us both taking a quick cold shower after unpacking our bags. In my linen robe, hair still wet, I stepped onto the balcony to survey the scenery and the ocean beyond. The hotel was crescent shaped, protecting the pool and the beach from the real world. Looking across, I saw Rose in a small swimsuit one floor below me and about six rooms over. She was lying on her back, stirring lotion onto her legs and then her stomach. She oiled her shoulders, and stuck a wet finger between her breasts.
I did my best impression of a red tailed warbler and she looked up. I was leaning against the rail looking down. Her smile was more welcome than the rouge colored sun moving lower to the west. I asked if she was ready to go out. I'd be right down.
Have you ever watched a movie and became aware that something special was unfolding before you? Ever kiss someone and know with no uncertainty something significant happened? If the world is a collection of rooms, then the key that clicked in the lock when she opened her door was magical and would never be duplicated by a mortal locksmith.
She used her delicate hands to part my robe. My arms entangled her against me. Her knowledge of anatomy was as relaxed as the sound of the ocean below us. I unhooked her bra top and her breasts felt cool momentarily against my chest, then hot with humid passion. I stepped out of my boxers and she led me onto her bed. The lace curtains bellowed inward, but still our sweat pooled between us. Conscious thought raced away in a tumble of lips and hands, breasts and legs entwining. I didn't think to come up for air.
Rose pressed a cold glass of wine against my nipple, waking me in an instant. She looked at my eyes looking back at her and for a second I thought she could see straight through me. Perhaps she could. Her lips tightened into a smile as she cupped my balls and gave them a playful squeeze. The wine cooled the back of my throat. It was the pale color of Rose's hair.
At the barefoot bar, the stools sank several inches into the sand. A Mexican troubadour strolled from table to table singing songs accompanied by rich guitar. I gave him ten dollars for a love song. I requested something romantic. Rose slipped her arm around my waist and I draped mine over her shoulders. We swayed in rhythm with the palm trees which swayed with the sounds of the guitar.
We love that song, the people at the next table told us.
They were probably in their early forties and we learned they were celebrating their twentieth wedding anniversary. Michel and Sagesse, they introduced themselves, from a rural town near the Pyranees. Michel had a great sense of humor, laughing at his own jokes until we joined in. Sagesse would poke him playfully then rest her hand on my leg. Rose pulled a hair on my other leg. I proposed a toast to love, marriage and Mexico. Michel said something in French I could not understand, but which was very funny nonetheless. He was a man with an expansive face.
Rose and I danced. Sagesse danced with me in her yellow sundress. Michel, looking European in his Speedo, danced with Rose. I was wearing shorts and a tee shirt and was still too warm. A loose shift covered Rose's swimsuit. I could feel Sagesse's bones against me. Rose was round against Michel. Rose barely came to my chin, but her head rested easily on my chest. Sagesse was taller than Michel. She and I stood eye level to each other.
I think Rose and Sagesse started it. Michel joked in his deep voice making everyone laugh. I studied the light against our bodies, the shadows that grew longer as the sun fell orange into the water, the terra cotta rooftops highlighting puffy white clouds. Rose touched me. Then Sagesse with her long fingertips, and then both making my nipples stand against the damp fabric of my shirt. Michel was delighted. He invited us to a pastel bungalow which grew like a tropical mushroom in the shadow of the hotel.
Sagesse sat me in the bed and removed my tee shirt. When she bent over, I could see her taut, tiny breasts where her sundress fell away from her. Instinctively, my thumbs circled her nipples. She sat on my lap facing me. Her head fell back as she pressed against me. I knew she could feel the hardness of my cock through my shorts and the flimsy material of her sundress.
Rose was already making little noises as Michel, sans Speedo, was pumping his rather thick cock in and out of her pussy. How they had undressed so quickly was a momentary mystery to me. Mystery dissolved as I lifted myself and pushed my shorts to the floor. Sagesse raised her dress and sat on my happy manhood.
I entered her in one easy movement. My hands found her hips and I lifted her. She pressed back and I could feel her pussy take possession of my cock in an explosion of softness and heat. Wetness poured over my scrotum. I raised my hips off the bed and gained fractionally deeper access to her womanhood. She pushed me down into the soft bed and placed her knees on either side of me. She was like a little girl in my hands, petite and light as she ground herself onto my shaft. I came holding her breasts. She came seconds after, draping my face in a tent formed by her long hair, her lips sucking and biting mine. She smelled of vanilla and spice.
We could hear Michel slapping against Rose like a steam piston. Rose had her legs entwined with his; her toes were bunched behind his knees. I watched her breasts sway beneath him, giving visual evidence of the waves that were rapidly overcoming her. Rose raised on her elbows and fell back as her orgasm took control of her senses. Her hand smacked loudly against Michel's ass, and he laughed as he unloaded himself in smaller, more violent thrusts. He held his breath as he exploded, then gasped in mock horror at what he had done.
Sagesse, he cried.What happened?
You! Sagesse screamed as she jumped from me to the other bed.You have been bad! I rolled onto one elbow and watched with amused interest.
With amazing grace, Sagesse pulled Michel from Rose and sat him in a nearby padded chair. She took his cock in her mouth. Michel was still hard and he protestedI didn't know what I was doing!
Sagesse saidI will lick off the other woman from you, you naughty man. Michel slumped in the chair and spread his legs. I could see Sagesse's head bobbing in his lap.
Rose was beside me in an instant. We sat and watched Michel and Sagesse find good use for the chair they shared. They seemed to have forgotten us, until Michel looked over and winked to let us in on their joke.
Overhead, a ceiling fan cooled the sweat from Rose's body. In my mind I memorized the colors and the textures of that room. Michel and Sagesse--by another name, of course--in a chair was the first work in my series on Mexico that started my career as an artist.
And when I fly, I think of my comforter and cotton sheets and cocoons and ceiling fans and guitars and sundresses and a French man's laughter. I think of Rose sticking her finger of sun lotion between her breasts. I think of her listening to my heart beat.
When I fly, I keep my hands in my lap and nobody knows but me and Rose.