It Was Roses, Roses All The Way

After a bad break-up, Tom Burgoyne’s interest in growing roses, had become a passion. He was invited to display at the state rose show, but tucked away in a corner, Tom received little attention until the final day. Cassandra Wolpers was making a segment for her Morning TV Show. A striking woman, tall, elegant, graceful and with remarkable silver hair, she was a living, breathing definition of “gorgeous”.

Cassandra noticed Tom’s display almost accidentally; blue roses fascinated her and Tom specialised in these rare forms. Taking a deep breath, he enquired, “Is there anything of special interest, Ms. Wolpers?” Her smile was conventionally polite, but before she could answer, Tom cut a newly opening blossom from a deep lavender rose, saying, “Ms. Wolpers, would you please accept this as a gift?”

This time, her smile and thanks were warm and genuine, her professional armour briefly discarded.

Back home, Tom fantasised about Cassandra, even though he knew she was out of his league. But he enjoyed the image of her silver hair spread across his pillow, her mouth half open, waiting to be kissed and her soft voice begging him to … “Oh well,” he thought, “no harm in dreaming.”

A few days later while nurturing his blooms, Tom saw a familiar figure approaching, head covered by a voluminous scarf and looking totally unlike the Cassandra Wolpers from the show. But he had no doubt who she was.

“Hello, Ms. Wolpers, what brings you here?”

She looked startled, but soon recognised “the rose man”. “So this is where you work your magic,” she said. “I don’t usually come this way, but I had parking problems today.”

“Mmm, are you a frequent visitor to these parts?” Tom enquired.

“Yes, I visit my grandmother in the nearby nursing home,” she replied sadly. “She has Alzheimer’s and hardly recognises me, but Nanna brought me up and her illness is hard to cope with.”

“Must be,” Tom commented. “My father died with Alzheimer’s about five years ago, so I can empathise.”

“Thank you, Mr. Burgoyne—may I call you Tom?” Authentic warmth shone from her voice.

“Certainly,” he smiled in reply, “so long as I can call you Cassandra.”

“Make it Cass and you’ve got a deal.”

“Great, Cass—look, would you like to take some flowers for your Nanna?”

“Thank you, Tom, perhaps just one bloom; a dark red one if I could.”

“An excellent choice, madam,” he grinned. Cass thanked him, waving as she walked away.

Tom was delighted when she called to him the following Sunday afternoon on her way to the nursing home, and he gave her another red rose. Their friendship grew until one day Tom asked, “Would you like to stop by for coffee after your visit? I know how draining it can be, and I’m really quite house-broken.”

Cass looked at him, taking in his “beautifully ugly” looks. Tall, curly brown hair, dark blue eyes, a broken nose, and a small scar that caused his mouth to quirk upwards. Then smiling, she replied, “Thank you, Tom I’d like that.”

This had been one of her grandmother’s bad days; Cass’ drawn face showed strain when she returned. “I’ve got something stronger than coffee if you’d prefer?” Tom asked.

“Thanks, Tom, vodka and tonic if you’ve got it, but just a small one; I’m driving.”

Tom treated Cass with light-hearted respect, and she became rapt in his unfamiliar warmth and kindness, until suddenly she saw the time. “I must get home; I’ve got an early start tomorrow. Thank you so much, Tom, I haven’t felt so relaxed for a long time. I do enjoy talking to someone who’s intelligent and not trying to make points with me—or get inside my panties! You’re not, are you, Tom?” she asked with a sly grin.

“Any normal guy would be panting at your door with his tongue hanging out. Me included. But I enjoy your company for wholly platonic reasons, and I would never jeopardise that.”

Her expression revealed her gratitude, and she whispered, “Thank you, Tom—that means a lot to me.” Cass kissed his cheek lightly and left.

“She kissed me, she kissed me,” Tom carolled, dancing round the room; his excitement helping him to formulate a plan to strengthen their relationship. He put together a large bowl of roses and took them to the nursing home; Cass’ grandmother’s face lit up with a beaming smile as he gave them to her.

The following day, Cass promised to see him after visiting her grandmother, but she didn’t show. Tom was disappointed, but told himself not to expect miracles.

But miracles happen. A short time later the door bell rang. This was a Cass he’d never seen before. Her silver hair glowed, her makeup was enchanting, she wore a white silk blouse and a tight, short skirt in a soft, pastel blue material. This delicious package was finished with four inch heels and an expression that Tom was wholly unable to decipher.

“Mr. Burgoyne, may I come in? I want a word with you.?” She followed Tom into the lounge; he invited her to sit, but Cass answered firmly, “No thank you. I need to stand for what I’m going to do.”

Tom’s heart sank; somehow he had blundered. “Okay, Ms. Wolpers, what word would you like to have with me?”

Cass shimmied closer to him until Tom could feel her warm, sweet breath on his face. “How about ‘magic’ or ‘unbelievable’, or even, ‘fucking wonderful’. Will those do for a start?”

“Oh … if you mean the flowers, well … I thought your grandmother might enjoy the colours and perfume, and … “

“Yes, that’s what I mean, you extraordinary man, now I want to show my gratitude.” She leaned into him, linking her arms around his neck, kissing Tom in a way he had never experienced—or even dreamed about. However, he wasn’t totally naïve, and returned the favour with passion. Before long, they were both tightly entwined and the kiss continued, sweet and wet until neither Cass nor Tom was able to remain upright.

They collapsed onto the lounge looking at each other with desire oozing from their pores.

Tom looked deep into Cass’ eyes. “Cass, you are an unbelievable lady and I’m one hell of a lucky guy. But I don’t want this to be just about gratitude for the flowers; I know I’m being unrealistic, but …”

He got no further before Cass’ mouth found his again, this time hot and demanding. “Listen, rose man. I work in an industry full of fakes, chancers and just plain undesirables. When I find a guy who is smart, funny, kind and genuine, I won’t let him go. And I’d bet that I want you as much as you want me, probably more. So get your clothes off, then come and strip me.”

Tom wasn’t about to argue. “Okay, sexy, let’s go to the operating theatre.”

“You mean your bedroom, don’t you?”

“Isn’t that what I just said?” he enquired with an evil grin.

Tom stripped down to his boxers in a few seconds. “You have to take those off,” he told a laughing Cass.

“My turn,” she murmured and he removed her blouse and skirt quickly and deftly. “Ooh, you’ve done this before, haven’t you, you bad boy.”

Tom said nothing, but removed her tiny bra and gazed, awestruck, at her beautiful breasts. He ran his hands across her silky skin, then covered her face with little nibbling kisses. She tried, unsuccessfully, to capture his mouth with hers, while he pulled her body close, her breasts mashing into his chest. He repeated his kisses around her ears, revelling in her soft gasps and moans of enjoyment. When he bit her ear lobe, Cass growled and, grabbing his head in her hands, kissed him passionately, forcing her tongue into his mouth.

“Time for some real action, Tom; I’m just about coming apart at the seams. Please, you lovely man, make love to me. Make me your woman.

“Sure, gorgeous, just so long as you make me your man.”

He bent, kissing each firm, tubular nipple. Then he upped the ante, pulling and twisting her nipples until her breasts were taught cones of flesh, her moans and cries revealing a lust and passion that had Tom rigid with desire.

“Tom, I need you inside me, right now. Please take me hard and give me an orgasm that will blow me apart. I want you so very much.”

“Okay, you sexy piece. I want you on top so I can watch you squirm and squeal and see those gorgeous tits bobbing in my face.”

Cass growled, a husky, erotic sound and lowered Tom’s boxers, revealing his manhood drooling and ready to play. Tom slid off her damp, filmy panties, revelling in her smooth shaven moistness and intoxicating aroma. He pulled Cass onto the bed, running his tongue across her mound, eliciting a deep, excited moan. She grabbed his head, almost trying to force it inside her before he pushed her away and demanded in no uncertain terms that she should mount him. Locating herself above his rigid member, she slowly lowered herself onto him, an unbelievable sensation, like entering a hot, wet, clingy velvet tunnel.

Cass’ mewling whimpers formed an erotic counterpoint to Tom’s deep ecstatic groans as she writhed on top of him and he thrust up into her. Tom knew he couldn’t last long and realised that Cass was also nearing her peak. She dug her nails into his shoulders and her whimpers changed to a scream, becoming a crescendo of wanton need. They blended together in a lubricious frenzy of carnal desire, their screams and moans creating a tsunami of lust.

The tsunami swept over them. Cass’ scream became a keening wail, as she shuddered towards her climax. Her orgasm sent her into a bodily spasm, as Tom howled his triumph, erupting deep inside Cass, shaking and trembling.

They exchanged looks of exhaustion blended with elation before Tom broke the post-coital silence. “Wow. What on earth was that? I’ve never even imagined something so intense, so truly marvellous.”

“I have no idea, rose man, but whatever it was, I am officially addicted, and I want more,” and she kissed him, hot and wet. Then she started giggling, “Oh, by the way Tom, I’m sure you’ll never guess—but my middle name is Rose.”

(1730 words)