The Trellis

BEDROOM, 2am

You toss your hand carefully above your head to start the avalanche of cotton and let the sheets tumble to the floor. You think you can feel those eyes on you in the dark, watching you. You arch your back as the last of your sheets slip past your nipples and the hand between your thighs plays circles at your clit, occasionally dipping into a warm velvety pocket, growing more slick each time, starting to drip now onto your taint. Your raised hand drops down, imagining it was his, and you train your eyes into the darkness. Into where you imagine he would be and you think, 'Are you with me? What would you say if you could see me?' And you squeeze your breast, grasping at your nipple and now imagine it to be his mouth.

PORCH, BLUE SUNDRESS

There's always been a rough sweetness to your landlord. The way he nods as he passes and sends you a gruff smile, with crow's feet forming at his eyes while he hauls a ladder to the roof. The way he keeps a handkerchief in his pocket to mop sweat and dirt from his brow. "My gentleman's kerchief" he calls it, with humor. There's no telling where he picked up the joke, or if it even IS one, but it makes those crows feet dance and that quick draw smile shoot as he wipes his forehead and looks away toward his own homestead, just up the road. He's 20 years your senior and, while you get the compliments,

"Oh, but ma'am. That can't be YOUR license. This one says you're..."

and you shush them before they can be TOO nice, he looks every bit his age with a toughness and a handsome refinement that make the church ladies insist he attend their studies with such blushing zealotry you would think he was that OTHER well built carpenter.

BEDROOM, 1:25am

You imagine his dark shape- simultaneously at your closet, vigorously jerking at his meaty phallus and on top of you breathing heavily as he shoves it roughly into your soaking cunt. You cry out and pinch your clit for a second before you thrust two fingers into your hungry hole. You can hear his breathing (...is it yours?) and it is ragged as you punch your fingers inside and moan behind grinding teeth as your other hand drops below to rub your clit. He fucks you mercilessly, his animal grunts in your ear mix with your moans and he slips his calloused fingers in your mouth. You bite and suck on them. His imagined? shape has picked your laced panties off the floor and inhales your musk deeply while he tugs on his thick cock. You come with a feverish need. He comes inside you, his cock stiffening and growing so thick that you bite his fingers hard enough to draw blood, your pussy drinks his milky spasms with your own. He shoots his cum across the floor and, even in your feverish orgasm, you can hear his knees hit the floor with a thump.

PORCH, SUNFLOWER SUNDRESS- NO BRA

He's driving his truck down the dirt road and you're dutifully swinging the shit out of that broom. Today is Wednesday and Wednesdays are market days. You know that he can see your swaying breasts once he gets that old truck of his about ten feet from the porch because he just about takes out the stairs.

"Now, damn it! You know you're just kicking up more dirt than your taking off!" He yells from the rolled down window.

"Why don't you come on out and say somethin' to my face? I can barely hear you in there, hollerin'!" You giggle and give the broom, and your tits, a few more shakes.

He opens the door, trying to hide behind it when he steps out. You can very clearly see from up on the porch and through his door's window that the poor man has a very firm erection and is trying to adjust it. He decides to walk stiff legged toward you instead, holding his handy notepad. His jeans knees are scuffed and you remember something briefly from a dream and let flit through your mind, cause a few butterflies to flutter in your stomach. You tell him the things you need and the things you want, give or take. And then, like a few of the flirtations you've had before, you lean into him a little.

You let his hand brush your nipple and feel the softness of your breast. He's leaning up against the railing, taking down the market order, and you step in closer, letting the inside of your thigh brush his.

"One more thing. Chocolates. Mmm. I do enjoy some good chocolates."

"Do you?" He asks, and looks up from his shopping list, his thick fingers shifting ever so slightly against your nipple as his grey blue eyes pierce yours.

"Aah...mmm. Some are those really good caramel ones that surprise you the minute that you bite into them. You know the ones, you can take your tongue and lick all around until you have completely indulged in the caramel and then put what is left Into your mouth and roll it around until it just...melts...Those are my favorites."

His thigh draws further up until it and your dress are pressed into your mound, unburdened by panties. You breathe out and, though it's an inaudible moan, it's all you can hear over your own heartbeat.

"I like the ones with nougat." He says with a smile and slips sideways, but catches you before you tumble into the railing.

"Easy, doll."

When he returns from the market, he places your groceries inside. Before he leaves, he brings you a rose from his truck and kisses you on the cheek. It's too quick to react! How badly you want to just throw your arms around him...

FROM THE PORCH TO THE BEDROOM, 10:30pm - 2:40am

You had placed his rose in brown pebbles in a mason jar by your bed. Southern chic. A part of you wished for thorns, something to tease across your skin, and the petals will do; they just won't have the same effect.

You had stayed out on your porch late that night looking longingly out toward his house, watching his moving shape finishing up the days chores. You had your tea and bourbon, and then you had your bourbon. You drank enough to make your thoughts swim and your mind buzz, but not so much that your mouth dried up and your sea legs swayed. You turned your porch light down and sat in the darkness on your swing in the nude, with one hand on your perspiring glass, the other toying with various places of your femininity: The soft skin of your stomach; the tuft of hair on your pubic mound; the tender, rarely touched skin under your nipple, where it curves beneath your breast; your erect clitoris; your moist labia; your full lips; your earlobe. All of these sensations enhanced by the alcohol and turned to ecstasy by the warm night air and its thickness, like walking into a room of gossip.

His lights went out and you went to bed and stared at the ceiling, listening to the familiar sounds of the country. The crickets and the grass, the cars calling from the freeway, miles away, the settling creaks of the old house that could be mistaken as an intruder. Your imaginary amorous watcher. Your breath quickens at the thought and you pluck the rose from the table beside you.

Roses have long been your favorite, but not during the clichéd swooning of post-adolescence. "Who needs roses?" You used to think. After all, they were nothing but a gesture for those who lacked imagination. While you were writing your love letters in scented markers (before the letters were folded intricately to enough to confound origami masters); while you were dreaming of a Stetson wearing stranger (smelling of leather and sweat) pulling you away from your nowhere town to anywhere else; while you were running your hands through the dusty, matted hair of your first steady boyfriend when he brought you a wild sunflower. "Who needs roses? Seriously."

That other boy, the one in college whom you had met in a bookstore, had led you by the hand into a lot where a farmhouse and garden had once stood. It was his grandparent's homestead, which had burned to the ground in the 1960's. The only remains were a fireplace and chimney, acting as the house's grave marker in the field of tall wild grass and, inside a rusted iron fence acre, a once carefully tended garden had turned feral. The budded plants choked each other in a struggle for dominance. Here, he lay blankets and fed you fruit. Here, he lay books and fed you poetry. Here, he lay you and fed you his body. One particular day, as he fucked you roughly from behind, you spread your hands out into the thick silky buds, wiry tangles, and hefty slats of what must have been a fallen trellis of New Dawn roses. Their scent overwhelmed you as you came, and when you rolled onto your back, your shoulders came to rest in the same spot as where your hands had been. Their sinister brambles had pierced you, but your pain and pleasure could not be distinguished.

The memory of that day in the garden behind your closed eyes, brought by the scent of the rose you are lightly toying across your nose and cheeks, brings a smile to your lips.

"It was a new dawn, indeed." You think as you nip at a rose petal. You love the taste, the mouth feel, the way it was bitter and slightly sweet. With the window open, you smell the night air and it mixes with your perfume of rose oil, bourbon, and desire. You smell his hard work, not quite distant. No. Handy. Within reach.

"Are you with me tonight?" You ask the darkness, your eyes still closed. You smell his sweat, musky and fragrant like a stallion and your heart leaps into your throat. He is standing over you. His heat is so close. The rose is lifted from your fingers and you gasp, your breath drawn quickly back and you almost faint. He places a calloused finger to your lips and your first reaction is to open your mouth and try to suck on it.

He draws away from you and you can only assume he thought you were going to bite him.

"No!" You say, "I was only..." Then, with your eyes still closed, you feel a warm cloth being pressed to your eyes, now tied carefully behind your head. He pauses, cradling your head and neck in his large hand, his face so close to yours that you can feel electricity pass between your mouth and his without a touch. You whimper. You want him. You are afraid of him. You are delighted by him. When will he do it? When will he take you?

"I want you." Someone whispers.

"Yes."

"May-" "YES."

And with that, he buries himself into you. Your senses are both betrayed and heightened by the blindfold as he is impossibly everywhere on your body you want him to be and yet only one man. His hands are holding down your hands, his knees hold down your legs, while somehow he fingers your clit, bites at your nipples, licks your earlobes, passionately kisses you. How is he in so many places? He picks you up deftly and sets you down gently and plunges his face between your thighs. He expertly teases at you, biting you, and licking your asshole, which almost makes come when he notices your breathing and stops suddenly. You groan and buck your hips at him, but he controls you easily. He is toying with you. He calmly resumes licking your anus, driving you further into madness. He stops again and slowly breathes warm breaths upward to your leaking cunt. With a long lapping motion, he devours your honey and starts sucking on your clit, making broad strokes with his tongue. He reaches down and puts a finger in your ass. This is too much for you to stand. You warn him,

"FUCK. I'M GOING TO COME. I'M GOING. MMMM."

There isn't much more you can do at this point but ride it out. Your mind explodes starting somewhere in your asshole and working its way to the other side of the galaxy. When you come back down, you can feel your foot twitching uncontrollably.

You are angry now. You are enraged that he is not inside you and you grab desperately at his shoulders, his hair, his nipples, his chin. He is going to get up and get inside you. So he does and he is ready. He fucks you with every bit of passion you have wanted and waited for. His thick cock slides in and out of you as he locks his mouth to yours and you whine and moan ready to come again. 'Fuck me' You think. 'Fuck me. I've wanted this for so long. you've been watching me. Fuck me.'

And the thought of him standing there, at the window, watching the two of you, like some fucking twilight zone episode, with his cock in his hand about to explode, sends you over the edge.

As your pussy locks onto him, he comes as well, and fills you with his cum. His ass tightens, his arms grasp on to you and you hold on to him, your legs wrapped around his back. He stays like this, inside you, for a while. He takes the blindfold off after you fall asleep. He leaves you at some point during the night.

PORCH, APPLE TREE EPILOGUE

He's planting some apple trees on the other side of the house. Says they should produce fruit in two to three years. You invite him in for peach tea, but he declines. Says he's got to get all the chores done before they fall by the wayside. He does have a new project he's interested in doing though. He wants to put up a trellis on the north side of the house. You ask what he'd plant.

New Dawn Roses.

You smile. He'll come 'round later, he calls.

The End