Dessert in the Rose Garden

We spend the evening sitting outside in the cool breeze of early fall. The embers in the grill are barely there, just faintly glowing and the kids hover close to it, pretending to be cold. After dinner, we pulled out the good face paints, the ones I save for festivals and conferences. They are oil based crayons, really, and when they've been dipped in a little water, create the most beautiful pictures on skin. Joseph asked for a fire-breathing dragon across his little tiny arm. Laura wanted a horse galloping across her cheek. And Emily, oh sweet Emily... Emily wanted to be painted into a tiger. She has been walking around rubbing her head against us and purring ever since.

Finally it's time to herd the children inside and I supervise washing the paint off before bed ("But Mama, if you wash it off now, I can't turn into a real tiger in the night!") while you stack the dishes and get them out of the way. The kids all pile into the trundle beds while we each read a story to them. Emily is snuggled against you and Joseph against me while Laura lays sprawled out by our feet. The scene before us is so picturesque, it doesn't seem like it could possibly be real.

Stories finished, sheets pulled up and lights out, we deliver a round of good night kisses and on our way out the door, Laura says, "Hey Mom! Kellie didn't get any face paint! Even you got a vine up your arm. What about Kellie?" I laugh at her and say good night one last time, but the truth is she's given me an idea. I tidy up a couple of things in the back of the house and am not at all surprised to find you stretched out across my bed, taking in the breeze when I finally get there.

"Hey, Babe. Do me a favor, please? Pull the bedspread and blankets all the way back and take your clothes off. I want to try something." You give me a highly skeptical look and I say, "Please," again before you relent. I walk back out of the room to check on the now sleeping kids and find a couple of things. When I return you are in the exact same position, but naked and just as lovely as ever.

You watch me warily as I close my bedroom door and approach the bed. I set up the box of paints, a cup of warm water, a soft cloth and a cuticle stick for touch ups. I sit next to you and look at the canvas of your body, trying to decide where to start. I pick your right foot, and start a winding trail of vines and small flowers up your calf, around your knee and climbing your thigh. It tickles a little, I think, because you giggle every now and then. But I don't rush. Carefully, so carefully, I map out a wild English vine garden over your leg. When I feel OK about it, I stand up to look at it a little more closely. Ah, nice, but only the start of my project.

I curl the growth up around your hip and then continue moving it up toward your left shoulder, first drawing the vine and the stems, making sure that the path is good. In some places it twines and in others there is a small sprout of new growth. I circle your left breast with a long stroke of the green paint, making it ready to flower. When I glance up at you before starting the blooms, you are relaxed with your eyes closed and a soft smile on your face.

I start at your hip with the same small, delicate flowers that I had drawn on your leg. As I follow the growth across your belly, however, the flowers grow larger, wilder, somehow almost too exotic for the setting I had imagined them in. But your body, my living landscape, is talking to me, telling me what it needs and I can't argue with it. I work for a long time on the flower that is placed just to the inside of your left nipple, attaching it with great care to its stem, shading and filling it. I make it all the way to your shoulder and stand up right here on the bed to look at it. I don't usually like my own work, but you are lovely there, covered with fresh flora, so peaceful you seem almost asleep except for the slight teasing smile playing on your face.

I run to grab a hand mirror so you can see it and you look yourself over carefully. I wait with my breath held for you to tell me what you think. You like it, you say. You like it a lot. I sit on the edge of the bed, softly running my fingers over your skin and taking in the scene. You reach for me. "Kiss me," you whisper and I gladly do as you ask.

The kiss grows and deepens and soon you're pulling my shirt off me, reaching around to do the one-handed bra trick that you're so fond of. My jeans and panties go next under your skilled hands and then I'm as naked as you are. I kiss you again and again, and soon you pull me on top of you because, you say, you like the weight of me there. I smile happily and revel in the feeling of the slick crayons between us. We are slightly slippery there together and our usual slow grind is somehow even more intoxicating than usual.

After several more minutes of kissing and pushing ourselves into each other, you lean up to whisper something in my ear. "Turn around baby. Put your pussy on my face..."

I exhale, hard, at your words and the memory of the last time we tried this favorite position of yours. I resolve to stick it out this time. I slowly pick myself up off of you and turn so that my bottom is toward your head. Straddling you seems suddenly to be more than I can do, I feel vulnerable and exposed and not completely comfortable. "Come on, Angel," you encourage me and take hold of my thigh to help me mount you. I take a deep breath, flush hot in my face and force myself to make my move.

As I settle down on you, you sigh happily and I delicately open you enough that I can get my tongue onto your clit. My fingers find your opening and you're far more turned on than I would have expected after having to lay so still for my nit-picky art escapade. I bring some of that wonderful wetness up to coat your inner labia and begin to lick you again, softly but in earnest.

I'm trying desperately to tune out your skilled tongue on my pussy, but you are too good, too insistent. I decide that the best I can do is to just keep on with my own task for as long as possible and then give myself up to you when I need to. You work me expertly and I do my best to stay focused on your pleasure. You start to moan a little, move under me, but I can't tell if it's from my tongue or the delight you always take when you can tell I'm getting close to my orgasm. I realize that I'm starting to shake under your tongue, growing closer and closer and I manage to get in two or maybe three more flicks with my own tongue before I am lost to it. I ride the wave, covering my mouth to hide my sounds, and the orgasm releases me into bliss.

I rest my head on your left thigh for a minute and quickly glance over at the flowers on the other leg. They are smeared a little now and this makes them somehow lovelier than before. After just a moment of recovery, I reposition myself slightly so that I can slide two fingers inside you and get my bearings. It only takes a second before I find the magic spot inside you that makes you go limp and then immediately tense again.

You are close after your game with me and I bring you to the edge of your own orgasm fairly quickly. You whisper something to me, something sweet, and grasp my thighs firmly in your hands. I can feel it building through your hands and your pussy and I lean in and tease your clit with my tongue. You bring your cunt up to me, offering me more and I greedily take it. I play you with my fingers and lick the place just under your clit that makes you crazy. You get more and more tense and I know you're right there. Slightly more pressure from me and you are suddenly gushing your sweetness into my hand while pushing yourself into my face. Your body goes tight as a drum for a minute and then relaxes, all at once back into the bed. I pull back from you slowly, resting my fingers for a moment before taking them out and drying them on the sheet.

Coming up off you, I look down at both of us, covered in beautiful smears and swirls of face paint and we laugh a little. I lay tucked in next to you and breathe in the combined scents of us under the cool evening breeze. We are still and quiet and the crickets make a little noise outside. We know that we should get up and shower, and we will. But first, this moment is more important so we bask in it together.