A Rose By Any Other Name
Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Fa/Fa, Consensual, Romantic, Heterosexual, FemaleDom, Light Bond, Slow, School,
Desc: Sex Story: Chapter 1 - He was a grad school loner, she was making ends meet by selling roses in Pablo's bar. After a bit of a rocky start, the two begin to see eye-to-eye on any number of things! Much sickly sweetness ensues, and some stuff that's NOT so sickly sweet.
I don't remember the exact date I first saw her, but it was probably a Tuesday, because at the time Tuesday was really the only day I had available for drinking. It's shocking how much of an effect graduating from college and having a real job can have on the amount of time a person spends partying per week, but it does.
So, if it was a Tuesday and I was drinking then I would most certainly have been at Pablo's. Pablo's Tavern is the place my buddies from the music department and I used to hang out, back in our undergrad days. Since graduation however, I was pretty much the only one of the gang still hanging around campus, so I drank alone.
I know that sounds pathetic. I don't think it is, but maybe I'm wrong. I always used to laugh at people who just couldn't leave school, for whatever reason, so I suppose at first glance it is pretty sad, but it wasn't... not really. Like a few people I knew, I floated aimlessly for a few months after graduation, living life as I had during college and basically ignoring any grownup responsibilities I might have had. I told people I was setting aside a few weeks to "discover myself," although I'm pretty sure my father didn't much care for my rationalization.
So, I wasted the summer after my senior year. I finally came to the decision, based more on my lack of motivation in the workplace than any real desire to better myself, to return to school. A couple of my music professors, and my advisor Dr. Bergerud in particular, had made it clear that if I began my post-graduate studies in the fall I would have an office in the music department and would be the highest paid graduate assistant on campus.
So, what wasn't to like about that offer? As it turned out... a lot.
Dr. Bergerud is a great guy, he really is. He knows his music theory forwards and backwards, has a mind made for history and is a very good choir director, but he's absolutely horrible with grading papers. So the highest paid graduate assistant on campus spent most of the first semester grading Intro To Music papers. I don't mind grading papers, but Dr. Bergerud assigns a five-page paper each week. But I slogged through as best I could, even managing to find time to study for my own advanced theory and literature classes.
So my first semester back in school was a lot busier than I had expected. It certainly wasn't horrible, but it wasn't all that fun either, which is what probably led me back to Pablo's in the first place. I needed some way to relieve the stress in my life, and since most of my friends had moved on after graduation, I felt alone. So I became a regular at the tavern.
I had never been a huge drinker when I was working on my undergraduate degree, probably because I was a poor college student and soda is infinitely cheaper than alcohol, so I never really acquired a taste for it. That all changed once I got out in the real world, and that frightened me a little bit. I spent enough of my Tuesday evenings sitting at a bar stool at Pablo's to know that I didn't want to end up like the rest of the fat, pathetic drunks who frequented the place. But drinking alone in my apartment seemed far worse, so there I was.
Pablo's Tavern is a fairly nice dive, as far these kind of places go, although it's definitely not one of the newer family-style bar and restaurants. And as far as I know, there is no Pablo. Billy is the regular bartender and at six and a half feet and as black as coal he'll never be confused with Pablo, and all the waitresses are as white as I am, but what do you expect in Omaha?
So maybe with no Pablo, and in fact nothing even remotely Hispanic about the place, there's somewhat of a truth in advertising issue, but it's no big deal. What's important is that Pablo's is a place a guy can go to forget all his troubles. As long as you've got a wallet and can manage to stay mostly vertical in your chair, the bartender will be happy to keep your glass full.
And I've noticed that buying a couple of roses doesn't hurt either, and that was a new thing since graduation. It seems in the few months I was away, Pablo's acquired a new set of working girls. When I say "working girls," I mean just that... working girls. Not hookers, but girls, mainly college age, who walked around the bar selling roses to the bar's patrons.
Don't ask me why the girls are there. They just are. The girls are always dressed nicely, and generally you'll never see them drink while they're on the "job." Pablo's is pretty big, so usually two or three girls will be working at once, wandering through the drunk and lonely people, selling long-stemmed roses.
And that's all they do. I had always wondered if they were selling the flowers to raise money for a charity, or if this is just another way for the bar to make money, but I've learned that's not the case. The girls sell roses to make a bit of extra cash, and if drunk guys feel guilty and buy a couple for their wife or girlfriend at home, so much the better. It's all about money.
Like I said though, after I realized that Billy and the rest of the bartenders seemed a bit more relaxed and easy going once I'd bought a couple flowers, I usually did just that. Who knows, maybe the girls kick a bit of money back to the bar for the privilege. I never asked.
For weeks during the beginning of the school year I had been seeing this one particular girl and was just fascinated by her. I never managed to talk with her, but each Tuesday when I sat down for my drinks she caught my eye. We had our first contact in October, shortly after fall break.
From a distance what had caught my eye was her hair. I've always been a sucker for a long cascade of hair running down a girl's back, and this girl's mane of auburn hair seemed to be made for me. All I could imagine was running my fingers through it. She was dressed like the rest of the flower girls who worked the bar, but to my eyes she looked far better than they could ever hope to look.
On most of the girls, the short black skirts and tuxedo shirts with the top three or four buttons undone looked foolish, like little girls playing dress-up, but on her... well, it was something else. On her the clothes looked nothing less than sexy and I had a quick flashback, remembering my high school prom and how my date had looked as we relaxed after making love on the couch in my living room. My girlfriend at the time had dressed in just my tuxedo shirt and the memory of her long legs peeking out from under the tails of the shirt was one of my only good memories of our time together.
Like my high school sweetheart, this girl had long, wavy auburn hair that fell in loose curls down to the small of her back, nearly to the upper curve of her ass. But where my old girlfriend had packed on a few extra pounds, this girl was slim without being skinny, and for her small frame had rather large breasts.
I'm not a good judge of a woman's bra size, so I can't tell you what her actual size was... because I just can't tell. But who knows... she was a tiny girl, far shorter than my six feet, so maybe her breasts just looked big on her.
But it was the hair that caught my attention. At least from a distance. Once I saw her up close, it was her face that grabbed me. She had the smoothest skin and the most kissable pair of pink lips I had ever seen, but it was her eyes that really did it. Here eyes were what did me in.
I was sitting on my bar stool, nursing my second and final scotch of the night when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned and almost lost myself in the liquid emerald of her eyes.
"Buy a rose, mister?" she asked and I glanced down to see the typical basket of pink and red flowers cradled in her arms.
"What the hell," I shrugged. I hadn't bought any yet that night and they were cheap. Like I said, I'm pretty sure the bar had some sort of deal set up with the girls so I was always willing to chip in a few bucks. "Give me a couple of the red ones," I said.
"Thanks!" she grinned. The girl's face brightened visibly with my words and I pulled a couple bills out of my wallet to finalize the purchase. We made our exchange and I found myself holding two red roses with no place to put them.
"Billy," I called down the bar. "Can I get a glass of water for my flowers?" Billy looked up from the other end of the bar and nodded. He brought me a tall plastic cup, half filled with water and I placed the roses inside. I returned to my drink, startled when moments later I felt another tap on my shoulder. I turned to see the flower girl standing behind me once more.
"Thanks," she said, nodding to the roses. "I saw what you did with the flowers. It's kind of sad to see most of the roses die. A lot of guys just buy them because they think we'll bug them if they don't. And they usually just leave them on the bar, and they wither up and get thrown out."
"They're very pretty," I said.
"So, I just wanted to say thanks," the girl said, turning to go.
I smiled as she left, waving as she returned to her rounds. I drained the last of my now diluted drink and stood to go, feeling a little guilty. The girl had been right about people buying the flowers out of a sense of duty, and I was normally one of those guys who left the roses on the bar but tonight I decided to take mine home with me. Careful not to spill the water, I picked up my cup and walked to the door.
The girl was selling to a table near the entrance and she waved as she saw me leaving, smiling brightly as I held up my cup of flowers. I pushed my way into the cool of the November night, wishing I'd decided to go to school somewhere a bit more tropical than Omaha. Mindful of the fragile flowers I held in my hand I hurried to my car, which sputtered to life with a cough and a gasp and I drove the two miles back to my apartment.
I groaned as I flicked on the lights, seeing the living room exactly as I'd left it. I kept hoping I would return one day and everything would magically have straightened itself into something resembling order, but it wasn't to be. It was a mess... dirty clothes on the couch, a pizza box on the floor and sheets of music writing paper strewn haphazardly around the room.
I picked up the pizza box, grimacing as I remembered it was still there from Saturday night. If I wasn't careful I would soon have an ant problem and I promised myself to spend some quality time cleaning up my mess in the morning before my first class.
I set the roses on my kitchen table, leaning over to smell their aroma. I closed my eyes and to my surprise saw nothing but the face of the girl from the bar. I sighed, knowing that to her I was more than likely just another bar patron, and probably not worth a second thought. I stripped out of my clothes and went to my bedroom to get ready for bed.
Once in bed, the vision of the girl's perfect face floated through my memory and I found myself becoming erect at the thought of her smooth skin and supple young body. I reached down to tug at my stiffening prick and stroked myself to the fantasy of the girl and I rolling around on my living room floor surrounded by millions of rose petals.
My orgasm came with a rush and I felt my hand and chest suddenly coated with my semen. I reached over the side of the bed and grabbed a sock off the floor to wipe the mess from my skin. The image of the girl's face was still with me as I drifted off to sleep, my last thought one of disappointment as I realized I didn't even know her name.
I rolled out of bed the next morning surprisingly refreshed, considering the late evening I'd had the previous night. Wednesday is always a rough day for me. Dr. Bergerud has three morning classes and for some reason wants to meet with me before he lectures, ostensibly to go over his notes and overhead transparencies. I've never understood why he feels the need, since he usually just shows his teaching aids to me and I agree that they're fine, but whatever, I guess. Maybe he just wants the practice, although you'd think that after thirty years of teaching he'd have it down by now.
"Morning," I said as I walked into his office.
"Dan," he nodded from behind his desk. I waited as he finished typing something into his computer. He finished after a moment and looked up at me. He appeared ready to say something when his head cocked to one side and he stared at me for a few moments. I stood there, unsure what he was thinking when suddenly he shook his head and laughed as he stood up.
"What?" I asked, curious as to his good mood, unusual for such an early morning.
"Nothing, nothing," he said, still laughing gently as he gathered his books. "Just glad to see that one of us is so happy." Without another word he slipped past me into the hallway, whistling a John Phillip Sousa tune as he walked down the hall.
Me? Happy? I thought about it but couldn't think of any reason I was any happier today than I'd been all week. I figured the big guy was just getting older, and that made me sad. Dr. Bergerud had been a staple at my school for as long as I could remember, and I'd grown up in this town so I'd known of him my whole life. He was an institution around these parts - in fact I think he may have been the first choir director at the school - but the rumor mill had him retiring at the end of this school year, although he hadn't said anything to me.
I laughed, before realizing that the pile of ungraded essays was my morning's work. I thought about taking the stack of papers to my tiny office, but decided against it and sat down at the professor's desk, preparing for the mind-numbing procession of lofty ideas and poorly-worded rationalizations from this semester's group of freshmen.
I was half finished with the essays when Dr. Bergerud returned from his first class, obviously surprised to see me in his spot.
"Sorry," I said, quickly rising from his chair.
"No, stay where you are," he said, waving me back.
"You sure?" I asked.
"It's not a problem," he assured me. "I'll just grab my coat and go for a walk. Maybe some young gal will catch my eye. Then won't we be the pair!" he laughed as he walked out of his office. I could still hear his chuckle as he strolled down the hall.
I shook my head in puzzlement, trying to understand what he might be talking about and went back to grading papers.
The rest of the week was more of the same for me. I graded papers when I had time between my own classes and occasionally met with students from the professor's classes when he was unavailable. I was beginning to realize that being Dr. Bergerud's graduate assistant wasn't much more than being a glorified teaching aide, but the money and opportunity to study for my post-graduate degree more than made up for the lowly work required of me.
By the time the weekend rolled around I was more than ready to unwind. Foregoing my usual weekend ritual of staying at home and studying I decided to try and reconnect with old friends. The football team was playing its Homecoming game on Saturday and a few buddies of mine were going to be back in town.
Bobby Harmon, Pete Taylor and I had been a tight-knit trio the year before, all three of us certified choir geeks, but had lost contact after graduation. I was the only one still close to campus since Bobby had moved back to his hometown in Iowa to work in his father's law office, while Pete had moved to Chicago after completing his engineering degree. Both of them were going to be back in Omaha this weekend, and I was really looking forward to seeing them again.
Saturday was spent on campus and to me it felt as if the three of us had never been away from each other. Bobby was as much the womanizer as he had always been and spent most of the football game trying to pick up women while Pete on the other hand was oblivious to anything but the game. I spent most of my time sitting between the two, trying to pick up fragments of their lives as best I could.
"So, you're working for a design firm?" I asked Pete during halftime.
"Yeah," he answered. "It's okay. I mostly design ball bearings."
"What?" I questioned. "How do you do that? Aren't they all round?"
"Sure," he nodded.
"So, what... you design a sphere? What's the big deal?" I asked. Pete laughed at my expression.
"It's not so much that," he explained. "It ends up being more about the size and positioning, along with how much lubrication is used."
"Oh God," Bobby interrupted as a girl I recognized from one of the beginning music classes. "I'd like to lubricate her up and slip her one of my ball bearings."
"What?" Pete laughed.
"She's so fucking hot," Bobby continued.
"You're such a cradle robber," I said. "Her name is Allison Jenkins and she's just a freshman this year. Not even a freshman," I corrected myself. "She's actually a high school senior taking some college courses a year early."
"Who fucking cares?" Bobby shrugged, still eyeing Allison. As she walked away from us a gust of wind billowed up her skirt in the back, revealing the smooth globes of her tanned ass covered by nothing more than the thin string of a red thong panty. "She looks old enough to me. Besides, you know what I always say... if there's grass on the playing field it's okay to play there."
"Such a pervert," Pete laughed, but he too was beginning to become aware of the college girls surrounding us in the stands and trailed off as a quartet of girls sat down directly in front of us.
"How's it going, ladies?" Bobby asked, leaning forward. "What's a nice group of girls like you doing in a place like this?"
One of the girls giggled, looking at her three friends before turning back to Bobby who wasn't hiding the fact he was looking down their shirts, trying to get a glimpse of their breasts.
"Is this a bad place?" she asked in a small voice. "Do... do bad men hang out here?"
"Only the worst kind," Bobby replied, unaware he was being set up as the girl pretended to be scared.
"Oh my," she said. She looked at Bobby for a moment, her eyes dropping to look at the bulge in his pants. "We better find some big strong men to protect us. Isn't that right?" she asked Bobby, batting her eyelashes as she flirted with him.
"I think that would be a good idea," he said. "Because who knows what might happen to you girls, right? Some bad men might try to make you do bad things with them, and you might need protection."
"Right," she agreed. "And I know just the guys to protect us."
"Oh yeah?" Bobby asked, dropping his hand and brushing it over his erection. The girl giggled and nodded.
"Yep. They're right over there," she pointed.
Suddenly the girls jumped up, laughing at the shocked expression on Bobby's face as they ran away to another group of guys, standing at the railing separating the field from the stands. The girl Bobby had been talking to slipped her arm around one of the bigger guys and whispered into his ear. He turned our way, glaring as the girl pointed out Bobby. He seemed ready to head our way but the girl held him back and the three of us groaned in unison as the guy leaned down to kiss who we now assumed was his girlfriend, their tongues dueling furiously as his hands slid down her back, fondling her ass cheeks through her blue jeans.
"Bitch," Bobby spat out, watching as the girl blew him a kiss as she walked away, down towards the field.
"Smooth, Bobby. Real smooth," I joked. "You can sure pick them, can't you? The jailbait and the girl dating the football star. Way to go."
"He's a football player?" Bobby asked.
"Yeah, he's the starting quarterback."
"Why isn't he in the game?" Pete asked.
"He strained a couple ligaments in his knee the last game, and is probably out for the season."
"That sucks. We could sure use him today," Pete moaned. He was right; we were getting beat 24-10 and after discussing it the three of us decided to head out early. We stuck around through the third quarter but left before the final period but when it didn't appear there was any chance of a comeback.
"Where to now?" Bobby asked as we exited the stadium. "What passes for fun around here?"
"I don't know," I shrugged. "I normally study on the weekends."
"Ooh... a big party animal like always!" Bobby laughed. "Why don't we head over to Pablo's?" he asked.
"I suppose we could," I said and the three of us quickly got in Bobby's car and drove to our favorite watering hole.
Pablo's on a Saturday night was a much different place from what I was used to during the week. The three of us had a difficult time finding a place to sit and ended up at the bar until a booth opened up in the back. Pete and I waited at the counter for our drinks while Bobby claimed our seats. Not surprisingly, by the time Pete and I arrived with the drinks Bobby had already managed to convince one of the flower girls to sit down with him.
"This is Michelle," he told us as we set the pitcher of beer on the table. "Isn't she just the cutest?"
I recognized Michelle as one of the girls who sold roses, although I had only seen her around a couple times. Of all the girls working the bar, she seemed the most likely to drag a guy to the bathroom for a little extracurricular activity. In fact I had heard rumors that some of the girls supplemented their income in exactly that way, although I'd never experienced it firsthand.
"I've seen you around here before," Michelle said, leaning back again Bobby, who already had his hand around her shoulder. As the four of us drank our beers, Michelle sipping from Bobby's offered glass, I watched as Bobby's hand slowly slipped off Michelle's shoulder until he was cupping her breast through her tuxedo shirt. Like all the girls who sold roses, Michelle was wearing a man's tuxedo shirt and a short black skirt, although Michelle's skirt seemed shorter than most and her shirt appeared to have lost a few buttons somewhere along the line.
Bobby was taking advantage of Michelle's clothing situation by alternately looking down the opening in the front of her shirt to ogle her cleavage and reaching in to squeeze her soft tits. Michelle appeared to be very welcoming to his advances and judging by the motion of her right arm below the table, she was busy feeling up his cock. Pete and I were trying to ignore the indiscreet couple as we talked about the game and what we'd been doing with our lives until suddenly Bobby and Michelle got up from the table.
After a whispered conversation, Michelle stood first, straightening her clothing as she rose. Her face was flush and the points of her nipples poking through the tuxedo shirt were obvious to anyone who looked. The bulge in Bobby's pants was no less obvious as Michelle took Bobby by the hand and dragged him down the hallway to where the restrooms were.
"Do you think?" Pete asked, his eyebrows raised in question.
"Probably," I shrugged. "I hear that kind of stuff happens quite a bit."
"Lucky bastard," Pete grinned. We had been drinking for a while and although I was taking it slow, the original pitcher had been replaced twice already and Bobby and Pete seemed ready to take on a fourth.
"You mean because of Michelle?" I asked. Pete nodded, but I wasn't so sure. "I don't know... who knows where she's been?"
"That's a fucking excellent point," Pete agreed, his voice slurred as he raised his glass to me in salute. His voice trailed off and I caught him glancing over my shoulder. "Holy shit." he mumbled, quickly draining the rest of his beer.
Puzzled, I turned and saw the girl from the previous Tuesday, bent over a table a few feet away. I was considering inviting her over to meet Pete when he took care of that.
"Hey, over here. I wanna buy a flower," blurted Pete, waving his hand to get her attention. The girl turned and I saw a quick look of disgust flash across her face as she took in my drunken friend. Her look quickly passed as she saw me sitting there and her features rearranged into something close to a welcome smile as she made her way to our booth.
"Hey, there," she said as she stood next to me. "How's it going?"
"It's going great, pretty lady," said Pete loudly. "How about them flowers? I wanna buy a flower from you."
The girl smiled and started reaching into her basket of flowers, but was interrupted by Pete.
"Why don't you sit down beside me?" he asked, sliding away from the edge. "I've been keeping a spot warm for you, honey."
"Oh, I don't think so," said the girl mildly.
"But I want to kiss you," said Pete, reaching out to grab the girl's arm as he attempted to pull her closer.
"No," the girl protested, shaking off his weak grip. "Did you want to buy a flower or not?"
"I wanna buy a blowjob," he blurted, grabbing her arm again. "How much to buy a blowjob?"
"Quiet, Pete." I shook my head, but my inebriated friend was too far gone to pay any attention at this point.
"I don't do that," the girl hissed, finally breaking free.
"But my friend just bought a blowjob," Pete protested.
The girl shook her head and turned to leave and to my surprise I felt a rush of sadness as she turned to go. The girl gave me a look that I took as her being personally disappointed in me and quickly walked away.
"She was pretty," Pete said sadly as he watched the girl's hasty retreat. He quickly forgot about her and went back to his drinking while I was left to sit there and brood. I didn't know the girl, but I still felt bad for the way Pete had acted and at the moment wanted nothing more than to leave.
It was only a moment or two before Bobby and Michelle returned to the booth, both wearing satisfied expressions on their faces. As Bobby sat he stretched his arms out wide over his head and sighed happily.
"God, I love this place," he laughed, staring at Michelle. "The service was wonderful."
"It was my pleasure to service you," she grinned. I shook my head as I noticed Michelle wiping a telltale stain from her skirt, rolling my eyes as I wondered at the risks my friends were taking.
"Yeah, well some people have better luck than others," groused Pete. "That bitch wouldn't even give me the time of day," he grumbled, pointing out the girl he had nearly molested.
"Who?" Michelle asked, turning to see where Pete was pointing. "Oh, her?" she laughed. "She's a frigid bitch, that's for sure." When I heard the others laughing at the girl I suddenly realized I had a small crush on, I decided I'd rather be anywhere else but at the bar.
"Well," I said as I stood abruptly. "I think I'm going to take off." Bobby and Pete stared at me in surprise, looking at my mostly untouched drink. "I'll walk home," I explained, throwing a few bills down on the table. "You guys should get a cab, I think."
I ignored their protests as I walked away from the booth. On my way out I saw the flower girl. I wanted to go apologize but she seemed busy. On my way past the bar I stopped and talked with Billy, throwing a couple bills his way.
"See that girl over there selling flowers?" I asked. "I'm not sure of her name, but the brunette over by the table over there? This is for her. I wanted to buy a couple roses but she's busy and I have to leave." Billy nodded and scooped up my money, promising he would make sure she got it. "And would you tell her I'm sorry?" I asked.
"Just... just tell her I'm sorry. She'll know." Billy nodded again and with nothing more to do or say I left.
I walked back to my apartment and fell down into my bed. My imagination ran wild as I lay there, and I was surprised that the alcohol seemed to be having more of an effect on me now than it had in the bar.
As I lay there my hand once again strayed to my erect prick. I stroked myself lightly through my pants as my mind began to wander. In my daydream I imagined myself talking to my mystery girl, apologizing to her for how my friend had behaved, but her answer surprised me.
"He didn't bother me," she laughed.
"Oh?" I asked. In my fantasy I realized I was naked in front of the still clothed flower girl, but she seemed to not notice my erection poking out from my groin. "You seemed upset. What was the problem then?" I asked as I stroked my erection.
"I didn't want to suck his cock," she said, dropping to her knees and pushing my hand away from my prick.
"Why not?" I asked.
"I wanted to suck your cock," she giggled. I watched in amazement as her pink lips spread apart and with little effort seemed to swallow me whole. In real life my cock is about average but in my dream my prick would have put a porn star to shame, although she seemed to have no trouble with it.
"Suck it," I moaned as I felt her tongue slide over my shaft. Her lips formed a seal around my cock as she sucked me into the wetness of her mouth. The girl's pink tongue played over my shaft, teasing the veins along the bottom of my prick. I felt the head of my cock bump against the back of her throat and to my surprise she relaxed her muscles and my cock slipped further in.
"I love your cock," she said dreamily as she pulled her lips away from my shaft. Her tongue snaked out of her mouth as she bathed the plump, purplish head of my cock with her saliva. "It's so big," she said before amazing me as once again she deep throated my enormous cock in one smooth motion.
In my dream, the blowjob continued for what seemed like hours before I pulled away from the girl's sucking mouth and sprayed an enormous load of sperm all over her face and neck. She appeared hungry for my cum and carefully licked off each sticky deposit from her fingers before reaching out to grip my still erect penis.
"Again?" she asked, licking the last traces of my sperm from her pouty pink lips.
"Again," I agreed.
The nameless girl once again opened her mouth to swallow my cock but at that moment I woke from my daydream and realized I was back in my bedroom lying on my bed, still fully clothed. I groaned as I sat up, seeing the large wet spot forming on the front of my jeans. I had cum in my pants! I changed quickly before once again collapsing back to my bed although sleep was slow in coming to me as my thoughts were once again preoccupied with the beautiful girl from the bar.