Unexpected

Rose sighed and put her phone face down on the table. She had been scrolling through her social media and had received a private message from an old school friend inviting her to a party. It was actually a school re-union but her friend was refusing point blank to call it that, perhaps because she knew that the words ‘school reunion’ were a sure-fire way to ensure that no-one would turn up. With a heavy heart Rose drained the last mouthful of hot chocolate and put her mug in the sink with the one plate, one knife and one fork she’d used to eat her microwaved cottage pie. She paused a moment, looking at the washing up. Pathetic. A part of her would have loved to have gone to the party just to be nosey really but she knew she wouldn’t go. She had seen the posts from her old school friends - holidays, promotions, exciting social lives and those bloody annoying selfies subtitled ‘#whocaresjustbenatural’ posted by impossibly beautiful women. She just couldn’t compete with that. A marriage break up had left her broke and depressed. Her husband had insisted they move to a different part of the country to be near to his family and so, once the marriage had ended, Rose had returned to her home-town. Unfortunately, Rose’s expectations of a new start, meeting exciting new friends and getting stuck into a new career had sadly not been met. She felt like a failure and when she looked in the mirror that is what she saw. Her friends all seemed to look years younger than their actual age but not Rose. For a long time now she had been content to look clean and well-presented rather than stylish, sophisticated and sexy. And as for husbands, well, first of all Rose wasn’t interested in finding a new man after the psychological damage inflicted by the last one and secondly, she firmly believed that no-one would consider her to be girlfriend or wife material anyway. Why settle for sensible Rose when you could have a sultry Susan, right? Rose checked the time on her watch. It was ten-thirty and she was tired. Wild and vivacious? Not a chance. Rose made her way up to bed, switching off all the lights as she went.

The following day Rose walked to work, thoughts of the school reunion on her mind. She was a cleaner in the local cottage hospital and the highlight of her day was chatting to the patients as she moved from ward to ward. During her tea break she caught up with her team and told them about the ‘party’ and how she wasn’t going to go. Of course, this was met with lots of hand holding and reassuring comments such as, “Of course you should go!” and “Social media is littered with untruths” and “You’ve been through hell and you’ve picked yourself up again - you should be proud of yourself.” Rose left work feeling much better about herself and had almost persuaded herself to go to the reunion. It wasn’t for a couple weeks so she felt she needn’t panic about it just yet.

Sadly, as we all know, time flies and before she knew it the fateful day had arrived. The party was to be held that night in the function room of a local pub. Rose ummed and erred, pulling almost every item of clothing she had from her wardrobe until she flopped on the bed. “That’s it! I’m not going!” As she stared up at the ceiling her vision blurred with tears as she sighed, “What’s the point?” She started hanging up her few dresses and skirts until she came across a teal blue empire line, knee length dress. The sleeves were long and the sweetheart neckline was flattering and Rose remembered how much she used to love the simple cotton dress (not least because it hid a multitude of sins). She pulled it on, slipped on the matching sandals and checked her reflection in the mirror. She twirled around so that she could see herself from all angles and was pleasantly surprised to see that she actually had a tiny waist, shapely legs and decent-sized boobs. She gave herself a pat on the back for having had the sense to buy such a useful piece of clothing. Confidence boosted, Rose then attacked her dressing table with gusto. She had been blessed with a clear complexion and had never been into make-up anyway, so she kept it minimal, just a little eyeshadow and mascara to accentuate her green eyes. She finished her look with a nude lipstick. Rose swept up her auburn hair into a simple chignon fastened with a couple of diamanté grips, grabbed her small brown leather handbag and left the house.

Of course, as Rose walked up to the door of the pub all of her confidence melted away and it took a supreme effort on her part to actually step into the bar. The function room was clearly sign-posted so she bought herself a gin and tonic from the barman and made her way to what was starting to feel like her doom. Nervously she pushed open the door. There were maybe two dozen people standing around chatting all of whom fell silent as Rose entered the room. She smiled shyly, “Hi, I’m Rose, Rose Wilde?” In her head she scolded herself for sounding like she didn’t know her own name but one by one the others greeted her. The majority were very friendly, sharing anecdotes about evil teachers and playground antics. One or two of the guests looked like they’d rather be at a public execution but on the whole Rose relaxed into what was beginning to feel like a pleasant evening. 

Over the following couple of hours more people arrived and the function room began to warm up. Rose could feel her cheeks burning so she decided to get some fresh air. As she slipped from the room, she passed a man who appeared to be about to join the reunion. Rose did a double take but continued out of the pub door and into the cool night air. She wasn’t outside for long when a group of five or six men tumbled out of the door. They were all drunk and being loud and rowdy and before Rose had a chance to get back inside the pub the men had spotted her. They began taunting her, trying to hold her hand, blocking her from going back inside the pub. Just as Rose began to push her way past the men, one of them grabbed her arm tightly. Rose shouted at him and yanked her arm away but before she could get through the doorway a deep, authoritative voice calmly said, “I think you need to leave the lady alone.” Rose looked up to see the man who had been outside the function room. He filled the doorway with his large frame and as he stepped out onto the pavement the drunks dispersed, flinging insults as they left. With the incident over Rose began to shake. The man, who did look familiar to Rose (although she couldn’t place him), put his arm around her and held her close assuring her that everything would be all right now. An inexplicable sense of calm came over Rose and when the man began to escort her back to the function room, she felt content to let him lead the way.

En route back to the party they stopped at the bar where the mysterious man bought Rose a brandy to settle her nerves. Rose took the opportunity to ask her knight in shining armour for his name. “Alexander,” he said. Rose looked up at him and was about to tell him her name when he smiled at her, his blue eyes twinkling “I know. Your name is Rose,” he said. Rose giggled. “Are you part of the reunion party?” Alexander nodded. Rose frowned and pursed her lips. “But I don’t remember you from school…” Alexander bent over and whispered in her ear “Oh, but I remember you.” He winked and Rose almost swooned as his hot breath tickled her ear and the scent of his aftershave filled her nose. Alexander had wide shoulders and a broad chest. He must have been over six feet tall, his hair was white and wavy and it was obvious that he looked after himself because Rose could clearly make out the muscles of his arms, his chest and his thighs. The last thing that Rose had been expecting tonight was to feel desire for anyone but here she was, like a teenager, heart racing, wanting to reach out and touch this mountain of masculinity. Breaking her out of her sexy reverie Alexander asked Rose if she wanted to return to the reunion or go home. With alcohol-induced bravery Rose looked Alexander in the eye and said, “I’d like to go home but, um, only if you come with me?” Alexander smiled warmly and crushed Rose to his chest. He took her small hand in his large one and led her out of the pub. All the way home Alexander held her hand. It was only when they had reached Rose’s front door that she realised that she hadn’t actually told him where she lived. No matter. Rightly or wrongly she felt safe with him.

Even so, butterflies flitted about in her stomach and her mouth was dry. Alexander led Rose to the living room. He pushed her down gently so that she was sitting on the couch and then proceeded to make them both a whisky and ginger from Rose’s very modest drinks cabinet. He sat down beside her, the heat of their close proximity adding to the warmth provided by the alcohol. They sipped their drinks, Rose realising that she hadn’t actually said what drink she wanted or that whisky and ginger was one of her favourites and then Alexander was leaning in towards her, his lips hovering over hers, not quite touching. “You want this don’t you?” She nodded. Couldn’t speak. “Tell me how much you want this.” She shook her head. Couldn’t speak.

How had they come to this? Just hours earlier they didn’t know each other and now Rose was dangling over a precipice into a sea of lust. Alexander moved closer. He blinked slowly, his blue eyes framed with long white lashes. His full lips were still a fraction above Rose’s, his tongue slowly licking his bottom lip. "Tell me." She shook her head again. "I, I can't." Alexander, still so near to Rose, just smiled. And then he moved away, sat down next to her. Her heart sank. She’d missed an opportunity for she-didn't-know-what. Rose must have looked like the proverbial rabbit caught in the headlights of a car because she knew she was staring, slightly open mouthed at Alexander. She was certain that he must have been thinking she was a complete idiot so you can imagine Rose’s surprise when he entwined his fingers with hers. "Are you OK?" She nodded. Alexander hmm'd and then gently pulled Rose onto his lap so that she was sitting perpendicular to his legs. His arm held her firmly around her waist. "Look at me." She did even though she was feeling a little silly sat on his lap like that (although it was a lovely lap). She bit her lip when she realised that she could feel the muscles in his thighs under her bottom. Alexander’s blue eyes were twinkling and gazing into Roses’s own light green ones. He spoke again. "OK, we'll do this the easy way. You want me to kiss you, don't you?" Rose nodded and swallowed. "And you want me to take you in my arms don't you?" Rose could feel the blood thrumming through her veins as she managed to whisper, “Yes".

Alexander lifted one eyebrow in surprise. "Oh, you can talk, then." And that is when he tickled her. His long fingers dug into her ribs, under her armpits and squeezed her knees reducing her to a helpless, laughing mess. "Stop, stop, please stop,” she managed to gasp. Immediately Alexander stopped tickling her and pushed her forward and sideways until she was laying on the couch face down and he was on top of her, straddling the tops of her thighs.

Alexander bent down and whispered hotly in Roses’s ear, "So, now we know you can talk and we know what you want. But do we know what you need?" Rose frowned. What did he mean by that? She didn't have to wait long to find out. Alexander lifted himself off the couch, took Rose’s hands and helped her to her feet. And then he kissed her. Just one, long, lingering (rather chaste) kiss but it was enough to blow Roses’s mind. It was lucky that Alexander was holding her around her waist because she was sure she would have collapsed onto the floor in a boneless heap otherwise. Making no sound Alexander led Rose to her bedroom (by this point she had given up wondering how he knew all these things about her) whereupon she began to panic about cleaning her teeth and changing the bedclothes. Alexander laid a finger across her lips to silence her. He smiled and pulled back the sheets and blankets. Rose just stood there hot and trembling as he bent down to remove her sandals. Item by item he removed Rose’s clothes until she was completely naked. Rose stepped forward, somehow unashamed, until she could feel Alexander’s shirt and trousers against her skin. She looked up into his eyes as he swept her up in his strong arms and laid her gently in the bed. Without breaking the intense gaze between them he began to unbutton his shirt. A smooth, well defined chest led the way down to a hard, flat stomach and further still to a trail of hair disappearing into the waistband of his dark blue trousers. Alexander unbuckled his belt, letting his trousers fall to the floor. He stepped out of them and slowly slid his underwear down his muscular thighs until he could step out of those too. Rose put out her arms to receive Alexander into her bed.

That night Alexander made love to Rose. He was gentle and caring, hard and passionate. As he peppered her face with slow kisses he lavished her entire body with erotic attention and raised her so high that she felt invincible. As Alexander pushed inside her, Rose gasped, her eyes squeezed closed as a crackle of electricity zig-zagged through her veins. And when they came together, skin hot and sweating, Rose wept tears of utter joy. Alexander didn’t withdraw straight away. He rolled them onto their sides, face to face. Neither of them spoke for a long while. They just held each other even after Alexander had finally, gently, withdrawn from Rose’s satiated body. Rose pressed soft kisses to Alexander’s chest, her hands caressing his back. She tilted her head back to say something to him but a shaft of moonlight had speared through a slit in the curtains illuminating Alexander, his hair almost glowing white. He opened his sleepy eyes, two shards of sparkling Aquamarine. Rose gasped, words failed her and Alexander captured her lips in a heated kiss.

When Rose woke the next morning she was alone. You’d be forgiven for assuming that she would feel sad or angry or deserted but she didn’t. She rolled over and stretched out, starfish style, a beatific grin on her face. She had had an indescribably perfect night that she would never forget and not least because she had one, rather strange, souvenir. A single white feather.