Roses are Red, Spinach is Green

"If I might ask, who reserved the room?"

"Um, Sir, the note says I'm not supposed to tell you. It was a special request. I'm sorry."

There was a familiar envelope taped to the door of suite eleven-ten. I opened the card and read the inscription.

Roses are pretty
Of that all will vouch
Come in, lock the door
And sit on the couch

The room was spacious, and the single lamp on the desk cast a warm glow on the tan wallpaper and massive leather couch. A glass-topped coffee table sat in front of the couch and I saw an ice bucket with a bottle of champagne and one crystal flute sitting on one end. There was also another envelope.

Some roses are yellows
And some come in blacks
I'll be there in a minute
Have some champagne and relax

The bottle had been opened and some of the bubbling pale champagne was gone. I filled the flute and settled into the couch to await whatever was going to happen. To say I was nervous would be an understatement. My hands were shaking when I lifted the glass to my lips. The champagne was excellent so I refilled the flute. She walked into the room and sat in the chair on the other side of the coffee table just as I was in the middle of a sip. I nearly choked and had to cough a lot before I could say anything.

"Christa! It was you?"

Her smile was a little weak, but it was a smile. Christa shrugged, then sat her half-empty flute on the table, reached between the lapels of her clingy, black blouse, and leaned over to hand me an envelope. When she leaned back, she looked a little worried.

"Christa, what – "

"Shhh." She pointed to the envelope.

Roses are red
Spinach is green
Please let me be part of us
I don't want to be just me

I looked across the table. Christa was wringing her hands and tears streamed down each cheek. I tried to sound serious, but it was difficult to keep from jumping over the table and hugging her.

"Christa, I don't know. Over the last couple weeks…. Well, it's like this. Any wife of mine would have to write a lot better poems than these."

I grinned, she grinned back, sniffed and wiped her eyes. We met in an embrace at the end of the coffee table. I lifted her off her feet and hugged her until she groaned.

"Why didn't you answer my calls? I went insane that first week trying to talk to you."

Christa pushed back, sniffed and wiped her eyes again. "Because I'm stupid. I love you more than anything, but I got so scared. My sister thought she loved her husband, but she just finished getting a divorce. She'd been telling me how things changed after they got married, how she started to hate him for all kinds of reasons. I wanted to say yes that night, but I kept thinking about my sister. I didn't want to end up like her, all bitter and spiteful about what happened.

"It killed me not to answer your calls, but I couldn't. I couldn't say yes when you asked me, like a normal woman, and if I'd said yes after a day or two, you'd have thought I was some crazy lady who couldn't make up her mind. How would you know I wouldn't change it again after we were married?"

"You're not stupid, and I think you're pretty normal. If I thought you were crazy, I wouldn't have asked you. I wouldn't give you any reason to change your mind, either."

"That's what Donna said, too."

"Donna? M y Donna, from work?"

"Uh-huh. I called her that Wednesday. You said she was divorced, so she could tell me why she stopped loving her husband. I also knew you were close, that you trusted her. I thought maybe she could help me decide."

"What'd she tell you?"

"Well, she wouldn't tell what to do. She said I'd have to make up my own mind about that, and that I shouldn't let my sister do it for me. She told me she thought you loved me a lot, because you were really unhappy."

"I wasn't unhappy. I was miserable."

Christa started to sob. "I feel terrible that I did that to you. I just…, well it's a really big thing and I didn't want to screw it up. I really, really want to have some kids, and if it didn't work out…. If we got divorced…. They either wouldn't have a daddy or they wouldn't have a mommy…. Oh, Walt, I got all mixed up and I didn't know what to do."

I held her until she stopped crying and then gave her my handkerchief so she could blow her nose.

"Tell you what. Let's just take it in little steps, OK? And no more Valentines, at least no more instead of talking. By the way, whose idea was it to send me those Valentines, yours or Donna's?"

"Mine. Well, Donna's too, in a way. She said I should talk to you and tell you how I felt. I couldn't do that, not after I wouldn't answer your calls. I asked her if she'd put my envelopes on your desk for me. I gave them all to her that Sunday night."

I pushed her to arm's length and looked into her eyes.

"Well, from now on, we talk to each other about things, OK. I don't want my wife thinking the only way she can tell me something is by writing little poems about flowers."

"Could there be just one more? It's the last one, I promise."

Without waiting for an answer, Christa stepped back and unbuttoned her blouse. I'd never seen the black, long-line bra before. She must have bought it just for tonight, and it was sexy as hell. Her breasts swelled sensually from the half-cups and I saw the pale blue veins that traced the paths to her nipples.

She unzipped her short skirt and let it fall around her black high-heels. I had to whistle softly. The black nylons encased her slender legs all the way up to the lace bands at the top. Her soft, white skin went from there up to black lace panties. The garters that held the stockings were something else too. They stood away from the little hollow between her thighs and tummy, and clung to the curves of her hips.

Christa reached beneath the waistband of the lace garterbelt and extracted another envelope. It was warm to the touch and slightly curved from the swell of her belly.

Roses are red
As are asters and such
I need to make love with you
I'll show you how much

"Please, Walt, sit back down on the couch."

I dropped the card to the table as Christa sat down on the chair.

Her red-tipped fingers slowly caressed the tops of her breasts. Christa licked her lips and scooped her right breast from its lacy cup, then ran her finger over the nipple and shivered.

"I've thought about making love with you for the whole three weeks. I need you to do this to me tonight."

She lifted her left breast and stroked that nipple into a taut little bud. Her eyes were wide with passion and sparkled in the light from the single lamp as she covered both breasts with her palms, rubbed in circles and then squeezed. Christa's pert nipples pushed out between her fingers, and she moaned when she closed her hands and pinched them.

It took her only a few seconds to unfasten the garter clasps and drop the garterbelt at her feet. She lifted her hips slightly and rolled the panties over her hips, then down her thighs, and finally over the gleaming leather of her heels. Her hands stroked back up the inside of her calves, then over her open thighs, and came to rest at the fine curls that fringed her sex.

"I need you to do this, too."

One hand continued to caress the inside of her thigh; the other stroked over the tangle of curls on her mound, then down over the slender lips that peeked from beneath the curls. I held my breath and watched her finger disappear between those lips and then trace their length up to the start of the cleft. Christa moaned again, and her head fell back.

The finger disappeared again, then was followed by a second. They slowly reappeared, then spread her sex to reveal the glistening wet, pink ripples of the secret folds inside. Christa brought her fingers to the little fold of skin at the top and rubbed gently. I heard her gasp, but couldn't take my eyes away from her hands. I'd never seen anything so erotic in my life. The hand that had caressed her thigh slid slowly up her side to her breast and squeezed. Christa moaned again.

Her breath came in slow gasps, and her voice was throaty.

"I thought about you…. You and me…. Three weeks…. You touching me here…. Feeling you again…. Feeling you….Oh, God…."

Christa's head lolled to the side and her hips lifted off the chair. A cry slipped through her parted lips, she pinched her nipple and pulled, then cried out again before sagging back into the chair. For a few seconds, she slumped there, sighing and stroking the curls between her thighs. Then, she looked at me and smiled.

"I need you to do that with me, over and over and over until I beg you to stop. Then I want you to do it again. We have the room until Sunday. We have lots of time."

Christa walked around the table, took my hand and led me into the bedroom. The blankets were already turned down to the foot of the king-size bed. She unhooked the bra and tossed it into a chair, lay on the bed and stretched out her hands.

I slipped off my clothes and joined her. Christa kissed me softly and stroked my back.

"I love you so much, Walt. I want to be yours forever. I need to show you how much."

She pulled my hand to her breast.

Before, in Atlanta, we'd had sex. That night, we made love. Christa's breasts were warm and full under my palm, and her nipples quickly swelled again as I lightly brushed them. Her arm tightened around my back and she arched her chest toward my fingers.

Her small hand searched down my belly, gently groping for me. She lifted her thigh and threw it over mine. I felt the silky hair on her mound pressing into my leg and I reached down. Christa was still wet and slippery. I gently stroked over her inner lips. She pressed into my hand and moaned. I felt her finger lightly rubbing the underside of my shaft. She grasped me with her soft hand, and it was my turn to groan.

Christa was soft little gasps and gentle caresses as my fingers roamed over her lush body. After three weeks without her, I was savoring every inch of that body, gently stroking and caressing every curve and hollow. When I slipped my finger into her passage she pulled my face to hers and inhaled me with her kiss. Her tongue circled my lips and then pressed inside. The soft wet caress against mine was wonderful and sent a jolt all the way to my toes. My fingertip found her swollen button and I caressed it's wet surface with little circles. Christa cried out and arched her back. I slowly rubbed over the tip and she cried out again.

Her hand began to pull at the head of my cock. She kissed me again, then breathed, "I need you, Walt. I need you now."

Christa rolled on top of me and kissed me again. She dragged her nipples through the hair on my chest and then flattened them into me. I felt her reach between us, lift my cock to her lips, and rub the head over their wet satin surface. She pushed my shaft between them and rode up and down. I felt her little button rubbing over the surface. Christa shuddered and guided me to her entrance.

She sank over me with agonizing slowness, as if she wanted to feel every inch as she took it into her body. It was all I could do to not lunge up and bury myself deep inside her, but I could tell she wanted to control this. I gently rubbed the sides of her breasts and let her do as she wished. At last, with a little moan, she sank down on my belly and lay still. I felt small contractions as she squeezed me with her inner muscles.

Christa kissed me again, then pushed herself up and began to rock over me. With each stroke, she rocked her hips back, and her little button raked my shaft. I lifted her breasts, then rubbed my fingertips over the wrinkled, bumpy skin around her nipples. She looked down at me and smiled, then made a little circle with her hips, and sank down again. I felt the end of her passage press against the head of my cock.

She began to rock up and down a little faster. I rolled her nipples between my fingers and tugged gently. Christa shuddered and a low moan slipped from her open lips. She threw her head back, then down, and her long hair fell in waves over my face. She had used a scented shampoo, and the fragrance was intoxicating. I brushed the waves back over her shoulders and slipped my hands down her sides. With one fingertip, I traced around the curve of her hip and thigh to the soft curls on her mound. I slipped my finger between her lips and rubbed little circles around her button.

Christa cried out and put her hands on my chest. I felt her nails dig in slightly as she clenched her fingers and pushed down over me hard. She lifted herself, then buried me deep inside her body again. I felt wet warmth flow around me. Christa groaned, then gasped, and her body began to shake. The first spurt shot from my loins just as she quickly rocked her hips and cried, "Now, oh please, now."

She collapsed on my chest and nestled her face against my neck. Little contractions squeezed me as she slowly recovered from the orgasm. When I slipped from her velvet embrace, she kissed my shoulder, then rolled to my side and stroked my chest and belly. We fell asleep with her cheek on my chest and her hand in mine.

The next morning, I stroked her thigh and watched her eyes flutter open. Christa pulled me to her mouth and kissed me softly.

"Today is Valentine's Day. I'm sorry, Walt, but I didn't get you a card."

"That's all right. I already got a bunch from a beautiful woman I'm going to love forever."

"If you love her that much, hadn't you better show her?"

That weekend was unbelievable. On that weekend, we became one. We were still separate people, but we were bound together by something bigger than either of us. I'd known three weeks before that I wanted to marry her. Now, I knew I'd never be able to live without her. She'd given herself to me, totally, willingly and without question. I had given myself to her in the same way. We left the Paradise Inn at noon and spent Sunday night at my apartment. It was so hard to leave her for work the next morning.

"Well, how'd it go? You meet your mystery woman?"

"Donna, my deceiving, conniving friend, you know very well I did."

"She told you, huh? We had you going there, didn't we? Just consider it my contribution to employee morale. Well, what happened?"

"Let's just say I'm unbelievably happy, totally exhausted, and we're going to a jewelry store tonight."

"You set a date yet?"

"No, but soon, I think. We're taking it one step at a time."

"You won't forget to invite me, will you?"

"You'll be the first name on the list."

We set the date for June sixth, the same day as her parent's anniversary. The ceremony and reception were nice. Donna cried through the whole thing and gave me a big kiss when we left the reception. We honeymooned in Gatlinburg, Tennessee for one wonderful week.

Christa still has trouble talking about some things, but we're working on it. After being married for a little over a year, she only has to write about the really big things, like the Valentine I found on my pillow last night. She watched me read it with a big grin on her face.

Roses are red
And give me a thrill
You're going to be a Daddy
In the middle of next April

I kind of like it that she always uses Valentines, even though her poems are silly and it's usually not Valentine's Day. They remind me of the time I almost lost the most precious thing in my life, and about how those silly little Valentines brought us back together. I keep them all, because those little Valentines tell a nice story. The best part is, the story doesn't have an end. Our Valentine's Day has been every day since the Paridise. It happens over and over and over, and then happens again. We have a life together until forever. We have lots of time.

* * * * *

Thanks for reading this work. Please vote to indicate how much you enjoyed it, and send comments or feedback if you can spare the time. Your votes and feedback are the only way I will know how much you enjoyed my effort, and furnish the only means to improve my writing.

Thanks again,

Ronde.