Rooming with RoseAnn Pt. 01

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Rooming With RoseAnn

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(59,100 words, 24 chapters) Rooming with RoseAnn is a new story in the RoseAnn series, following RoseAnn Discovers Dominance.

Since first meeting RoseAnn Perez, Barry Croft has fantasized about this mother’s best friend. Barry’s nineteen and off to college, and finds himself about to share an apartment with the tall, assertive woman in the high-pressure circus of 1980s Silicon Valley. No sooner has he arrived in California than his overwrought hormones reveal themselves in the most humiliating way possible. But RoseAnn takes it in stride. She has plans for him, and leads him step by step into a life of worship and thralldom, where he learns to be her lover as well as her sexual slave and domestic servant. RoseAnn finds the devoted man she’s sought since her divorce, and Barry finds unexpected gratification in service to a beautiful, selfish woman. Into this mix comes the redheaded student Gloria, who aggressively pursues Barry.

Chapter 1

Barry meets RoseAnn and becomes infatuated.

April 1983

As my nineteenth birthday approached, my parents proposed a weekend at the Wisconsin Dells to celebrate.

I appreciated the thought, but didn’t look forward to the trip. The Dells had been a theme park before the term ‘theme park’ was invented, a postwar leftover from my parents’ youth. I suspected the weekend would be as much a nostalgic relief for them than it was a holiday for me. They were both surgeons, and their time was always tightly scheduled. I was a dutiful son, and shelved my plans for a trip to Nashville with friends. Putting on a happy face. I prepared to endure a weekend at one of the Dells’ water parks.

My annoyance grew when my mother announced that one of her oldest friends would be in town, and would I mind if she came along with us?

Oldest, I thought. How old? I felt cheated, but not for long. My mood changed abruptly when I met RoseAnn Perez. Though weary from her flight from California, she was a most impressive woman. She was exceptionally beautiful, over six feet tall, with jet black hair and deep-set brown eyes. As we sat down to dinner, I couldn’t keep my eyes off her. I’m sure she noticed, and smiled at me from time to time through her travel fatigue.

We ate dinner quickly and left for Wisconsin. I wanted to get to know RoseAnn better, but I was the designated driver. My father fell into an exhausted sleep before we reached the highway. RoseAnn sat in the back with my mother, exchanging news and memories. We arrived at the Dells too late in the evening to do more than eat and settle into our rooms.

As if having a beautiful woman along wasn’t enough, the weekend became a real birthday gift when my parents told us they’d only rented two rooms. They decided they would sleep in one hotel room while I’d share the adjoining double room with RoseAnn.

It was all very proper. At day’s end, my mother had me go into the room and get ready for bed while RoseAnn shared a drink with my folks. Meanwhile, as I anticipated being alone in the room with her, my imagination caught fire. When the adjoining door closed and she prepared herself for bed, I hid under the blankets, pretending to be asleep, my eyes open the slightest bit, clutching at myself, my hormones ablaze.

RoseAnn came out of the bathroom wearing a sheer dressing gown. By the light from the bathroom door, she glided about like a cat, her long black curls rippling about her shoulders. The smells of perfume and powder, the splash of water, and even the sound she made brushing her teeth, stoked my fantasies to a fever heat.

When she finished her ablutions, she stood for a moment in the bathroom door fluffing her hair, a tall silhouette against the light, burning a permanent image on my brain. She was clearly naked under her dressing gown. I was at the verge of orgasm when she came near and leaned over my bed. I tried desperately to feign sleep as her breath warmed my face. She kissed me on the cheek, and whispered, “Good night, Sweet Prince.”

Her lips lingered a millisecond longer than they should have, and her breath whirled in my casino siteleri ear. That was too much. I came, gripping the handful of tissues around my cock and fighting desperately to hold back the gasps and the involuntary thrusting of my hips. Through it all, her nearness warmed my cheek. Only when the contractions had ceased did she chuckle in the back of her throat and slip into her own bed.

At breakfast the next morning, I knew I’d fucked up. I dreaded looking her in the eye. But she smiled at me over the rim of her coffee cup, in a way that made my stomach quiver, and slowly and deliberately licked drops of coffee from her lips. In the following weeks, the vision of that roving pink tongue would drive me nearly insane with lust.

Mid-morning, I prepared to go swimming in the hotel’s indoor pool, while my parents planned to play cards with a couple they met. RoseAnn chose to join me. In a two-piece bathing suit, she was proof that women are God’s favorite art form. She was more muscular than I expected, with thick arms and legs, and a sculpted abdomen that made me glad my crotch was underwater and out of sight.

We played an abbreviated form of water polo for nearly an hour. She got out of the pool and sat in a lounger, perhaps reading a women’s magazine, while I did laps. But I couldn’t help noticing her eyes on me much of the time.

I knew she was older than me, probably by quite a few years. My mother was forty, and they’d been in high school together. But everything about her made age a distant concern. I hoped that some chemistry might develop between us.

Some moments have an outsized effect on our lives. One of those happened by the pool. While I dog-paddled in the deep end near RoseAnn’s lounger, she leaned forward to say something, resting her elbows on her knees. In the shadow between her legs, a slender tuft curled from under her bikini bottom, the black hair contrasting with the smooth white of her thigh. The flash only lasted a split second before she brought her legs together and tilted them fetchingly to one side.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “What did you say?” I couldn’t keep the astonishment from my voice. My brain was in confusion.

“I said, I hear you’re going to university this autumn,” she repeated, seeming to be unaware of what she’d just done to me.

“Uh, yes…biochemistry.”

“Where? Your dad said Stanford. Is that true?”

I nodded. “I’ve got letters from four colleges. I planned on Michigan, but Dad thinks I should go to Stanford.”

“Oh, you should definitely do that. Stanford’s a top school for biochemistry. They’re very picky. You must have really shone above the competition.”

“It’s so expensive to live there.”

“I think we can deal with that.”

“What?” But she didn’t answer me. We toweled off and went back to our room.

RoseAnn and I were together for the next two days, touring the Dells, horseback riding at a nearby farm, and taking tours in the war surplus DUKWs that were the trademark of the Dells. At some point on the second day, she casually took my hand as we walked, and cuddled against me when the breeze from the water grew cold. I had never been so aroused for such a sustained period, certainly not with any of the girls I’d dated in my teenaged years.

In my careless infatuation, I did things I might have later have thought silly, if they hadn’t turned out so well. When we returned from the Dells, I dipped into my savings and bought her a vial of Jontue, a scent that was heavily marketed in the early 1980’s.

My mother saw the box and cautioned me, “That’s a very intimate gift, Barry. Men don’t buy perfume for women unless they’re married or very close.” Even then, I understood what she meant by ‘very close’.

But she did not specifically forbid me, and I was impatient. The evening before RoseAnn was due to leave, I knocked on the guest room door and nervously gave her the tiny vial in its display box.

She was thrilled, and immediately dabbed a drop on her wrist and on each side of her throat. I touched her wrist and asked to smell the scent on her skin, but she güvenilir casino made me wait.

“A quality perfume changes when it’s put on,” she said. “In time, it works with a woman’s body chemistry and creates an aroma that’s just hers, and not like any other woman’s.”

In the intimate warmth of the room, I ached to ask her what she’d meant when she’d said, ‘I think we can deal with that’ beside the pool Who did she mean by we? But I was too timid to ask.

After we’d talked a few minutes, she reminded me of the perfume. Instead of holding out her wrist, as I expected, she drew me close to her throat. Blended with her natural scent, the Jontue had created something very special, and a tingling warmth grew in the bottom of my belly. The quick sound of her breath and the heat from her body gave me courage. I softly kissed the silken skin, held the caress long enough to feel her pulse on my lips, and for a moment beyond that.

I quickly withdrew, knowing I’d gone too far. But all she did was smile and squeeze my hand. The experience gave me an erection that lasted long after I’d gone back to my own room.

“You must come and visit me,” she said as the limo arrived.

“My parents are too busy these days. I don’t know when—”

“I mean, just you. Come and visit me when your school year is done.”

* * *

Just days after that weekend at the Dells, I overheard a conversation that lodged in my mind and fixed the course of my sex life forever.

My friends had already left, and I sat at alone at a lunch table, finishing my sandwich. Behind me, two boys that I barely knew were discussing their sex lives.

“She’s always after me to go down on her,” said one. “She won’t quit.”

The other said, “You have to be careful of that. When a chick’s gotten head just once, she won’t want sex any other way. You might never get your dick in her again.”

“I don’t care. I like what it does for her. I know she’ll return the favor in time.”

That was it. Just a quick and simple conversation, and immediately I knew what I wanted to do with RoseAnn. I mean, I knew that actual sex was out of the question. She was twice my age, and a friend of my mother’s besides. But now I had something to build my fantasies around. She was such a magnificent specimen of a woman, a goddess deserving of worship. If going down on her would be such an intense experience for her, then she deserved it just for being who she was.

Thereafter, the fantasies replayed each night as I stroked myself. They ended the same way, with my face between her thighs and my tongue between the lips of her pussy. Nothing less would do for my RoseAnn.

* * *

Those few days of RoseAnn’s visit made my decision for me. I would attend Stanford. It was one of the best biochemistry programs in the US, but just as important, it was near RoseAnn.

I told my father my preference. “But I’m worried about the cost,” I told him.

“Don’t worry about that,” he said. “We can afford it. But I think that RoseAnn is expecting to rent her spare room to you. She only lives a short way from Campus.”

I may have physically jumped when he said that. In any case, that settled things as far as I was concerned. My father, innocently, or perhaps by design—I never knew for sure—arranged for me to be alone in an apartment with the first love of my life, a woman eighteen years older than me. My mother didn’t object. My parents weren’t naïve, or overly burdened by conventional morality. Perhaps they preferred to have their son explore his sexuality with a known quantity, someone they trusted, rather than random co-eds who were hunting a husband, any husband, and perhaps carrying nameless diseases into the bargain.

* * *

Whatever their reasoning, on a Tuesday morning in mid-August I found myself parking my car in the visitor’s spot outside a row of white stucco townhouses with red tile roofs and lush landscaping. The air was fragrant with the scents of unfamiliar flowers, and dry and cool after the sweltering drive across the prairies.

I took RoseAnn’s letter from my briefcase, shook the canlı casino key from the envelope, and began hauling suitcases up the steps to the oak door marked ‘R. Perez’. Inside, like a remembered song, the aroma of Jontue woke my lust from its slumber. Little signs of her were everywhere in the dark apartment—photographs on a mantle, a partly finished book by the couch, a half cup of coffee on the kitchen counter, a sweater tossed across a chair. I picked up the sweater and held it against my face, inhaling the scent of her body against a faint background of Jontue. The armpit held the sharp tang of her and I felt myself growing erect.

I found the bedroom with the note ‘Barry’s Room’ taped to the door, and moved my luggage in. The dresser nearest the bed was filled with her clothing, but another, empty one sat across the room. It still had a store tag on it. Apparently, it had been purchased just for me. A new desk, chair, file cabinet, and bookcase stood in a corner, also with tags still attached.

I was about to start unpacking, but I was weary from three long days of driving, plus the morning’s drive in the fierce Bay Area traffic. I kicked off my shoes and tossed myself onto the bed.

My eyes opened wide. In line with my gaze, a photo of RoseAnn hung on the wall. She wore a one-piece bathing suit and leaned against a stucco wall, a knee raised and supported by her bare foot against the wall behind. Her black hair was tousled, as if by the wind, and her dark eyes shone from under the tangles. I marveled at her long, tanned legs and the sleek muscles around her shoulders. I longed to touch those shoulders, perhaps press my lips to them.

My lust got the better of me. I felt like a burglar as I opened a dresser drawer and found some underwear, somewhat the worse for wear. Clearly, this was her old stuff, stored in this spare room. I held up a brassiere, imagining the size of her breasts and wondering what her nipples would look like. Would they be brown and olive-sized, as I’d imagined? If I licked them, would they swell?

In the top drawer, under some jewelry and papers, was a slim album marked Sybaris Boudoir Photography. I opened it and drew in a quick breath. Inside were more photos of RoseAnn. In some, she wore a scant bikini. Her slightly rounded belly invited me to stroke the surface of the paper, and to sketch a mental picture of what lay under the bikini bottom. In another series of photos, she sat at a boudoir mirror, wearing a sheer nightgown, her legs drawn up and accented by old-fashioned seamed nylons. In the last picture, the nightgown had fallen open. Through the negligee underneath, a slightly darker shadow was barely visible. Her pussy, or just a trick of the lighting? I gazed at the photo, taking the book near the window for better light, but the skill of the photographer, obviously intending to tease, left me in doubt.

By now, I was painfully erect. My first impulse was to take the album to the bathroom and take care of things, but it would be the wrong thing to do now. I wanted my arousal at maximum when I met her. I wanted my need to show in my eyes and my actions. I’d hold my lust at bay and wait. Not once did it occur to me that sex might not be on the menu, and that she would think of me as only a roommate, sharing the rent. Or worse, the young son of a dear friend, for whom she was doing a favor.

I was so aroused, I decided to go for a walk to cool down, and soon discovered that you don’t just wander around the streets in that part of California. A man without a car was an anomaly, a danger. Passing drivers slowed and gawked as if I had three heads. Within minutes, a police car stopped. Who was I? What was someone from Illinois doing in Palo Alto? Don’t you know that you make people nervous, walking the streets for no good reason? Fortunately, I still had RoseAnn’s letter with me. The officers passed it back and forth between them until they decided I was only a naïve newcomer and didn’t know better.

So I stayed trapped in the apartment, stoked to a red heat, surrounded by RoseAnn’s aromas and the artifacts of her life. After three days in the car, driving around sightseeing was unthinkable. TV could not distract me, nor the collection of historical novels she kept in her study.

When the door latch rattled at half past five that afternoon, my entire body was as aching and rigid as my cock.

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