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The Language of Flowersthis story is part of the FanClub (fm:romantic, 1544 words)

Author: JackieBigTits Picture in profile
Added: Jun 02 2009Views / Reads: 709 / 392 [55%]Story vote: 9.50 (8 votes)
A follow up to 'Honeysuckle'. Wife arranges fun by the pool for her Husbands return.
 


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It's almost time for another one of our self-indulgent parties, darling. Summer is upon us and just yesterday you told me what a shame it is that you don't get a chance to spend more time in the garden - well, I do feel guilty then and Michael spends so much time on it, we shouldn't waste our paradise.

I pick up a bikini on the way home, one I saw in Vogue last week and towards which you made appreciative noises over my shoulder. It has two silver rings above the right breast and matching links at the hip. The briefs are tiny, the top even tinier, and the pale blue has a slight metallic tinge as though the designer wants it to look watery, even though it clearly isn't meant to get wet.

When I get home I see that Michael has gone home for the day, but kindly cut some roses and arranged them on the glass table in the expansive white hall. Pink ones for gentility, pink-orange and red for desire, white for innocence - and secrecy. A few sprigs of larkspur give height. He really has flair - I wonder, smiling, if he speaks ‘beautiful' too. You never paid more than polite attention to my fascination with the language of flowers, but you smile all the same when I call you my primrose, when a man less assured might take offence.

The sun is beating through the glass walls of the dining room as I walk through toward the kitchen. It makes me light-headed and I open the ...

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