The Scenic Route

In the morning, she left Route 50 to drive south on U. S. Highway 93. By early evening, the next day, she was back in Las Vegas, and, on Monday morning, she was seated in her cubicle, working on graphics for a hydrology project. All the artwork--pipes and drains and aqueducts and things--seemed alien to her.

Kevin came by, just before noon, and invited her to have lunch with him, his treat. She accepted, and, over an egg salad sandwich on rye, a dill pickle, French fries, and a diet soda, she asked him over, to her house, having decided to show him the video she'd taped of her trip into the high desert of northern Nevada, including the footage of herself dancing naked in the canyon, wildflowers all around her, with her buttocks flexing and swaying, her breasts bouncing and swinging, and her cock and balls jiggling and waggling between her smooth thighs. If he could accept her secret, if he could keep it, for her sake, and not his own, until she was ready to share it with the world, as some day she would, she had no doubt, then--and only then--Rose would gladly open her heart to him. She'd willingly and happily be his, body and soul, but, she'd decided, she must know up front, at the very outset of their relationship, if a relationship they were to have, whether he could accept her for herself, and, not later, when he found he couldn't accept her secret or stomach her any longer and, so, became a Kevin-version of Bruce the Brute.

She served refreshments, but not wine. She didn't want him to have an ounce of liquid courage, nor did she want his senses or thoughts dulled to even the tiniest degree. She wanted him alert and oriented. She wanted him to be completely aware of what he saw, and she wanted his courage to be his own, not the false bravado loaned to him by a glass of Chianti.

The video footage ran, and Rose watched her date as Kevin watched her, on the TV screen. His eyes widened as she doffed her clothes. After a few moments, Rose ran through the wildflowers.