Corn Rose

By Rose Maru

Where do I begin? At the end, of course. ('Tis always better to start at the end, than to take it up the rear end. Or so I've heard. At least until any unconfirmed stories of my backside antics come to light or otherwise demonstrate undeniable evidence. Until then? Nope: not my butt, not my brain, thank you very much.)
I've managed to survive winter. Barely. While I still have a way to go before summer, the hot flashes are starting to come hard and heavy again, so at least I can find a silver lining on that particular plugged toilet in my life.
My snowplow out of the blizzard effectively storms over a tremendous amount of unhallowed ground.
From unfortunate exposures behind door #2 to troubling massage questions about the bits and baubles laid bare before unsuspecting and knowing gazes alike.
A "fun" experience with Boober ride-share service through evil Night Noises disturbing my sleep.
Disgusting quandaries in Nevada concerning particular "Spatial Awareness" of enter-uh-taining, um, 'services' that are offered and how boys and girls feel the world differently maybe down there. Um, yeah, I probably mean down there meaning, like in Nevada. Yeah, that's the ticket.
Which is easier to accept than what it means to be "Spit-Water-Roasted" in a hotel hot tub, that's for sure. Although by that point, heck, I'll just do 'em all when Snowed In, which only makes figuring out the Shades of Rose easier on a sleep deprived brain.
As if that wasn't enough, I even revisit the Women's Wellness Camp of yore, Embrace the Suck, and try to figure out this Offensive / Not Offensive issue that clouds my horizon and dim view of what the world looks like to a normal non-HSDD brain.
Along with the usual suspects in a Question & Answer session 9 with Rose, and all the other points not yet covered: Coitus Interruptus, Mr. Nipbles - Purple Nurple, & More Spawn Fun (relatives: gotta love'em - or at least wonder why your sister remains completely intent on paying you back for unremembered transgressions against her), Cornholio, and maybe a nice surprise or two.
And finally, delving completely into my odd deficiencies with a "Want to Want To Origin" examination.
Yes, all that, and less... I mean, more, just waiting to be discovered running up and down the Corn Rose.
(Confused? Not as much as me. But I didn't list my Table of Contents in this description, did I? Score one for the home team - well, at least once they get back from being lost in the corn maze. Which, dammit all, start putting Port-a-Potties out there if you're going to make those things this big and difficult to find my way out.)

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rose Maru
• Release date: Feb 20, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463484432

Rose Maru

Born a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away... no, wait, that wasn't me, but sometimes it certainly seems like it.Before getting into all the fun details, I want to clear the air of a rather large aspect of my writing because it has a huge impact on my work: I have HSDS (Hypoactive Sexual Desire Syndrome). In fact, if it weren't for my HSDS, I wouldn't be here and you wouldn't be there reading this - my previously unpublished writings were explorations into kick-starting my, ahem, 'motor.' I tried to explore anything that might cause a little tingle below, even ideas and concepts my thinking brain refused to hear. Creating an alter-ego in my stories allowed me to safely penetrate the veil of non-existence - I was forced to think about sexy thoughts and situations.I wrote for years covering a wide range of topics, my husband providing a large number of seedlings from which to grow my stories (HSDS... what do you expect? Much to my dismay, what I learned to expect was very raunchy pillow-talk. Much to his dismay, he learned to expect me to leap from bed saying, "Oh! That is so good, I've got to write it down!"). It turns out, writing romantic erotica usually wasn't doing it for me. I gave up on it for a period of time - in essence, I gave up trying to help myself, as well.Then my significant's bright idea: if it didn't help me, maybe it would help someone else. I was back to writing again, or more correctly, preparing my work for release unto an unsuspecting public (I have now officially absolved myself from any evil that befalls you after reading my books - it's all his fault). So I dredged up my folder of rough and unpolished stories - damn, I wrote this much? No wonder I wasn't having sex, I was busy writing about it. (Fib alert: so not true it's not funny. Not the 'not having sex' part, but the lack of bedroom action wasn't really due to my writing.)An odd thing happened, though, as I was rereading my material and editing it. I felt a little something that I hadn't experienced in a long time. I actually felt a little tingle from down below. That soft little call, while editing some stories, started to get a little louder - still very quiet, but it was most certainly there where it hadn't been for decades. I gave in to the siren call almost immediately - surprised the hell out of my husband (thank goodness it wasn't the UPS guy at the door during those moments). Complete, spontaneous, due-to-my-doing rumpy-bumpy. Holy humper, Batman, I'm fixed!I wish. It disappeared again, just as easily slipping back into my 'normal abnormal' routine of never thinking about it within hours. Back to editing. Being the patient sort, I allowed myself to edit a whole three paragraphs before anguish sets in, "It's not working! Ah! I'm broken forever!" Luckily, I have a never say die attitude (Fib alert: ... no, wait, this isn't my stories where I have to include a 'truth' section - let me have my freaking moment), and said, "Piss on it, I'm still going to release my work. I've come this far."And so it went - although much to my joy (and my hubby's) - every so often, I'd find myself showing such obvious responses to passages, it was apparent to even an HSDS girl - and we'd make joy (sometimes several times) to the situation. I wasn't fixed, but at least I had a crutch.Which leaves me editing my old material, exploring new, and tormenting you with it - where I hope it does you some good, too. If it can't make you happy that way, I hope it'll at least provide you a little laugh the other way - especially since I do provide a 'Truth and Consequences' side to all my stories at the end of each book where I detail the nitty-gritty and harsh reality of every piece. This allows everyone's inner voyeur to be released because my HSDS does a great job of preventing me from grasping 'TMI,' so I tend to spill my guts back there in my books.As for my bio (side note: doesn't that make it an 'auto-bio?'), I'm a cute, twenty-one year-old (Fib Alert! Oh my Lord! If you're writing fantasy-fiction, at least make it believable!) - crap, okay, fine, I'm old enough to probably be your sister - from a second marriage - so we're not blood related, which means you don't have to get all weirded out about reading sex stuff about me) - and I live in the Pacific Northwest where I am still happily married to my first husband (very funny - he edits my other fibs so I have to tell the truth, but leaves the happily married one)... at least until he reads the final published product where I changed the truth section in every book back to being brutally honest contrary to his corrections.And, yes, that is me on the cover of all my books, but I'm not spilling the beans here, you have to read the book.

Book preview

:Table of Contents:

- Table of Contents Alphabetical - Table of Contents Linear -

Embrace the Suck (Introduction)

- Fiction & Fantasy -

Boober

Night Noises

Snowed In

Spit-Water-Roasted

Women's Wellness Camp Redoubt

- Shades of Gray -

Behind Door #2

Coitus Interruptus

More Spawn Fun

Mr Nipbles and Purple Nurple

Spatial Awareness (because to hell will this go in non-fiction)

- Non-Fiction -

Offensive / Not Offensive

Question & Answer with Rose, Session 9

Shades of Rose

Troubling Massage Question

Want to 'Want To' Origins

I am Cornholio! - Conclusion

Truth and Consequences

- Master Index -

-Other Works (Bonus Tales)-

:Raindrops on Roses:

:Rose by Any Other Name:

- Braless is Better

:Rose Garden: My Life with HSDS:

- Introduction to HSDS

- HSDS 2014 Redoubt

- HSDS Treatment Trial

:Dozen Roses:

:Coming Up Roses:

- Bigger Brother Cover Shoot

:Rose Wood At Home:

:Wars of Roses:

:Real Randy Rose:

:Buns 'n Roses:

- Take Two

:Covering Rose:

- Raindrops on Roses Cover Creation

:Climbing Rose:

:Chains - Excerpt from my first full-length novel

:Dare to Bare:

- How to Contribute to Dare To Bare

- Comfort Zone

:Love All, Rose:

:Bed of Rose's:

- Introduction: HSDD, Infidelity, Menopause, and Me

- HSDD Helpful Suggestions

:Planet Janet:

:Cocktails with Rose:

:Rose Art - The Infamous Banned Book

Soul Service, Inc. (Excerpt)

:Parade of Roses (the grand master index of Rose kink)

- - - -

About Rose C. Maru

Contact Information

- - - -

Embrace the Suck

Yes, a trip down the vast moldy rows of corny Rose that littered my fields of past Ideas-Not-Used files. The silly, sexy, sensual, absurd and completely Rosie way of life from long ago to yesterday. With a huge preponderance of moldy oldies, not necessarily aging gracefully, but completely overflowing from the three hopper-full of files needed to contain them all. And that bountiful potential harvest still not yet used in previous books. And me looking for a way back to a simpler way of life, before I tried to derail everything and burn down the farm.

Turned out to be a situation ripe for the plucking. And even an instance or two of ripe bold fucking. Without apology, without fear, and with complete... innocence. It was awesome.

Somehow, reading back through the various ancient sketched out ideas, I was regaining a hint of what life was really like before my harsh winter of cashing in on my crop insurance - a contract I'm somewhat concerned hasn't been renewed.

So in an effort to embrace the suck, in face of the recent realization that I face a bigger obstacle with HSDD (Hypoactive Sexual Desire Disorder) in my lack of even wanting to want to do sexy stuff; along with all the other transgressions that had been my recent life, and glancing at those still fertile fields of ancient Ideas Not Used, it occurred to me: just write... the suck will work itself out. Or it won't. Either way, when you realize there's a half-a-megabyte of sketchy stories - I mean, sketched out stories - from home, back home, and completely not home alone... something had to be done. And I was the gal to do it. (Sometimes several times.)

So, yes, I'm harvesting the corny Rose from the perky past to the distant present - and somewhere in between, I hope to rediscover my smile. (Up here... uh, up here... my face is up here... Geez! did one of those fall out again? Dammit!)

- - - -

Truth - Table of Contents

- - - -

Spit-Water-Roasted

I'm pretty sure that between the loud chugging bubbles and swirling water sounds, I swear, I hear the words, She's pretty.

Yes, she is, my husband affirms to the gentleman sitting on my other side in the hotel hot tub.

I'm stunned. Waking up out of my water reverie, seeing both of them staring at the bikini clad lady - who I'm shocked to discover... is me.

Thank you, I finally manage, choking on my words, or maybe some errant water bursting onto my lips. I stop myself mid-lick, realizing how gross that'd be to lick off this water; instead reaching up to try and wipe it off.

Want to see how she looks being spit roast? mystery man asks.

My jaw drops. Or at least it would if I hadn't been frozen in dazed silence, unable to move at all.

She's my wife, my husband calmly corrects.

Okay. I guess you can choose which end you want, he doesn't let what I'd assumed would be the conversation stopper get in his way.

And you'll have to use a condom, he says. My husband as the 'he'?!

So will you, our new friend seems to continue the negotiation - and I notice for the first time, both of them are sort of handsome, really.

Although the shock of what's being discussed - just, calmly negotiated - is...

"... On both ends," she firmly adds.

I look around - odd, there's no other woman here. How did she say that? The two men are staring at me, the one that looks like my husband in complete startled amazement.

Wow, husband 'he' says, wide eyes locked onto me.

Right on, dude!

Soon after, and even more odd, there appears (looks exactly like?) to be something reminiscent of my swimsuit, in a subtly cute pile of wet cloth, out there on the hot tub deck. I'd point it out to the two men on either end of me, but it'd come out as one of those gross, slutty gurgles, that's really a combination of, Oh! from the action below and a slurp sound from above.

Someone apparently stopped the jets and bubbling, because I can easily see his legs behind me, firm hands on my hips, pulling me repeatedly back into him. My nails dig into my husband's ass, trying to keep him in my mouth.

Then I'm floating on my back, water sloshing between my boobs, soft waves lapping against the sides - marveling at the sensations, the...

Sound of the door being opened to the pool and hot tub area. The squeals and screams of youngsters, completely ignorant of their surroundings as they all jump into the main pool, without even a pause.

I sink rapidly below the surface, almost completely out of sight, save the two tips on my buoyant...

We should take it up to the room, she says.

Again! That freaking she person! Who the...

Okay, here's a towel, and he hands her a towel. She wraps it around me, as I try to emerge from the water and cover all at the same time - mostly with success. She and I are pretty talented. But we still let one of the boys get our swimsuit just the same.

-

In the elevator, I wiggle back against my husband, who's firmly planted up inside me. In the fucking elevator, no less. (Oh! Hey! That works both ways! Fucking in the fucking elevator! Unfortunately that doesn't come out as more than a giggle in the current moment.)

A ding - and I look up. It's not our floor. My belly tightens - and not just because as the door opens, the cool rush of air must've hit his balls pulling them up tight so one is rolling around directly on my clit. Oh. Wow. In the perfect spot, really, not directly, but close enough...

A couple step in and our trio gets a dirty look from them... one dirty in the typical fashion, the other in fashionable appreciation kind of 'dirty' - as in the kinky dirty, I really don't want to look away, dirty.

I feel the surge inside me and answer with a firm clamp of my own muscles down there in complete acceptance of naughtiness.

The ball rolling across my clit is perf... Ah! I quietly say with a sharp intake of breath - it's no longer near direct - it is direct. Right on my swollen and fucking sensitive...

My hand shoots over to the handrail to steady myself as my tummy cramps and clenches as he slowly grinds.

My breath unsteady, knuckles white on the brass bar, the flutter of air across my chest - towel lazily losing the battle to stay put.

... and I really, really have to end this story here... for the moment... because I sort of need... I think I left something 'turned on' back at home! Bye.

- - - -

Truth - Table of Contents

- - - -

Spatial (Sexual) Awareness: A Troubling Question

After being appalled he'd even ask, some of what he said unfortunately got me to wondering.

Background: we made a trip to Las Vegas. Which necessarily means we passed through rural Nevada... where a particular 'service' industry is legal. And he asked me if I wanted to... you know... 'be served.' Followed by my knee-jerk: No! After some further, lonely road consideration: No! After lots of consternation, more stupid desolate high desert highway giving one time to really think, and go through detailed consideration: Ew! No!

Unfortunately Nevada highways are known to be long, straight, and boring. Which means there's little more to do than sleep or talk.

Trust me, I tried valiantly to attain the first option, especially with that topic on the table. I couldn't sleep. An hour later, I had to ask: Why?

Turns out, I don't know if what he said is valid or not: for a guy, pretty much any vaginal vault or mouth would be practically the same feeling... but for a woman, having a different size, shape (seriously? A discussion about 'up-turned' resulting in intense g-stop stimulation versus straight versus angled up at base but otherwise straight (like what I'm used to. What, sweetie? I'm over-sharing your penis profile? Oh, too bad. Shouldda damn well thought of that before you made me talk about this shit! Anyone want more info about my husband's penis, just ask. I'm in an extremely over-sharing mood right now. Especially since said stupid-ass penis-support system had the nerve to ask me if I wanted to freaking - (wow, can I just blurt it out?) - he wanted to know if I wanted to be fucked by another guy. What, sweetie? You phrased it much more politely? That you did - but then he made me talk fucking about fucking for like fucking ever!)...

Anyway, it finally, weeks later, got me to thinking. He's not right, is he? I mean, I don't have a lot of, how shall we say it politely? Miss Kitty ain't known no other living Sir Richard in that way. Ever. I mean, sure, hell, of course my dongs are vastly different. I can tell each from their... fuck. Seriously? You mean each dude feels different inside you? I don't just mean different, you know, fullness, which, duh! There's obviously a difference between my average guy (no offense intended to my husband - and none was taken, trust me - he and I both know he's super lucky he's not big, otherwise what little action he gets would be even less. So think twice, all you dude's with giant twat-splittin' penis envy - sounds great, looks impressive - but ain't goin' nowhere near my cute little kitty if it looks like it'll even be remotely painful. Average and less than average? Trying different shapes and such? Fuck, are you serious? Absolutely. Wait! Fuck! Fuck! No! No, I mean, I'd consider it, not 'e-mail me for a hook up'! Shit! I mean, I'm trying to figure out how to work my brain around all this! (Damn, can't share shit with you people without getting a pile of dick-pics in my in-box! (Ehn! No! Not a single joke about what you want to put in my box, dammit! I'm trying to be serious!))) - as I was trying to say, my average guy girth-wise, but, uh... all the other possible, um options beyond girth and length... would it feel... ?

How about it, dear readers? Help a gal out: is he right? Can you really tell leaps and bounds difference what's, uh, 'on your plate' at the moment? Or is he fucked up (and wrong), and (oh, dear Lord, this is so fucking wrong...) just by random chance, his number (two... his ex- and me) happen to share vaginal and oral (fuck! Seriously? That is... it's so wrong... my precious (predominantly unused) kitty is by random chance just like her nasty-bitch-ass snatch? (just kidding - I hope she's doing well with a wonderful guy of her own... far, far fucking away from here)) similarities(?) / congruencies(? fuck! Finding a word that says my... no, nope, not going there). That's almost as freak-out worthy now that I think about it as having to seriously think it is an option for me to legally and morally, you know, experience a different one. (Whew - back on semi-insane thought and not grabbing a mirror and poking around down there to convince myself I have to be better than her - or at least markedly different - and he could tell the difference if he were doing me or doing her. Wait, not a vision I really wanted.) Where the hell did this simple quandary go wrong?

In my defense, while in Nevada, I asked him if he wanted to experience a different cooter. His answer was, Not really, because... that's when he laid it on me about it'd feel basically the same for him - then the discussion devolved into 'unlike women, where it's got to be sooo different in feelings and sensations between guys of different....' heart-stopping ideas/descriptions.

Which, yes, now I'm left wondering. Luckily we never found any place that offered straight guys for straight women. I mean, not that we looked. Because we didn't. Look. Much. Not a lot. Not, like... Uh... next story!

- - - -

Truth - Table of Contents

- - - -

Night Noises

Things That Go Hump In the Night

Don't ask. But, Yes, I'm staying at a friend's house. They were nice enough to take me in when I needed it. And before you curse anyone's name: it's my own doing/undoing that has me dropping semi-unexpectedly into their guest bedroom.

Only they are one those couples. You know the ones: they stay up somewhat later... to watch scary-ass movies. Which, I'm all woman and tough as nails. Hell, I watched Jaws... like three in the afternoon... and never again went in any ocean water more than ankle deep. Don't get me wrong, I truly am the most bad-ass bitch you have ever seen. It was two months after seeing Star Wars (the original) before I could sit and squat on a toilet without having to watch between my knees and stare intently at that 'hole' below the water that disappears into somewhere like a place you'd expect one those garbage monsters to live from the Death Star's trash compactor. See? Completely bad-ass to the bone. Until I watch a movie. Apparently any movie. (Volcano documentary? Six months I spent afraid one was going to form in our back yard. Airplane movie where they say the word crash? Yep, I still freak out every time I hear an airplane overhead thinking it's on its way to crash into me. Completely fucking bad-ass... if you mean can't even condense my top one thousand fears into one concise list.)

So I was completely cool with that scary, bitch-ass, freak-me-out, when-is-this-fucker-ever-going-to-end - oh, I'm sorry, those puddles on your chair? That was from my feet and hands sweating. Um, uh, yes! Hot flash! That's it. Pardon me? I usually complain about how wet my back is after a hot flash? Uh, maybe your house is a different humidity? (Yeah, they didn't buy it either.)

So, after the movie, there I was, snuggled down into a dark, strange room, in a dark, strange house, in a dark strange world - oh, I was completely cool with it.

Until that noise.

No, not a normal noise. A freaky, weird noise. And because I don't have good hearing, I couldn't tell what direction it was coming from. Or how far away. Or how many more breaths I had until it came in my room and... whatever it was going to do to me.

I do the only reasonable thing any grown woman can do: I hold my breath. Because, Duh! - how many more breaths until it does unspeakable acts to me! Because everyone knows if you huddle under the covers and breath really, really shallow, those things that make noises can't hear you.

I'm slowly relaxing - ha, ha, all in my

Weird. Fucking. Noise. - and Louder.

Rising effortlessly, I pad quietly, gently, in an effervescent cloud of fairy steps... thundering, giant fucking bounds having ripped out from under the covers in a storm-front of Rose, bounding this-way-and-that until I find myself in a shallow pant just inside the doorway to their bedroom.

Where I pause. I'm a grown woman. This is silly. It was probably

Weird. Fucking. Noise. Only I swear, in a different direction than the last one.

I glance briefly at their bed, but the room is dark, and from the doorway, I can barely see them as a pair of lumps under the covers. And thus, they are further away from the noise. Which means it's going to get me first.

No, no it's not. That noise has a rational explanation. This is silly, my shoulders slump. I'm a grown...

Really loud weird noise... downstairs...

I'm standing at the side of their bed in the darkened room, ready to crawl into bed with them - whatever made that noise can then figure out if it can take on three of us - but I'm not giving it the chance to take just me... never to be seen again, me.

Dammit, Rose! It's probably just something like the house settling - the noise can't be anything. Stupid, scary movies right before bed. Seriously. Not to mention, I laugh inside my head looking down in the dark, which side of the bed do I crawl in on? I forget, do the women sleep closest to the bathroom, or does the guy? I look up and see the stupid foot of the bed aimed right at the bathroom door - which is open. I can't see much in the reflection from the mirror in...

Holy. Freak me out. Weird noise! Like at the top of the stairs.

I'm slipping under the covers... and sheet... and screw brave! Screw being grown up - I need to be close to a warm body to keep the - whatever! - away.

I try to quietly slither next to what I hope is my friend - hopefully my brave friend, so she can...

Shit! They stir - I notice I chose the wrong side - I think - in the shadows, he was possibly lying half on her. Oh well, at least he'll be big, and strong, and ready to chase away whatever that noise...

I feel his hand gently explore off his starboard side, tender, slow - he must've heard the noise, too! See?! I'm not a giant scaredy-cat! - because he's tenderly exploring the bed obviously looking for it! - until he bumps against my body and he freezes.

I want to explain, whatever it is that made the noise and I'm not just some freak trying to climb into their marital bed with them. Honestly, I don't swing that way - I mean, I don't swing at all!

He rolls over halfway now to face me instead of his wife.

In the distance, I hear the noise again and quickly squirm closer to him - fuck it, sorry, you're gonna have a visitor stay in bed with you until way the hell after sun up when I can...

I flinch with the hand gently sweeping up from where it hit my hip to slip effortlessly under the bottom edge of my shirt, which rolled up way the hell too easy, so now his hand is on my bare belly. A tender, soft hand, which slips like silk up from -

Shit! What the hell? I'm not a swing- guh!

My breath quickens and catches as the most gentle touch ever toys and meanders further up under my shirt, tracing the lower curves of my breast. Gentle, exploration like he's never felt boobs before - which, duh! Like, lying on the other side of you?! Hell - you probably doinked her before falling asleep! You...

My belly spasms in a luscious contraction with whatever the hell he just did to my nipple - then that wonderful hand was gone, with more exploration... before coming back with a vengeance to do that nipple thing - which inappropriately has me cumming as well.

I try to stop my squirming and wiggling - my as of yet unsuccessful efforts to feel the hard bulge that's gotta be forming on him with my leg wiggled up against his crotch, now close to the point of my hip. I'm disgusted to discover I want to feel his hardness. I need to.

I need to find where he gets his will power, because even amidst mind blowing boob play, my nipples hard as rocks, he remains soft as a baby's butt with only mild return wiggle and pressure back against my straining leg.

I resist the urge to grope blindly down below his waist to work his...

Holy fuck! What the - amid my mind trying to figure out how to get into his pants, I feel his fingertips,