"I walked over here," Ashley said. "But thanks--I could use a lift back. Maybe I'll get a bit more stuff than I'd planned."
And she did. She ended up loading up my car with all manner of things--clothes, little items of furniture, and such--that she would never have been able to carry on foot. So I felt I was being helpful. And the strange thing was that, as we were sitting in the car, we felt a kind of closeness that usually doesn't happen for people who've only been acquainted for about an hour. The mere fact that I "knew" her mother made Ashley think of me as a kind of family friend. Of course, she wasn't aware that I "knew" Julia the way Adam "knew" Eve in the Bible! And there's no way I'd ever tell her.
When we got to her place--a tiny apartment a few blocks from campus--I unloaded most of the stuff. I guess that's what guys are supposed to do. And doing that made
me
feel closer to
her:
holding a big heap of her clothes in my arms--some of which, I thought (it may have been my imagination), had something of her body-scent still on them--caused me to think of her as a kind of little sister. Well, not exactly: first, we were almost exactly the same age (she'd turned twenty a few weeks after I did)--and the thoughts rolling through my mind were definitely not the thoughts a brother thinks of about her sister!
Yeah, I admit it: I wanted to take Ashley to bed right then and there. But I realized that would be a scummy thing to do. With a girl like her, you have to win her over--court her, woo her. And that's exactly what I wanted to do.
Without knowing it, she helped by offering make dinner for me. I would have been happy to go out somewhere and get a pizza or something--but she said, "Oh, I can whip up something here. I'm not the greatest cook in the world, but I'd like to get a little more practice. Hope you're willing to be my guinea pig!"
Of course I was. And I felt she was being too modest. In fact, the meal she prepared--spaghetti and meatballs with a little salad on the side, and even some homemade garlic bread--was fabulous, and I ate every bit of it. All through the dinner I took in her loveliness (I didn't stare, of course--that would have been rude), but I also got a sense of the kind of person she was. She seemed super-smart (way smarter than most of the kids at our college), but, like a lot of smart people, not really comfortable with folks on an emotional level. Had she even had a boyfriend before? I couldn't tell.
After dinner, she asked if I wanted to watch one of her DVDs on her little TV. I couldn't tell if she really meant it, or just felt obliged to make the offer out of courtesy. If I said, "No, I'd better be getting home," would she take that as a brush-off? I certainly didn't want her to think so--but I also didn't want her to think that I took the offer as basically an invitation to spend the night in her bed. So I said, "Sure--but I'll have to go home right afterwards." That was a neat solution, wasn't it?
So we sat and watched the movie. I was kind of afraid it would be some silly "chick flick," but she surprised me by putting on an old film noir from the 1940s what was really cool. Glorious black and white! It was riveting, and we both loved it. And yes, she eventually allowed me to put an arm gently around her shoulders as we drew closer and closer to each other on the couch.
After it was over, I was true to my word and got up to leave. At the door I looked down at her (I was, like, six inches taller than her), bent down, took her chin in my hand, and gave her just the quickest little kiss on the mouth. Just a peck, really. But even that was surprising to her: she looked at me with wide eyes that had just a bit of fear in them. That made me sad, because I didn't want to frighten her. But then she said:
"How about another? I wasn't ready for that one. And make it longer this time."
I'm yours to command, ma'am! So this time I actually held her in my arms, and kissed her firmly but still gently. I knew that with a girl like her you had to go slow. Rushing things would just end up offending her or making her angry. So I just gave her this kiss that lasted for about five seconds, and then I let her go. Her lips fluttered against my own, kind of like a butterfly's wings, and she kept them tightly closed: maybe she was afraid I'd stick my tongue into her mouth. Of course I'd never do that--not right then. Maybe later!
Then I let her go and left the place. I think I made it clear that I wanted more--and I'm pretty sure she did too.
So that's how we began dating. We saw each other a bunch of times, and each time we got just a little bit more intimate. But still, it wasn't all that much. I know what people say: if you haven't slept with a girl on the third or fourth date, you never will. And college kids are ready to jump into bed with each other at the least opportunity. Most of them are on their own and away from Mom and Dad, with all these people of the opposite sex around them all the time. But I knew that with Ashley I couldn't expect to do that. And I didn't want to.
Her apartment was a lot nicer than my crappy rooming house, so we spent most of our time there. One evening we were listening to some music, sitting on a little loveseat in the living room, and she ended up sitting on my lap. It was early in the new semester, and the weather was still pretty warm, so she was just wearing a tank top and a bra underneath, with a thin wraparound skirt. Her chest came right to the level of my face. I'm sure she knew that would happen, and she was too smart not to realize that I'd get excited by that.
Now I have to tell you something: she didn't have the biggest breasts in the world. Mom had pretty huge breasts, and Julia had a nice pair--but Ashley's were quite small. I could tell that even without seeing them uncovered. But that's okay! Sometimes small is good. Right now, as she sat on my lap, I just rested my head on her bare skin, just under her chin. There was just a bit of cleavage showing, but what really got to me was the heavenly aroma radiating from her body. It was intoxicating! Meanwhile she was holding my head with both of her hands. Sometimes she kissed me on the top of my head.
I could tell she was getting excited: her breathing was getting faster, making her breasts rise and fall. I was pretty sure she wanted me to do something. With the dreamy strains of John Coltrane's jazz music in the background, I slid a hand up under her skirt and found that place between her legs.
She gasped, but didn't push my hand away. In fact, she held my head even tighter to her chest and opened her legs just a little bit. She wanted me to go on! And no wonder: I could sense that the crotch of her panties was pretty damp from her wetness. And so I began applying the lessons I'd learned from my sessions with my mom and her mom.
I pushed the panties aside and fastened my fingers gently to her sex. She let out a tiny high-pitched sound like the mewing of a cat and spread her legs farther. More fluid came out of her pussy--man, she was flowing like a river! So I fondled her labia and clitoris, sometimes inserting a few fingers into her vagina a little ways--but far enough that I made a surprising discovery.
She was a virgin.
Yes, I could feel that silly little barrier there, still intact. Well, that was a fact I would file away for later; right now, my whole purpose was to get her off. Aside from stroking her labia up and down, I pressed her clitoris against her pelvic bone--women love that, believe me! In fact, the first time I did that she emitted with a shrill squeal that made me understand I was on the right track. And so was she: by this time, the momentum of her own sensations was getting to her, and in a little while she was practically bouncing up and down on my lap, her legs twitching and her breath coming out raggedly.
She was coming!
I sensed that this was the first time she'd ever had an orgasm in the presence of a man. She was trying to hold back, just the way her mother did--but I kept on with my work, and pretty soon she was wailing like a banshee and quivering all over. She even whimpered a little, as if her climax was almost too much for her. I was just playing her like a musical instrument!
And then she pushed my hand roughly away and slid off my lap, landing heavily on the seat next to me. She had this stupefied expression on her face, as if she couldn't believe what she'd gone through. Her face was all red--partly from exertion, but partly (I sensed) from sheer embarrassment that it was a guy, not her own fingers, who had brought on this monumental orgasm.
"Did you like that?" I said softly.
She looked shyly at me, still breathing hard. All she could do was nod.
But, as I've said before, she wasn't a dummy. Even though I'd been totally focused on her pleasure, she knew what this whole session had done for me. Maybe she'd even felt it as she sat on my lap.
So she said, "I guess you'd like something in return?"
I knew she didn't mean actual sex. But I wasn't going to say no to a handjob! I replied, "Well, sure, if you want to."
Her blush deepened. "I'm not sure I know how."
"Ashley, it's not rocket science. I'll show you."
With that, I stood up and began to undress.
She didn't expect that. She thought she'd just unzip my pants, fish out my cock, and pump it. But I said, "It'll be easier this way. Anyway, guys make a mess--you must know that." That's what my mom had said!
