Hi there. My name is Tihana, although I am not always that name. My first name was Charlize, the only daughter of Mariska and Tom. I became Tihana shortly after my mother died. My mother was Croatian, and a fashion model and sometime actress. She was a party girl and socialite, never far from the gossip pages of the more salacious press. Everywhere we went in Baska Voda her face and body adorned posters and advertorial campaigns for perfume, clothes and underwear. People stopped us in the street to seek autographs and have their picture taken with her-- she was the life and soul of the house. Glamorous, sexual, alluring, thrilling. She was also distant and cold at times. As if she wasn't there, vacant.
She was killed in a car crash when I was just 18. My father did not know the driver - the accident happened at 2am in the morning and the man was seriously over the limit. The autopsy on my mother revealed she had taken a cocktail of drugs, had recently had sex and had lain upside down in the car, slowly dying, trapped by her seat belt, for several hours. Found by passersby as the dawn rose, they pulled her from the wreckage but she had died before the ambulance had arrived.
She had said only these words: "Tell Charli to look after Tom". It was her dying wish.
My father was the head of a construction company building glamorous resorts, boutique hotels and luxury houses across the Med. An Irish charmer sophisticated and with a physique hardened from years grafting as he built his business literally brick by brick. They met at the opening of a night club and his Irish charm clearly worked its magic on the most desirable woman in Croatia.
The marriage and motherhood did nothing to dent her sexual appeal......or her party girl image.
I have always been considered beautiful and, as my family was well off, I had the best clothes, hairdressers, nails, teachers, even at an early point in my life. I was involved with family parties rather than being shuffled off. I learned to enjoy the attentions of older men -- and as a young, insecure girl became to rely on constant attention and adoration rather than building self confidence and being comfortable in my skin.
You may be wondering what I look like. Well I will try and describe myself as best I can. I have blue eyes and fair hair, worn long and straight. My face is symmetrical and with an Eastern European appeal - wide eyes, defined cheekbones, passionate full lips curled up at the edges in a permanent smile, small nose, perfectly proportioned and an elegant neck. My body is lithe and athletic, like a ballerina. Some find me on the skinny side and some of the bones are clearly visible. My shoulders are particularly defined, with my skin, a pale golden tone, pulled tightly across my frame.
My breasts (yes I know this is the bit some of you are interested in) are on the small side - a C cup (sorry to disappoint), but are firm, pert and with small pink nipples, highly sensitive to the touch, even the fabric of clothes.
I have a thin waist, with well pronounced muscle tone and my hips a little wide so I have very feminine curves, a nice firm bum and long toned legs. I move gracefully, almost floating, and I am light on my feet, have a straight posture and with my head tilted slightly up I appear taller than my 5 foot 8 inches.
My love life, did you ask? Well at that point in my life, not much to tell. I knew boys gawped at me in wonder and that was nice, but few had the courage to talk with me. Those that did were cocky and arrogant. Confidence is a turn on, but these boys were a turn off.
I kissed a girl once (or twice, giggles), a few years ago, and we had a nervous fumble. She kissed my breasts and I had a dreamy moment and just as she was taking off my knickers with me fully aroused and in a state of nervous anticipation her parents returned home and panic set in. After that, whenever we met, there was an unspoken silence between us as we danced around each other, flirting, flushing with embarrassment, occasionally bumping each other, until.........but that's another story.
No boys though I had danced with plenty of older men at our house parties.....some more bold than others even though (or perhaps because) their wives were close by. Perhaps they had a thrill taking me in their arms, dancing slowly, talking innocuously about trivia, smiling innocently around the room whilst their cocks hardened against me. Sometimes I responded and rubbed myself firmly against their erection, moving my body seductively, encouraging a firmer hold, smiling at them whilst moistening my lips tempting a kiss (never received in public). Once, a close friend of my mother's after such a particularly sexual and tantalizing dance pursued me to another room and kissed me with such passion that I tingled all over and in a moment of madness I found myself naked with his lips all over me, searching out my swollen and moist womanhood until my knees went weak when he kissed me there until I fell to the floor with what I could only imagine was an orgasm and I felt his urgent, throbbing cock take my virginity. Afterwards, I felt alive, the colours in the room, the smell of everything so much more acute.
I had hoped that he might want to see me. We did meet again, but only at parties, and always the dance, the urgent coupling and the wonderful afterglow.
But, for many eighteen year olds, you can consider my experiences to be fairly limited. All that was about to change. I was to shortly begin my journey of sexual awakening.
