An Evening with an Angel

She was a study buddy from a class and while we got good work done together, I didn't really have any interest in her. She was a little too "girly" for me. What I mean is that she took a lot of interest in what kind of shoes she was wearing and whether her hair was done "just so." You know, girl stuff. As a study buddy, I didn't feel too obligated to show that much interest in that stuff, but I guess that I must've done something. I hadn't even asked her to go to the dance. She had asked me, how crazy was that? I hadn't even been planning on going, yet here I was decked out in a suit and waiting for her in her living room. The dance had started about ten minutes ago and while I am normally a very punctual person, she was not. I had been sitting in her living room for the better part of forty minutes now and while I could hear her walking around upstairs and would occasionally shout something up to her, I mostly just sat and looked at the wall art. I don't know why I was impatient. Maybe it was the hunger. I'd been planning on taking her out for a bite at a place not far from the dance and then heading over to show off my moves and hope I could look her in the eye again after that. As it was, I was still hungry, still sitting in a chair, and still looking at an afghan hanging on her wall. Then I heard foot steps.

The foot steps were coming down the stairs and from my seat all I had to do was turn my head in order to see who was coming down. It was her. But it wasn't her. Suddenly my hunger didn't matter and I was unable to move from the chair that I'd been dying to get out of for the last fifteen minutes. Sure, this woman coming down the stairs had the same facial features and was approximately the same height and weight, but it was a far cry from the girl I'd crammed for midterms with just a few nights before. This was a moment dreams are made of. It was a moment at which I wish that life had a pause or at least a slow motion button so that every single second of that time could be digested and savored. The creature coming down the stairs nearly transcended womanhood with her beauty. The dress seemed painted on rather than worn. It moved with her and accentuated her every move. I literally gulped and hoped it wasn't too obvious that I was staring.

I believe that there is a scale of physical attraction. Guys use such things in order to "rate" women and although chauvinistic, I'm not convinced that women don't do similar things to men when sizing up men although they probably aren't as explicit. Along with this scale, I believe that both men and women have some idea of where they fall on the scale of the opposite sex's chart. So, if a man thinks of himself as a six then he probably is about a six. Maybe he's a seven, maybe he's a five, but he's probably in the general neighborhood unless he has serious self-esteem or ego problems. With this, I think that people tend to date people who're more or less around their value. So a male eight wouldn't date a female two and vice versa. I embarked on this exposé into cross sex attractiveness for one reason – at the moment she started coming down those stairs I knew I was going on a date with a woman who was physically at least seven, and possibly eight points ahead of me. If someone had handed me a winning lottery ticket at that moment, I couldn't have been more filled with glee and wonder.

She wanted to go to dinner. I wanted to her go back up the stairs and come down again, but I didn't say that. We went to dinner and the place was packed. There were other students who were obviously there for the dance and as I looked around at the other couples there, I felt like the luckiest guy in the room. Maybe there was something to all that "girly stuff." In any case, I tripped over my tongue at dinner and tried not to stare at her, but then, it's hard not to stare at the most beautiful person in the room. I was transfixed and although I'd had dozens of conversations with her before this night, tonight I was at a loss for words. I hoped that I wasn't making too much of an idiot out of myself – then it hit me, we were going to have to dance later and the idiocy was going to happen anyways. I tried to enjoy dinner and although I don't remember what I ate, it was one of the best meals I'd ever had.

We walked from the restaurant to the dance hall just up the road. It was cold, the wind was blowing and in her heels, she'd occasionally bump up against me. I knew it wasn't intentional, but that she had touched me! We'd touched before of course and she'd even given me a hug before, but I hadn't thought much of it. I silently prayed that the DJ at the dance would play something slow.

At the dance we checked our jackets and paid for our tickets. The bass from the speakers was reverberating through the walls. It didn't sound like there was going to be much slow dancing, but in we went. It should be known as a general rule that unless a white man is in a boy band or is Michael Jackson (and he wasn't always white) he is probably unable to dance; it isn't in our genetic makeup. Fortunately, there was a strobe light and while there was a good deal of bumping into people around us and into each other, I'm pretty sure that most of my white man jive was hidden. At the very least, I couldn't see her laughing at me and she was gracious enough not to mention it afterwards. The pain of trying to act as though I had rhythm was mercifully short. We'd been late to begin with and after dinner, our time on the dance floor was cut because the DJ wanted to go home and so we began the trek back to the car and the drive back to the apartments.

Back in our parking lot, she realized that she'd lost her keys. Her roommates weren't in and she came over to my place. Not being able to use her car or get into her apartment I invited her to crash on my couch. She accepted and I found a clean pair of shorts and a T shirt for her to sleep in. I was surprised when she slid the short on under the dress, the T-shirt on over the dress, and the dress off while still being dressed right in my living room. I looked at the dress puddled up on the floor and decided that it looked good there. I gave her a blanket and pillow for the couch and as I did so the tongue that had been betraying me all night long finally uttered something worthy of the moment – "Could I lay with you for a while?"

She agreed and I ran upstairs for shorts and a T-shirt myself. Coming back downstairs I turned off the lights and laid down next to her in very cramped quarters. I held her for quite some time and she sighed in my arms. It was quiet except for the pounding of two hearts that were enjoying being close. The room was dark except for the light of the occasional car which could be seen through the trees outside my living room window. Our bodies lay quietly in that darkness for a while, but one can only be still for so long without having to move a little and so it began with a little movement and a little rubbing. After a few minutes I moved my hand across her back, softly allowing it to glide over her t-shirt. She nuzzled her head against my chest. I shifted my weight so that she was more on top of me than next to me. She moved a leg over my legs. I rubbed her back harder. Then she moved up and laid fully on top of me, our cheeks rubbing against each other and our breathing started getting fast. I closed my eyes and remembered her walking down the stairs. It was nearly incomprehensible to me that the angel that had done that earlier was now gradually beginning to rock herself against me. My hands slid under the t-shirt and began rubbing her bare back. She pushed herself up slightly so that she was looking right at me, lowered herself down, and our lips met for the briefest, yet sweetest, of kisses. Our movement continued slowly. Was it a fear of forging ahead? Was it that we didn't know what this would do to our friendship? Was it just that we were enjoying every sensation and didn't want to rush? I knew that it was unexpected on my part. I was shocked that we were there, but I was savoring every minute of it as well.

After a while, our bodies began moving faster and urges we'd not had for each other started welling up. We kissed harder and our tongues danced circles around each other. Her legs straddled mine on that small couch and she rubbed her sex against mine through two thin pairs of shorts. I closed my eyes and thought about how close we were and how good she felt. My hands felt around her body under her shirt and I allowed them to go wherever they wanted. Beginning with her back I felt around her ribs and then to her belly. I moved them up and cupped her breasts. I felt around those wonderful mounds and then up to their peaks. All the while, we both kept our clothes on.

She fell on top of me and our breathing labored together. We both knew what was happening. I had three roommates, any of which could come downstairs or come in from the outside and look into the living room. My own roommate was in bed in our room. We had no key to her apartment so we couldn't go there. We didn't dare take our clothes off in this place. I rolled her off of me and squeezed her in my arms. I moved my lips to her ear and whispered, "Roll over." She cocked her head with a questioning glance, but did as I asked. Reaching around her, I slipped one hand over her shoulder and down her shirt. He head rested on my arm while my hand played with her breast. With my other hand, I began rubbing her belly and slowly allowed it to travel to the waist band of her shorts. With both arms I gently pulled her closer to me so that my entire front was pressed up against her entire back. The moment was as sensuous as I'd ever had.

My fingers slipped beneath the elastic waistband to a place I never dreamed they would go. Beneath them, I felt an intricate pattern of lace. Again, I started slowly, just allowing my hand to glide over her and not wanting to rush anything. I felt her from her thighs to her navel. It was another moment that I wished could come with a pause button. She moaned quietly and I felt the heat between her legs and the moisture that was coming through the lace. I pressed down on that lace just a little more and was rewarded with another moan so for a while I was satisfied just to do that. That was, however, just for a while. I moved my fingers up to the second waist band they'd travel beneath that evening and slowly slid them under. I felt her wetness and heat right there on my own fingers. I parted her outer lips and allowed my fingers to move up and down her from the very front to the very back. I caressed that outer ridge in a circle over and over again, still feeling the amazement that I was doing this at all. Finally, I began circling into her. I felt her nub and the way into her. I started with one finger inside and pumped it in and out. When this started, she began moving with me in rhythm backing herself against me. Not long after that, I added a second finger and started moving my hand in a circular motion. Her whole body shivered and she gasped. Her heavy breathing became staggered and it appeared she was no longer in control of herself. She moved her head over to one side and put her mouth over my arm and screamed a muffled scream of pleasure and delight.

I removed my hands from her, but still held on for a while. We spent most of the night in an embrace until we were too tired and I had to go to bed. We went our separate ways after that semester, but I'll never forget the night I spent with an angel.