I was twenty-nine years old. It seems young to me now. I don't think I've ever felt more on top of the world than I did at that age. The events of September 1st and 4th of 1995 were as in keeping with this state of mind as anything could be.
There is a beautiful mall in Georgetown, a premiere shopping district in Washington D.C.. I was wandering through and decided to stop in to see Phil, my boss from my retail days. I wandered into "Fit To A Tee" T-shirt shop and spent a fair bit of time catching up with Phil. I liked the guy. To be fair, I wasn't always a top notch employee. The fact that he still enjoyed my conversation spoke highly of him...so I felt bad.
I felt bad because, as we spoke, my attention was divided. Outside the store, sitting at a table with a friend, was one of the cutest girls I have seen to this day. She'd have been a distraction under any circumstances. In this case, she was more of a distraction than any strange girl had ever been. She was young, and she was practising. Every time I cast my eyes in her direction, she was staring at me. She didn't look away when our eyes met. Instead, she would drop her head a bit and cut her eyes up at me in a transparent but effective attempt at being alluring.
Thus, my conversation with Phil became burdensome. The etiquette with which I was raised held me captive. I looked out and the girl was gone. I broke away as soon as was reasonable. Feeling a little bit pathetic, I scanned the mall for a sign of her. A wave of relief and gratitude washed over me when I saw her. She was a petite girl, with long, unbelievably straight, brown hair with hints of a playful,purple dye. I circled around to intercept her.
For all the confidence she had shown outside the store, she seemed uncertain of herself as I approached. I wan't deluding myself. I knew she was a girl with limited experience, proving to herself (or her friend) that she was a natural. Indeed, she was.
I was used to back burnering any of my anxiety by this age. I said hello and asked her name.
"Kisska", she said.
"I'm Wyatt...so, how old are you?"
"Twenty-two."
I laughed wholeheartedly and expressed my disbelief with a resounding "Bullshit!". She looked down in a brief moment of embarrassment, then amended, "Eighteen." Clearly, she was being truthful now.
My plans were very short term. Her lips looked so soft. I wanted to kiss her. I wanted to run my hand over her shiny hair. I felt that I had at least this much that I could count on.
"So, Kisska... do you live around here?"
"No, I live in Crystal City". There was an uncomfortable pause as our minds maneuvered around each other. She had been the aggressor. Now she had a look on her face that made her seem like willing prey. This was good. I sort of liked feeling like the predator.
"Well, this may seem a little odd. It kills me that you're as young as you are. You are so fucking pretty, you can't imagine. You were making my head swim back by the store.". Her face turned redder as I spoke. I continued, "There isn't much choice but for me head on my way... but I would like one thing.".
"What's that?"
"A goodbye kiss.". She drew in a deep breath and hesitated. Then she said no. It was like cold water being dumped on my chest as I awoke on a winter morning. I gracefully smiled and said that it was too bad. "Maybe I'll see ya around.". We parted ways and I considered going somewhere I might find a willing lady to help tend to my bruised ego. Then I noticed that I didn't feel like it was a done deal. I exited the mall from it's far entrance and walked briskly along "M" Street.
Sure enough, she and her friend were standing at the corner of Wisconsin Avenue and "M" Street, scanning the street. Her eyes lit up when she saw me. I actually felt myself shift in my jeans. When our paths intersected, she had regained her air of confidence.
She said, "Ya know, I think I'll take that kiss now.". There we were, on one of the busiest intersections in the city. I grabbed her and pulled her snugly against my body. I put my hand on the back of her head and was instantly overwhelmed by the sensory pleasure of feeling her soft. silky hair. We kissed. In that moment, she was the sweetest, most darling, tender specimen of female delight on the planet. She was an angel. Then she got dirty. It wasn't me. She pulled herself up my torso to grind against me. My hands went to her ass. We were fully clothed and standing on an island in the midst of nonstop foot traffic, but we were fucking. I helped her stay in place with a hand on the small of her back and helped her grind with a hand on her ass. I tried to absorb the experience in case it was the only one. I took note of her breasts pressing against me. I forced her body to shift so I could feel them move.
Her friend coughed. I gently let her back down to the ground without letting our lips separate. Once her feet were planted, I pulled my lips from hers and gave her small kisses on the smooth skin of her neck and then her cheek. "I'd like to see you sometime.", I said with as much self assuredness as possible in my euphoric state of being.
"OK...here. let me give you my phone number.". She didn't seem to have a piece of paper on her so I fished some scrap from my wallet. She wrote it down with the obligatory heart over the "i" in her name. I was entranced. I watched as she walked toward the bridge leading out of the city, then went home. I called her that night.
She and I spoke each day until we saw each other on the fourth. The disparity in our ages proved a small barrier in the early part of our first conversation. After this, we learned which subjects were better for us. Music was a good one, as was anything to do with partying. Inevitably, our conversations turned to sex. I am certain that she was masturbating during one conversation. I could hear moans and erratic breathing being camouflaged as well as she could. Eventually, she got stuck in the middle of a sentence, which should have been easy to spit out. This girl exuded a very potent sexuality.
Another recurrent theme was witchcraft. Dark magic and demon spirits fascinated her. It was cute and seemed very appropriate to her age. This topic seemed to blend in naturally to our sexual dialogue. She made repeated references to a spirit in a female, human form. This spirit made love to men and, in doing so, drew their souls from their bodies in a very painful way. I really didn’t think much of it. Like I said, it was cute.
Monday arrived, and I drove down to Georgetown to pick her up. Rarely was I so infatuated with a girl whom I had just met. Rarely did I go to meet a girl with whom sex seemed such an inevitability. I arrived ten minutes early. It was unlikely that I would find a parking place suitable for waiting in that amount of time, so I drove over the bridge into Virginia that she would be crossing. I crossed over Key Bridge and turned around. On the way back I saw her.
She was wearing black stretch pants, maroon Doc Martens and a black t-shirt with red, paint-like swatches across it. There were several strategically placed slices in the material of the t-shirt, which showed the small of her back, just above her pants. My desire to how the tears were situated on the front of her shirt was both strong and juvenile. The crowning feature of her look this afternoon was her hair. She had dyed it blood red. I crossed the bridge and waited for her around the turn. As she approached the car, I stepped out to meet her.
Kisska greeted me with an embrace and a deep kiss. We picked up exactly where we had left of a few days earlier, but with the added intensity of having had several sexually oriented conversations. I lifted her onto the hood of the car and backed up to get a good look at her. The slices on the front of her shirt revealed her tummy and just below her breasts. A larger breasted girl would not have been able to wear it. I kissed her stomach through the hole, letting my lips linger a moment. It seemed that every little touch of her skin was worth the journey. She leaned back on the hood of the car and closed her eyes. It was a tremendous effort to resist the gesture of submission. I could see her womanhood pressing against the fabric of her pants and wanted nothing more than to consume her, starting there. Unfortunately we were in an unsuitable location.
“We have to go.” I said, “Would you like to grab something to eat?”
“No, I ate before I left the house.” She paused. “I only have three hours before I have to be home. Is there someplace we could just hang out?”