She'd lived there for nearly a year. What I knew about her was simple really – she is an artist – art student apparently. She also had a certain look of innocence about her. Not true innocence but more like inexperience. As any good student she was also a keeper of somewhat odd hours. Never overnighters anywhere though but there was the occasional weekend when her car wasn't there. Not often though. I'd seen her with friends – girl friends – from time to time. There was always laughing involved with her interactions.
Her voice has laughter in it too. I heard bits of stuff through her sometimes-open window as she chatted on the phone with someone. Never saw her party in her place – way to small I suspect since it is essentially a very small studio apartment. The proximity of my back door to hers was always an intrigue especially due to the laughing.
Then one day we emerged from our backdoors simultaneously. Melanie, it turned out, was not laughing. Things were going somewhat on a downer for her. This was only evident in her countenance, not through an in depth conversation at the time. Perfunctory inquires as to how things were going were not enough to pry information out of her. Still, this smiling, now upon closer inspection, very young woman was on a bit of a downer. It was only later that day that I found out more and had our conversation.
Returning from a grocery run, we nearly bumped into one another literally – me on ingress and literally – me on ingress. She made a remark about the shopping contents I was hauling into my place. I explained that it was dinner. A fast, flirty and yet really-looking to be of aid to a downcast young woman question as to the prospects of her joining was – well there was the surprise.
Melanie, it seemed, was on her way out to find something to dine on and, well, seeing as how things were not looking particularly interesting – she accepted. All that was required was to just give her a minute and she'd be right "over."
I admit that I had nothing more in mind than to buck up the countenance of a young woman who I thought needed an ear. I scurried and set up the dining area quickly while she took her minute. Then, there she was. At my back door.
The dinner went well, barbecue, fish, veggies etc. The conversation was a mixture of delight and, finally, revelation. Seems she'd gone through a bit of a downturn in her creative process and the results were showing in the appraisals she received in her classes. I volunteered to be a truly inexpert judge and offer a second opinion. When she popped out and returned in a flash with three works (oils) that she had been critiqued form. By now the wine served had gone and the second bottle nearly so. My evaluation of her material was far more positive than that she'd received earlier. This seemed to help and that made me feel good.
As we talked more, the music in my house flowed easily over us. Sitting with her on the couch and conversing, sipping still more wine, and learning more about one another moved rapidly toward the darker side of evening. Her gratitude for my "kind review" of her work was repeated over and over. Touching someone's soul when it is bared in an artistic fashion is a risk. When that soul is sullied by criticism it is difficult to handle. That's about the time, later in the evening, that I truly noticed her in a more physical sense.
Melanie is one of those scrubbed-clean young women with rosy cheeks and shoulder-length brown hair. Once warmed up that laughter in her voice returned and spread through the rest of her. Then there was the little matter of her attire that caught my eye at last. Denim and cotton is the best description. Cotton blouse – white – not tight but that was only due to her likely having a habit of underexposing her most imposing assets. Her breasts are not overly large but they are present and accounted for. It was only then too that I noted just how far down the buttons on that blouse were undone. Had one slipped open while we dined – I mused to myself? Must be the wine I thought.
As I went back to the "cellar" to retrieve one last bottle of wine – she excused herself and used the restroom. Upon returning we converged just shy of the sofa. It was just a first touch of her arm as I guided her ahead of me around the coffee table. That touch lingered longer than I would have normally. Then she turned, probably in politeness, and our eyes met and held for just a moment. It was in that moment that, wine, soul touching and pleasantness combined to press things forward. I offered a sincere compliment as to the color and depth of her eyes. Her acceptance of the flattery did not include turning her head away. She is not tall – but then who is when standing next to me. I swear she lifted up a bit onto the balls of her feet – at least that's my excuse and I'm sticking to it.
Well, it was my move that came next. I slowly lowered my mouth toward hers and kissed her gently. The real surprise came when she reached up after our initial buss and slipped one arm around my neck and urged me forward again. That's when we both became teenagers in heat.
My hands went to her sides – then around to her back and I lifted and pressed her close as we kissed again – this time with some fervor and purpose. We chuckled for just a moment in a kid of mutual embarrassment but went back to making out immediately thereafter. Not without skills am I so I carefully explored the exterior periphery of her upper form. Discovering among other things that yes, she was wearing a bra and that she didn't mind having my hands make such a discovery. One more chuckle in between osculation and my hands became bold. Straight to the front of the bra – not the mention those assets of hers. As we kissed now she moaned just a bit. This was probably to let me know that it was OK to perform as I was. That and the fact that she turned slightly to insure that my hand fell squarely atop one of them. Or maybe it was the fact that she now had moved her hand to my ass and was pushing forward as she leaned her jeans-clad hips into me.
Whatever, it was little time later that we sat beside one another and I unbuttoned the remainder of her blouse. Slipping it from her shoulders as she watched my eyes to see if these works of art met with criticism or approval. The answer she found there insured that I would be allowed to proceed. Rather – she proceeded. She proceeded to unbutton my shirt and run her hands over my chest as she looked in appraisal. So, we established that we had mutual attraction for one another's chests. Then, as I slipped the hook at the front and center of her bra she let me know that she liked what she saw as well. Her mouth went to one of my nipples and nipped at it while I removed her undergarment – wishing to return the favor. Once our chesty explorations had been completed – actually only an initial survey on both our parts, she stood. As she looked at me she slipped the denim from her hips. Those hips were ample but not out of proportion. Her breasts were firm and self-supporting in spite of their size. Once the jeans were off and piled to one side I could see the artist expression in clothing form. Thong. The fabric in the front covering the well trimmed and shaped patch of hair. I might add that the front of the thong was not very large either to give some impression of the degree of shaving involved.
