Dawn is a small girl, into dance and karate. She's originally from the Phillipines, and seems really predictable (well except for the fact that she does ballet and karate). I'm Gene, and I'm a fairly tall guy, who played hockey for a little bit and then stopped, and now I do curling.
She doesn't get straight A's in school, and she isn't one of those people who virtuously volunteers all the time, but she is really sweet and has the cutest smile.
She wears nice, modest clothing, what's in style but conservative. But I can't help imagine her body underneath it, perfectly proportioned with small firm breasts and slightly curvy.
We sometimes chat between classes, and she comes across as a fairly shy girl, she seems almost young for her age.
I didn't know she did ballet until the University has a talent show after exams, and a couple of her friends convince her into enter. She does a lyrical almost modern dance, and I am amazed at how she can move her body.
I don't let on that I kind of like her, like a stoic, I hide it from my friends who are sitting next to me. I like to control my emotions, or at least control the physiological response to them. I'm worried about what people think, a lot.
I congratulate her afterwards, as she's taking off her pointe shoes and the tape from her feet. She is glowing in the praise from everyone.
We're finished classes after that. I get a job working at a really - shall we say quaint? - coffee shop, and don't see her much for a few weeks.
It's Tuesday and it's dark out and pouring rain. The rain is coming vertically down, no wind just wet. I'm just closing up for the night, when I hear the door rattle. Looking around, I see Dawn walk in shaking off an umbrella. Her hair is pulled tightly back in a bun and she's wearing a biggish white T-shirt that's almost perfectly dry.
Not the most sexy clothes, but somehow I liked it. She's a clean looking girl - clean, as well as neat with her hair pulled out of her face, and not too much makeup.
"Oh, I'm sorry, you're closing now?" She asks quickly, and starts to put up her umbrella again, her head down.
"No, not for a couple more minutes," I lie. "What can I getcha?" We're actually closed a couple minutes ago.
She looks up at the list and thinks. God, she's beautiful. I busy myself with wiping off the counter and try to sneak peeks at her. Her face is soft and nesquick coloured, and she always looks so honest and genuine. The way she's standing there's a delicate line in her neck.
"I'll have hot chocolate," she finally decides. "Would I be able to have a spoon with that, I know it's a little weird but I like to have hot chocolate with a spoon."
"Sure thing," I say and I start to make it. While I'm pouring the milk, something I've done a hundred times this summer, I make conversation.
"So, were you just at ballet?" I guess.
"Yeah, I went to practice a little on my own." She pauses. "I kind of like practicing this late, it makes me more creative or something."
"I know what you mean," I say. "It's almost like it's separate from the rest of the day."
She smiles and sips her hot chocolate. "I don't usually tell people I go practice this late. Some people sneak out of their houses to go to parties, I sneak out to practice pirouettes with nobody watching."
I laugh and she smiles.
Then she looks a little puzzled, like there's something she wants to say but she can't quite get the wording right. She sets down the spoon, and I assume she's finished with it. I reach over to put it away, and my hand knocks her hot chocolate.
It spills all over her white shirt, and the cup falls to the floor and breaks into two pieces. I'm torn between worrying that it didn't cool off enough, to being excited about the wetness between her breasts and being able to see her dark bra, to feeling embarassed like I blew any chance I might have had of smoothly arranging a date with her.
"I'm so sorry," we say at the same time.
Not good, the logical part of my brain is telling me. I always mask my emotions, but even as I think it I get warmer and my face turning red is out of my control.
She bends down and picks up the pieces of the cup, and sets them on the counter. "It's okay," I say, "It's my fault."
She smiles a little. "Well, I know how I can wash off the hot chocolate," she says. "All I have to do is walk out in the rain. And she's almost out the door, when she hesitates, then walks out into the rain.
I see through the window that the rain is beating down on her as she stands there, and then I see her umbrella. I walk over and pick up the umbrella and walk outside and stand beside her.
"Uh, you forgot," I start, but I don't put up the umbrella. Her shirt is becoming transparent, showing her shoulders through it. One bit of hair escapes from the bun.
I try to resist the feeling I'm getting, but I'm suddenly aware of my body temperature and my penis. I am in control of my emotions, I should be able to control this. Although I have no way to confirm this, I think Dawn's a virgin, and I don't want to even think for a second of taking advantage of her.
She doesn't take the umbrella, and as the water soaks both of us I start to feel it more. Her bra is dark blue with a little bright green and pink design near the bottom on one side. The fabric of her shirt is clinging to her, and so is mine.
