This story spreads across nine years.
Part One starts at the beginning, the first time. The second time takes place nine years later, and is told in Part Four.
Parts Two and Three? Well, it seems they had to be written, to get to Part Four. It makes sense, I hope, in a roundabout sort of way.
I warn readers, those who are willing to be patient with me, that this story unravels slowly, wafts its weave gently, sews its threads together carefully, and all this takes time. You'll need to be patient with me, because it all takes time. If that's not why you're here, best stop reading now. I won't mind - but you won't meet the girl with the most beautiful smile in the world.
I waited nine years, nine unexpected years. But it was worth the wait, for me at least. My readers (you) will make their own minds up whether it was worth their time.
-- ooo OOO ooo --
I lived on the south side of town, up over the brow of a steep hill. She lived on the north side, across the creek and up a longer hill, along the road to the pine forest. The main street, where we all met every Saturday morning in the mall, was a mile from her place and a mile from mine. We were all so fit back then, in my last year of high school, because we walked everywhere.
Few of us had cars. Pamela was rare, she got her license early and her parents allowed her to drive their big white Fairlane, sometimes. I remember that car, because we had some moments in it, Pam and I, and I remember them. I wonder if Pamela does? We're older now.
In August of that year, we both turned eighteen, two weeks apart. Leo the lion, me, with my long blonde hair and pale skin, cold from the long winter. I never saw Pamela as my lioness though - she was always too pale and ethereal, her long wave of thick brown hair falling near to her waist. Almost black when twisted into a thick, long plait.
She was a dancer, with her slender body, her lean muscled legs, her small waist and delicate bum. Her breasts were slight, just a soft crescent of curved pale skin and no cleavage. But rich, dark budding nipples, thick and erect when I finally saw them and kissed my lips around them, in wonder. She cradled my head as I took them into my mouth. We were both so young, but we were young together.
Following the August term break and our birthdays like book ends around that last fortnight before the last term of the year, we started a long countdown to a departure, for I had won a place at the university in a southern city. I knew I was leaving, and we both knew she was not. Loss began early, that spring and summer. We were both so young, but we were young together.
That last term of school - lunch time turned into a quick walk to my house, which was only ten minutes from school, thirty minutes in my room and slowly undressing. A little bit more each week because Pamela was so shy and I was so eager, but eventually her blouse was undone, every button slipped through those tight loops of cloth and a white cotton bra covering her slight breasts, those dark nipples a round shadow under the white cloth.
Another day and, oh bliss for my eyes, her white panties finally peeled down her slim legs, and I gazed with wonder at her dark, hidden slit, and her triangle patch of black, curled hair. She was so afraid, so that day I just rested my hand on her blackness, my palm a soft weight, my fingers trailing on her belly. Her belly was flat, the mound of her mons slightly raised, but I did not dare put my fingers between her legs, not yet, not that day.
After some weeks we got to the point where I would be naked on the bed beside her, she would be clothed, or her blouse undone, or her panties down, but never all at once, not those days, not those lunch times. She was brave enough one day to hold my erection in her slim hands, and it was just a caress and a hot wonder between her fingers and in between the palms of her hands.
With Pamela I learned all about slowness with a girl, and I lost myself in her dark, scared eyes, her pupils wide with her fright, for sex was something forbidden or for later in her family. She was a religious, church-going girl, but I never believed, not in her God, at least. But her innocence, I believed in her sacred innocence, and could not rush her out of that, not ever, however much I wanted to.
I learned my patience with this sweet girl and I have a photograph, one of only a few, where we sit beside each other on a bench. Pamela's delicate, oval face is tilted and her eyes gaze up at my face, and her long thick plait falls straight down to her lap, and her hand is small in mine. I am laughing and pointing at something, and her smile is gentle. She loved me.
And I was willing to wait, as I spun a slow seduction. With Pamela I learned to be slow, and I was still young when I learned that girls and later women are slower than boys and men to heat their passion. It was a lesson well learned and never forgotten, and has served me well, down these long years. I wait.
I waited for Pamela. One weekend, her parents were out of town and her entire family gone from the house. Finally, she could relax, and during the afternoon of the second day we found ourselves in her sister's room at the back of the house, and the mid afternoon sun streamed in the open window. The back garden could not be overlooked, and we were at the rear of the house, all hidden from the street.
She loved to kiss me, her gentle fingers wandering over my face, and sometimes she would just stop and hold me still, gazing at me from her dark, dark brown eyes. Pamela was very serious, and she would look at me intensely. Women scrutinise men, often, and Pamela was the first to subject me to her deep intensity.
We lay together on the small bed, fully clothed at first, warm in the sun, no covers needed. Somehow, and I don't think we spoke, we silently agreed that we would each take off one article of clothing at the same time.
She was brave, and she undid the buttons of my shirt. Or perhaps it was because she was scared, and couldn't bring herself to undo the buttons of her blouse with her own fingers, and needed that decision to be made by me. Pamela peeled the shirt down my arms and dropped it to the floor, and my body, tanned now from the summer sun and my hair bleached blond from the chlorine of the town pool, my chest was hairless and young.
Pamela lay there in her plain white bra, her small breasts rising quickly with her fast breath, and her slim torso shivered in the air, even though it was warm. Her skin was pale, and the indents of her ribs were ripples of shadow and light. Her slim waist curved into her blue jeans, and she was young and pale, the thin strap of her bra sliding off her shoulder.
Her breasts were small, but with full nipples, firm and long. She did not really need a bra, her pale curves had no weight, her nipples almost the biggest part. But Pamela was a conservative girl, and only the daring girls, the dope smoking hippy girls, only those girls went braless.
But that afternoon, in the streaming sun, dust motes spiralling, her pale skin warmed and she let me undo the clip at her back. I tenderly slipped the little white cups of cloth from her breasts and the straps down her arms, she hid her breasts from my sight.
And then forgot that she did so, as her slim arms went about my neck. She pulled the weight of my body onto hers and held me close, and the next time we rolled to our sides, her breasts were bare and her body exposed. Pam was quietly proud of herself, for showing me her beauty.
Pamela lay on her side, her head on her arm and her other arm stretched high on the pillow, slim body all stretched out. Her chest was like a boy's, but her tiny waist was a girl's, and her hair was long and all uncoiled from its plait, a long thick dark wave around her.
In the warming sun, her pale beauty was fragile and delicate. Her waist was so small, sometimes I feared she might break. But she liked my weight upon her, and wrapped her arms around my back. Her eyes were dark, big and dark.
She let me undo the button and zip on her tight blue jeans, and I did the same to mine. She had become used to my naked body beside her from those lunch times during the last days of term, and would shyly hold my erection, the dark hair at the base of my belly my only darkness, and even then her small hand pleased my ego.
I rolled to the edge of the bed, and peeled my jeans and jocks down my legs together, and my cock bounced high and hard, up against my belly. Pamela's dark eyes widened, and her lips opened, a deeper breath. Her fingers gripped the loose sheet.
I stood before her and carefully peeled her jeans down her slender legs, and she raised her bum to let me pull them from her slim hips. She lay still before me, her white panties unadorned. A tiny thin strip of darkness was between her legs - I didn't know if she even knew she was wet. She may have been scared and nervous, but her heart was beating faster and her body was running ahead of her mind.
My God, I had never seen her with such a tiny shred of cloth covering her skin, ever before. This was all new for me now. We would fumble together, two young virgins, lying in the warming sun. I knew enough to stop, not to peel that last hiding cloth from her body.
I lay beside her, my hardness against her thigh, and she let me press there. She would roll away her panties in her own time. I sensed it was best not to hurry her. Pamela was becoming braver, lying under the sun, and I could wait.
She surprised me then, by sitting up, her slight breasts a gentle curve on her slim body, her long hair a veil, sitting up and peeling her own panties down her legs. For the first time, she was completely naked before me, and the moment seared itself into my memory.
The first time I had ever seen a girl, completely undressed, completely nude before me. My eyes, I'm sure, were wide, and my usual confidence humbled and stilled.
I could do nothing else but gaze at dear Pamela's slender, nude body, small and tentative on the bed. She reached out her hand, and slowly pulled me down onto her, as if she could handle my weight on her body, but could no longer bear the weight of my eyes. She was like that, sometimes, my look would be too intense, and easier to close her eyes and feel my skin instead.
But we were naked together, for the first time, and the sun was warm through the window, and her hair was sprawled out like a black fan on the bed; and our fingers and lips began to wander. Both of us were slow and in wonder, and because neither of us had ever done this before, we didn't know what to do.
Our fingers were a murmur, accompanied by our voices, soft whispers on our skin as we discovered our trails and paths. Both of us gasped in a deep breath as fingers touched the edge of our bellies, just above the hip.
Our voices murmured gentle lullabies and endearments and gentle urgings to each other:
"Oh, so sensitive there, that's too sensitive."
"Don't, not there, that tickles."
"Ah, more, more, that's right. Just a little firmer."
"Softer and slower, oh God, that's lovely. More. Please, oh more, there."
