Michelle was a sweetheart of a girl. She was pretty, well groomed, with long blonde hair, blue/green eyes, and a smile that could melt the hardest heart. Her blonde hair was a real blonde, coming from a nearly pure Scandinavian lineage. The girl was a beauty.
She had the great body that often comes effortlessly to a woman of twenty-two years of age. She had a steady job as a cashier at one of the supermarkets in Manhattan. Her father had used some influence to get her the job, but management was happy with her work, so all was well. She moved with grace, and she had a natural charm.
Michelle had not gone to college. Graduating high school for her was a gift from some benevolent teachers. Her parents had sent her to a private school, and with a huge tuition payment every year, they knew the school would graduate Michelle with the best education she could absorb. This had all been explained to the grocery market where she worked.
Michelle's one problem appeared to be that she was stupid. There are all sorts of euphemisms one can use for stupid, but basically, for every super smart 22-year-old, there is also a super dumb one. It's how the universe balances out. Michelle did not need special education or anything, she was not an idiot and she did not blither. She could read, and she could add simple numbers. People, however, presented a world of mystery to her.
People tend to be kind to those such as Michelle, and in her experience, everyone had always been kind to her. Her job as a cashier did not pay well, however, and she did not have enough money to live on her own. Her parents wanted her to develop some independence, so they set her up in an apartment with a roommate, Jane, who was a girl she knew from the old neighborhood.
Jane was no genius, but she was of normal intelligence, and she was also no idiot. She was a normal girl, and like many 22-year-old women, she was complicated. She also had a boyfriend, Miguel, and sometimes he would spend the night in her room. Michelle could hear the moans. Michelle knew enough to know that the moans were good moans, not bad moans, so she did not worry that Miguel was hurting Jane, but she was curious, of course.
Since Michelle was pretty, and had a nice body and an easy smile, some men around her age were interested in her. One of these interested men was a customer at the market where she was a cashier, which is why Michelle knew him. One day, when she was leaving her job, having dressed in her street clothes and shed her work uniform, she ran into him on the street, just by chance.
The man, Stu, invited Michelle to join him for a coffee, and Michelle said, "I'd love to, but I have no money with me, only a metro card to get home." Michelle looked at Stu with her blue/green eyes wide open, with the innocence of a child. She did not have credit cards, she explained, because checking and paying the bills was simply no fun, and very complicated. She avoided trouble by always paying cash for things up front, and she avoided trouble by not carrying cash except when she went shopping.
"I'll be happy to treat you, Michelle," Stu said. He was mesmerized by the exquisite beauty of her eyes. Her eyes held no guile, only the purity of innocence.
"Well okay then, it sounds nice," Michelle replied truthfully. Michelle was always truthful. She had been taught that it was a sin to lie.
They took a table, both with their coffees, and the man had a sweet roll too, and they got to talking. Michelle loved to babble on, and the man was captivated by the honesty, sincerity, and sweetness, and most of all the naiveté and the simplicity of this pretty young woman. Stu asked her where she lived, and she gave her address. She had worked hard to memorize it, as well as her cell phone number, and she spoke the address slowly and carefully, but proudly.
"Do you live alone?" Stu asked.
"No, I have a roommate Jane," Michelle replied.
Stu asked about Jane, and Michelle told him how nice Jane was, and how they share the cleaning and cooking, and how Jane brings her home delicious chicken soup when she has a cold. Michelle opened up to Stu, and told him about her one worry concerning Jane, namely Jane's moaning.
Stu was surprised about her naiveté, and he suggested she was hearing the sounds of sexual enjoyment when she heard Jane's moans.
"Only Jane moans. Her boyfriend does not moan. Doesn't it take both of them to have sex?" Michelle asked.
This conversation was going a little beyond coffee house talk, heading into intimate matters, but Stu was a nice guy, and he explained that a man can give a woman pleasure with his fingers, and while typically he enjoys seeing the woman receive pleasure, it's not enough to make him moan. For that matter, the woman can give pleasure to herself, using her fingers, even without a man.
"Without a man?!" Michelle exclaimed. "Really? I thought men were needed. Don't you need them for babies? You need both! They make love, and if God approves, he puts a baby in the woman. Yes, I'm sure you need both, Stu."
Michelle continued, "I learned that the man does not use his fingers, but something else. It's not a nice word, so I won't say it," Michelle said.
"Have you never had sex?" Stu asked. It was an inappropriate question, but natural, given the evolution of their conversation.
"I don't talk about that," Michelle replied.
"Do you want to have sex?" Stu asked.
"Well, it sounds to me like Jane enjoys it. Everyone talks about it all the time as if it's fun, and a good thing, so I guess yes, I would," Michelle replied.
"How old are you?" Stu asked. Michelle had a baby face and she could have been as young as 16, given the way she looked. She had the innocence in her face of a girl of 10, but the body of a woman. It was the body of a woman who checked out on the sexpot scale at full marks, a ten in vulgar parlance. Stu realized this, as his eyes discretely devoured Michelle. He could not believe how hot she was, and he had trouble keeping himself from continuously checking her out.
"I'm 22," Michelle said proudly. "Last year I was 21. I can drink alcoholic beverages." Michelle carefully pronounced the word alcoholic, one syllable at a time. When she said it correctly, Stu saw a flash of pride in her eyes.
"Do you like alcoholic beverages?" Stu asked.
"Oh yes! Especially the cocktails. Ooh, there's that bad word again!" Michelle exclaimed.
"Cocktails?" Stu asked, surprised.
"The first part," she explained.
"Oh, you mean cock," Stu said.
"Shh!" Michelle said, showing alarm. "People will hear you and get upset."
"Do you want to come over to my place? Then we can talk without worries," Stu suggested.
"Oh, no. I do not go to men's apartments. That's a strict rule," Michelle said.
"Okay, then why don't we go to yours? I'll walk you home," he said.
"It's too far to walk, and there's water in between," Michelle said.
"You live in Brooklyn?" Stu asked.
"Yes. You have to take the subway," she said.
"Fine. Let's take the subway and then I'll walk you home from the subway stop. I don't mind," Stu said.
