Pixie Joy and Me

This story embellishes on several characters introduced in my story "The Loving Porn Queen" (see Chapters 4 and 5 of that story especially). I dedicate this to all the Pixies I have known and loved. Enjoy, vote and please comment.

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The Pixie's name was Melissa. She'd always been small compared to everyone else in her life, especially her parents. Her father – a six footer - told me that as she grew up they'd always thought she'd catch up to her cohorts with a growth spurt of some kind but she never did. The Pixie's mom stood about five-nine.

Mel stood exactly five feet tall and weighed about a hundred pounds. She looked trim, even shapely for her small size, with legs that turned an eye, coupled to well-proportioned hips and a cute little butt that'd catch your attention as she walked away from you – particularly if she was wearing tight cutoffs. Besides her petite size, she had a striking face, a perky nose and pleasant mouth, angular cheeks with smiling eyes, and all that surrounded by long blond hair that she often pulled back into a ponytail.

One other fact was inescapable about her – she was stacked! She had a set of knockers on her that defied the laws of gravity and made every male eye (and many females) turn in awe and wonder as she passed by. They weren't grotesque or bulbous; they were just remarkable – truly remarkable. Somehow, in seeing her you knew they were 'naturals,' just the way Mel was overall.

In school, because of her pint size, she'd been given the nickname 'The Pixie' and never lost it. She liked the implication of mischievous cuteness and magic the name implied. The overall impression of Mel was that of a 'sexpot' – a small, hot body that might do just about anything and probably had.

The Pixie had an unusual personality. She was a rebel, carefully figuring out what was 'normal' and then doing anything but.

I'm Doug and I've been married to the Pixie for eight years. Together we've had two daughters both of who show signs of 'pixie hood' in spite of my six-foot frame and more conservative personality.

I met the Pixie about four years before we got married. Even though I was a junior at Ohio State and a fraternity man, I'd managed to stay pretty naïve about life and relationships. Slightly shy and a hopeless romantic at heart, I evaluated just about every female acquaintance against some high standards I'd developed for the role of soul mate, but at that time no one had come even close.

I thought of myself as a 'catch' when the right soul mate did come along. Besides a sense of humor, I'd been told by some dates that I was handsome, and in fact I did have that square-jaw, dark eyed, clean-cut look about me. Further, at the time, I was a fraternity man; a label that I thought imparted some mystical qualities of attractiveness to me. As I said, I was naïve about life at the time.

I met Mel for the first time the day she arrived at OSU as a freshman. Along with the rest of the male population that saw her, my eyes popped out of my head the first time I saw her sexy body walk by. She was wearing a peasant scoop-neck top and a short skirt with spike heels. I can still remember the moment I first saw her, just as though I took a photograph of her that instant when she came to my information table at freshman orientation.

Lots of impure thoughts raced through my mind and the words "SOUL MATE" flashed before my eyes in large capital letters. I fell in love with her in that instant. I'd been looking for my soul mate for at least six years (I was twenty one at the time) and suddenly, in just that glance, I knew she was "The One". A friend of mine once convinced me that we each have an aura and that our auras meet and interact – sharing the totality of information about ourselves - well before we ever say a word to the other person. This is why first impressions are often so accurate.

I'd volunteered to staff an information table at freshman orientation for the University. I was dressed in my 'Joe Cool' college outfit: tight jeans, loafers with no socks, and a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up part way. My specialty that day was how to register for the courses you want. The Pixie came to my table first. We were both wearing nametags: mine said "Doug" and hers said "Melissa".

We talked and I think she felt some magical connection too. We even flirted a bit; you know using body language to signal you like someone. We leaned into each other's comments and questions; soon we were very close. We touched a few times, as though to emphasize a point. Each time I felt some electricity run through my body.

I devoted myself to answering her questions about the course registration process as well as many other aspects of campus life. Her questions were intelligent and a cut above the naiveté of most incoming freshmen. Before she left my area to checkout the other tables she was supposed to visit, and with my knees knocking slightly, I asked her to come to a welcome party for new freshmen on Saturday night at my fraternity house. Mel accepted.

After Mel had prowled the rest of the tables at the Orientation Session, she came back to my table. I broke off from the guy I'd been talking to so I could devote undivided attention to the Pixie. She gave me her campus address and we set a time for me to pick her up on Saturday. She asked if I would escort her out to her 'ride' and of course I jumped at the chance.

Mel's ride turned out to be a little pink Vespa motor scooter. I'd never seen anything like it. She dug a matching helmet out of the rear luggage compartment and put it on as I watched, commenting about how unusual the scooter was.

Mel said, "I do lots of things that are unusual – the more the better. Maybe you'll want to find out, and maybe you won't." Then, just before she left, she came up close to me and pulled my head down and kissed me on the cheek. "You're cute," she told me. "I think we're going to have a lot of fun together."

The rest of the day I could think of little else but the Pixie. I'd been told I could be unemotional so it was most uncharacteristic of me to feel my stomach do flippity-flops over some girl I'd just met. Not only did I feel funny, but also I started having little fantasies about Mel – everything from wild sex to just sharing a simple meal with her.

Time passed very slowly over the two days before Saturday. I went out of my way to often walk by her freshman dorm hoping to run into her again, but didn't see her until it was time for our date. By that time my emotions had ranged from wild elation and certainty that I would sweep her off her feet and that she'd fall in love with me on Saturday, to near suicidal depression that she'd totally reject me and that I'd never see her again.

Mel turned out to be a savvy young woman that knew exactly what her attraction to males was all about. She also knew how to change the basis of the relationship away from sex and her gorgeous breasts into other, more fun or intellectual endeavors. She also had the magic capability to absorb huge quantities of beer without showing the slightest signs of inebriation or loss of mental faculties.

Thus, at my fraternity's welcome party, mainly for frosh girls, Mel drank me under the table, mostly as we sat and had deep discussions about ourselves, careers, life, spirituality and what made us feel happy. Mel's views on practically every topic were well thought out, yet often unusual.

For instance, rather than taking courses to get some career certification, she wanted a mix of general science and business courses that would let her do about any kind of job. Thus, she was the only person on campus signed up for the business science degree program. Further, she'd decided on a minor in art, making the whole package a very unusual combination.

In terms of religion, she belonged to no normal faith. Instead, she explained, she had read rather widely in the area of metaphysics and eastern religions. She even showed me a small tattoo on her wrist of the Chinese symbol for the Tao. "It reminds me to be in harmony with the world, yet to seek a full and rich life that makes me happy."

As we got to know each other, I found that Mel had taken a special education program through middle and high school, resulting in her graduation over a year earlier. For the past year, she'd gone to Europe on her own to 'see the world'. While there, she'd decided to go to Africa and help in some way regarding the spreading AIDS epidemic. She'd ended up working as a volunteer in a woman's clinic in Zimbabwe teaching sex education - mainly disease and birth control. All I did of note last year was bag groceries at the nearby market.

Somehow, in spite of the beer, I managed to be the most brilliant I think I've ever been. Suddenly, I found I actually had an intellect and could have deep discussions on profound subjects. The Pixie also seemed impressed, however, both impressions might have been influenced by the prolific amount of beer that the two of us consumed.

I fell deeper in love with her that night, however, she was cautious; she emphatically told me she planned to play the field while at college – at least for a while. In spite of that partial rejection, she told me she 'liked' me and wanted to see me again. She even added the word "Please". I felt those little 'flippity flops' again, particularly when she accepted my invitation for another date.

I dreamed about the Pixie every night now. I would say little prayers about her and our future together. I found myself promising to reform all of my bad habits if only she would fall madly in love with me. Everywhere I went on campus I watched for her, continually disappointed that our paths didn't cross.

I got to first base with Mel a few nights after that welcome frat party when she deigned to go out with me on our second date and we spent a lot of time with our tongues down each other's throats. I know both our temperatures were elevated by the time we called it quits that night. I could tell she liked me. I saw Mel a couple of other nights over the next week or so and we repeated our heavy make-out sessions.

Mel didn't dress like the other co-eds on campus. The usual campus dress consisted of jeans or cutoffs, a t-shirt or multi-layer look of some kind, and flip-flops until snowfall. Those pretending to be rebels dressed down in grunge. By contrast, Mel usually wore a skirt and fashionable top and heels. If you weren't watching, you could often hear her coming from the click-click-click sound her heels made as she neared. In contrast to a no-jewelry style on campus, Mel usually wore a single strand of pearls or some piece of elegant African art she'd obtained while in that country.

Two weeks after the opening fraternity party I took Mel dancing at one of the more forgiving clubs in Columbus. She dressed to the nines in spike heels, tight black shimmery pants, and a scoop neck top that left her midriff bare. She had expertly applied makeup and had put her hair in a twist. She looked like a million dollars and looked like she was in her late twenties rather than eighteen.

Somehow, even with her small size, she managed not to get carded. Mel was a hit with everyone in the place and every guy wanted to dance with her; not so much because she was a great dance partner (she was) but because of the magnificent oscillations her breasts achieved in time to the throbbing beat of the music from the live band. The top she wore excited us all, in that it gave the appearance that it might either dip below or flip upwards at any moment, in either event exposing the full glory of her breasts. It never did.

While we danced, Mel found interesting ways to mold her body to mine. She also liked to dance by holding her hand on my bare neck, a move that signaled SEX to me in large capital letters. We nuzzled and kissed a lot as we danced.

Mel appeared to be the 'hottest' date in the Club. There was more to it that how she danced or shimmied her lithe body. She had an 'air' about her, a sophistication that no other person in the place had, even people decades older. She was friendly, approachable, fun loving, and even loving, yet there was no doubt that she was different, a rebel and someone with avant garde views on everything.

I decided to let Mel set the pace for any romantic or sexual activity between us. I didn't want to start pawing her and suddenly get slapped or told I was being way too forward, and then never see her again. Thus, I played the role, as I had been brought up, of being the perfect gentleman. My mother and my sister would have been proud of me.

On the way home from the club that night, Mel told me to find some place 'romantic' to stop. Columbus has a beautiful park, although at night it was pitch black. We found a parking area where I thought we wouldn't be disturbed and parked.

I put my arms around Mel and we made out for a while. Finally, she said, "You may touch my breasts – outside my top. Will you?"

Would I? What a question! I'd thought of nothing else for the whole time I'd known her and they'd been the primary objects of my masturbatory fantasies. Mel allowed me to push, probe, rub, smooth and tweak her breasts but all from outside her sexy top. We kissed a lot too, again romancing each other from the neck up more than the neck down.

During the following week I saw her twice but truly private time was hard to find, so I had to be content with heavy make-out sessions and a copped feel somewhere in the shadows of a campus building.

Mel's unusual style, attitude and thinking captivated me right from the start of our relationship. If she was the rebel, I was the conservative. Yet I found myself struggling to break out of my 'traditional' upbringing and comfort zone, wanting to move into new ways to think about life and how things could be – just the way the Pixie did.

Among other things, this led me to think up unusual dates for us to go on. A typical campus dinner date was to walk down one of the main streets to a pizza place and then occupy a table for most of the night. Somehow, I knew from the beginning that I'd seldom take Mel on that kind of date.

Thus, the following Saturday, I drove the two of us off campus for dinner at a nice little inn. I could tell Mel approved of the 'different' date. By the end of dinner, the sun had just set and Mel suggested we find a nice place to watch the pretty sunset. I found a small scenic turnoff from the main road and parked there facing west and the dimming light of day.

Mel turned to me and said, "Play with my breasts." She willingly unbuttoned her silk blouse and undid the front clasp of her lacy bra, exposing her melons to me. I was in heaven. I petted, smoothed, fondled, squeezed, licked, sucked and caressed her globes for almost two hours, enjoying every second; apparently Mel did too because she kept urging me on and even making suggestions about what I could try with her mammaries.

One might think you'd get bored of passing over the same landscape again and again, however, the Pixie's chest only offered pure and increasing excitement and wonder. Of course, I made more than a few forays up to her luscious lips and neck too, but that night her breasts were my primary focus.

Mel started purring shortly into our make-out session and, except for her exhortations to try this or that, she didn't stop until we called it quits. I could have gone on all night and wanted to escalate and move to the next base, but she'd set our limits and I acknowledged and abided by them, again in the role of the perfect gentleman. I did tell her I hoped our relationship would progress further - rapidly. Mel laughed and said, "We'll see!"

I saw Mel only once mid-week due to our school workloads and two night seminars I had. We remained content with 'breast play' in my car although I started to think about how to bed her. During the next week when we did meet and make out, Mel acknowledged the very physical emphasis of our relationship by being an eager participant. She told me with a giggle one day, "We have to find some things to do other than make-out and pet all the time."

I'm a fast learner. I could see the logic in her statement, however, I translated it into my own terms: 'If you want the breasts, you must provide more intellectual pursuits as well;' A follows B.

Friday night I took Mel to a concert by the Columbus Symphony Orchestra. Somehow I managed to not only stay awake but also be urbane and attentive. She looked gorgeous and I was proud to have her on my arm that night. At that event I realized that the Pixie fascinated men of all ages, not just college age guys like me. Further, Mel knew the impact she was having. In fact, I noticed, the older the men the more they ogled her magnificent chest. A chest displayed at its finest that night due to the black sequined evening dress she wore that had a plunging neckline and delicate little spaghetti straps. Her graceful neck was adorned with a simple strand of pearls. Even I was mesmerized by how the dress violated the laws of physics. By far, she was the prettiest woman at the concert.

On the way home Mel suggested that we go the park again. Pleased that I'd get some 'breast time' I pulled into the city park. Mel dropped the top of her dress and I started attending to her chest with tongue and hands.

After a while Mel started to rub the evident lump in my pants for the first time. I'd already sported hard-ons when we'd been together before and always accepted the fact that I wouldn't find relief until after our date ended and I went back to my room. That night, the Pixie had other ideas, however.

As I continued to fondle and kiss her breasts, Mel reached over at one point and slowly unzipped my pants. She reached in and fondled my package with just the right erotic and stimulating touch to head me for earth orbit. A few minutes later, in the midst of a deep 'soul kiss' she carefully pulled my cock out of my pants and started to masturbate me. Somehow she seemed to know what to do with her hand better than I did when I jerked off. She was magnificent.

I gladly accepted her attentions but then started to rub her thighs as well as her breasts. She told me, "What you're doing is fine, but tonight you can't go past the tops of my stockings."

"Damn," I thought.

Mel told me by way of explanation, "I just don't want to rush this. I need to take my time – to be sure about us and how I feel. Just let me pay attention to you for tonight. You enjoy my breasts while I give you some pleasure. You already know I'm not like anyone else you ever met, now let me prove it by how we engage in sex."

With that she started to give me a serious hand job, a sexual experience that I could tell she excelled at based on prior experience. Instead of feeling some twinge of jealousy that she'd learned this skill through earlier practice, I felt the entire experience one of the most erotic experiences of my life.

Mel's every action was calculated to bring me to an exquisite, mind-blowing orgasm, but not before bringing me to brink and back an untold number of times. Where had she learned this technique that so drove me crazy? She reduced me to a bundle of raw sexual energy in a matter of minutes, and then someone pleading for relief. She didn't rush me to climax, and instead focused on raising the sexual tension between us and having us bask in it for many minutes.

Eventually I came all over her hand and my exposed leg, depositing a copious amount of cum particularly where her hand and my cock met. I let out a huge sigh and a moan that might have been heard across campus. Fortunately there was a box of Kleenex in the car so we could clean up the mess I'd made.

That night I told Mel a little lie. I told her I thought I was falling in love with her, when in fact she'd stolen my heart weeks before. She didn't say anything back but she did kiss me really hard and then wrapped my face in her breasts. I took her response that as a positive sign.