Chapter 2: A Morning Story
We cuddled in a happy knot, dozing warmly together, until the sky started to lighten outside. Micca - she hates 'Michaela' - leaned up on one elbow, looking down at me, and brushed a strand of hair away from my face. She took my hand from between her legs and pressed it to her lips, then to mine. The salty sweetness on my fingers and the scent of sex started turning me on all over again. I reached up and pulled her head down to mine, for a long soft kiss.
"Lin, if we don't get going now, I might never let go," Micca said.
"And the problem would be ...?"
"Coffee."
"Of course. I'll get it going."
I pulled that oversized T-shirt on, rounded up all the stray underwear, and threw it in the laundry basket. (This studio apartment doesn't let me make two messes at a time.) The kitchenette was only a few steps more, and I had the water heating in a moment. I found watermelon in the fridge, that would do for now. The microwaved dinged while I was cutting the melon, so I poured hot water into the French press, drowning a thick layer of ground coffee. I pressed the plunger half way down, then back up again to get the air out of the grounds, and went back to cutting melon. By the time I had finished with the melon and gotten the tray set up for eating, the coffee was about done. I pressed the plunger home and poured two big mugs - we both like it back. This was our breakfast in bed.
Micca was looking at me as I brought the tray over. In fact, she had been sort of staring at me the whole time I was putting the food together. Lying on her side, head propped up on one hand, her tapered waist and round hip showed their curves beautifully. I set the tray on the bed, then sat cross-legged beside her. She sat up, adjusted a pillow as backrest, and leaned against the wall. I passed her a mug. Then, instead of giving her a bowl, I speared a pink chunk and offered it to her. She leaned forward and ate it from the fork, with that cute, shy smile.
After that, I set the fork aside. I popped a piece into my own mouth, then picked one up and offered it to her. She took it again, along with the tips of my finger and thumb. When I drew them away, she followed, and licked a drop of juice from each.
We both felt the glow from making love earlier, and enjoyed a happy moment without words. She held her mug in both hands, and I fed us both chunks of sweet melon. Sometimes, I would stroke her cheek or forehead before pulling my hand away. Then I teased a little, making her lean forward to get the next piece. When she leaned forward enough, her soft, heavy breasts swung away from her body.
Next time, I picked the biggest piece of melon, too much for one mouthful. When she leaned forward to bite into it, my other hand rose up under swaying breast and held. She looked up at me, smiled, and closed her eyes - but didn't lean back. Instead, she munched quietly, then opened her mouth for another bite. That baby-bird trust and vulnerability melted me. My hand cupped the pendant breast as I fed her, and my thumb stroked the side of it. The next bite of melon was last, so I popped it into her mouth, then let my fingertip linger so her lips closed around it.
She opened her eyes with a liquid, happy look on her face, and nibbled her lower lip. Then she held her own hand against the one I had under her breast. She closed her eyes again, leaned up toward me, and parted her lips - the "kiss me" pose that no one can resist. I accepted, still holding her, just the tips of lips at first. I touched all around her mouth with mine, then pulled her lip between mine. Her pink tongue slid out and moistened my my mouth, then we touched in slippery warmth.
This slow, gentle exploration was nothing like tongue-wrestling with a boy, so we let it go on. Micca's eyes opened then, and she leaned back with a smile. Her breast slid out of my hand as she did. She crossed her arms under those soft swells, lifting them, and asked, "Well, are we going running or not?"
"Let's go." I picked up the tray, and we both headed toward the kitchenette. The bathroom was right next to it, and that's where she was going. Her T-shirt didn't cover her bottom, it just bunched at the waist. The view from behind made me want to grab her again. Instead, I put the dishes in the sink, put the tray away, and started to change.
I heard the toilet flush and the sink run for a moment, then Micca came out. The T-shirt covered her this time, just barely, and she leaned over her clothes bag. The shirt rode up to show her bottom again, and I marveled at the grace and strength of that round curve. I also marveled at that dark place, just a bit wider than the rest of the crevice, at the top of her thighs. Facing away from me, she pulled on panties and shorts, then her new sport bra.
That step is no big deal for me - mine is not much more than a snug tube top with shoulder straps. She had to put hers on over her shoulders, lean down to enclose each heavy breast just so, do up way too many eyelets on the front closure, and adjust everything again. Socks and running shoes, then we were off.
The sun was well up, but the air still cool. That made running comfortable, but every guy we passed stared at our chests. (Well, hers mostly, but the slight chill meant I had a little something for the oglers, too.) This new bra really worked for her. Once it was on, she didn't have to tug at it like she did with the other ones, or keep her arms crossed in front. It really held her bust to a gentle bounce. She told me where she got it and what it cost. My bras are little stringy things, when I bother, and I never paid even a third of that for one. (Well, I paid it once for a bra that promised even I would have cleavage. It lied. Only Photoshop could do that for me.) I knew how uncomfortable running could be for her, though, so I figured the price was worth it.
After about forty minutes, we slowed our pace to cool down. We both felt happily stretched and relaxed by the time we got home. When we got in, Micca asked, "Do you want first shower."
"Yes," I answered. "Soap my back?"
She looked blank for a moment, then realized what I was asking. "Of course!"
We almost raced undressing. I made it into the bathroom first, but stopped to collect towels and washcloths. She stepped into the bathtub and started the water. I pulled the curtain when I got in, and felt warm water around my feet. She switched the faucet to shower, and the warm water streamed over us.
"Let wash your hair," I asked. She stood under the water to wet her hair while I poured a little shampoo into my hands. The she slid by me, away from the shower head, and stood with her back to me. I started massaging her scalp.
It was really just an excuse for touch. I had been getting mixed messages from her body language, despite our intimacy last night: shy/bold, eager/nervous, fascinated/scared. Micca had been a friend for so long that I didn't this new experience to cause problems -- I wanted her completely happy with this new part of our friendship. Her head seemed like a safe place to start. It didn't take long to lather her short hair, but I drew it out for fun. Then I let go of her for a moment, soaped my hands and started on her shoulders.
Micca relaxed into it, leaning against the tiled wall. I worked her shoulders and back, then continued down. She tensed for a moment when I got to the wide muscle at the back of her hip, then relaxed again. I moved on quickly and down her leg. Her thighs normally touch each other, but she stood wide so I could soap in between, and worked down to her feet. Then I switched to the other leg, and lathered my way back up. I spent extra time on the thigh, especially the inside. When I got to the top inside, I barely touched her furry softness with my thumb. She shivered when I did, but flexed her legs wider. I moved up her bottom, and touched that sensitive spot deep between her cheeks. She clenched for a moment, but my slick hands continued up her back.
I stood up when I got toward her waist, and my hands started around to her front. Up, under her arms, I felt the swell of her breast, starting much farther back than I expected. She still leaned forward, onto the tile wall, and gave quiet "mmm" sounds. My hands worked forward, one under each breast, and I cupped them.
Their heaviness surprised me. I had felt their softness last night, but didn't realize how much substance lay behind that rose-petal delicacy. I shifted my hands so my thumbs stroked the areolas, and leaned close against her from behind. She gave a dreamy sound and tilted her bottom against my lap. I held her close for a moment, then reached for the shower sprayer. I rinsed her hair, then took a lot more time than I needed to in wiping the soap from her back. I finished by turning the warm spray upward, behind and between her legs, cleaning her like a baby.
"Could you turn around?" She stood and turned toward me, arms a little out from her side, legs apart. 'Here I am,' her body seemed to say, 'for whatever you want.' I started safely again, washing one arm from hand to shoulder, watching out for the armpit tickle spot, then doing the other arm. Then I knelt to wash her feet, and worked my way up the front of each leg in turn. I stood then, and looked into her eyes. She gazed back steadily, with an easy smile. I skipped her lower body, and lifted one of her breasts in both my hands.
I savored that lovely weight, feeling somehow responsible for it while it was in my care, and examined it as I had never had a chance to before. I was amazed. I had never noticed that delicate tracery of blue veins under her milky, pale skin. I envied the fragile beauty of that blue lacework - it doesn't show through my skin tone. I lifted the breast she had entrusted to me, and massaged soap all over the top and bottom, then did the other. I used the sprayer to rinse each one, and lifted them to rinse under.
Then I lifted one breast again, cradled it in both hands, and leaned down to kiss it. I worked all across its upper side, feeling its gentle resilience against my face. I looked up to her smile again, set it gently down, and lifted the other. I kissed that too, down to a wide wet kiss across her smooth areola. Warmth had smoothed the nipple, but my lips teased it back up. When I had kissed it all, I set that one down, too.
