Touching Her

Pale pink gingham panties. Tiny scalloped edge. Hip bones raising the fabric to the height of her mound, where a delicate line, an imperceptible slit is hinted at through the worn cotton.

Mismatched pale pink bra, lacy with floral pattern. Round buttons puckered beneath. Breasts pooling under restraint, sitting lazily upon her chest.

Her hair, a close cropped mess of honey blonde and darkened roots.

The room is still, and I realize the more I luxuriate on every last detail, drinking it all in, searing it into my memory-

I am fear.

And nerves.

Apprehension.

But mostly fear.

The more I concentrate on the details, the easier it is to lose myself. This beautiful, delicate bird of a woman I've long admired, lain about in near nudity, waiting for me to make a choice. I chance a look at her face, and her eyes fix upon me in a noncommittal yet expectant fashion.

At the end of the bed, I stand in a checkered sun dress. Without thinking, my hands work their way down the buttons. I find myself staring down at her feet, thinking nothing as I shrug myself out of my garment.

As if on auto pilot, my right hand moves between my shoulder blades and unclasps my bra. The tension of my heavy breasts pulls the elastic forward, and I peel it off completely. I look down at what I've uncovered, reading the impression of seams, the stretching, the large pink aereolas crowned by textured nubs.

With eyes still cast downward, I hook thumbs into a tired elastic waistband and bend, starting a downward motion that frees me from my underwear. My breath halts for a moment when I realize the cotton had caught for a moment in my dampness. Too caught up in nerves, I hadn't realized I was physically excited for this moment. Loose around the ankles, I stepped free and straightened up. My entire body open and raw to the eyes of the birdy girl in bed.

Momentum had gathered and pushed me into the bed, I stalked over her legs and eyed those pale pink gingham panties, lowering my face to take in her scent. My eyes glanced upwards, seeking approval- which was given with an expectant look and lick of her lips. I put my mouth on her mons, tasting the fabric with my tongue, then softly took the sides of her panties in my hands and drug them off her legs.

I stared at her sex for what seemed like forever. Her labia pouted out cutely from her slit, puckered and ready. I used my fingers to spread her pussy open, her wetness became obvious and I inhaled her smell as if it was fresh air. My tongue had extended to touch her for the first time. To taste any woman for the first time. I strained my neck and closed my eyes.

There was a metallic taste at first, a sharp tang- I could taste her piss and sweat and quim, and quickly grew to like the bitter notes. I could feel her adjusting on the mattress and shifting her pelvis to give me greater access. I was perched naked on the bed, face first into my lovers crotch, my own ass raised in the air, exposing my pussy to the air. It was electric, giving pleasure and being so vulnerable.

I licked from the bottom to the top, trying to gauge even the slightest response, and repeated until I could. Straightening my tongue I stab deeper inside her, eliciting a moan, before moving up to her clitoral hood.

My birdy little lover runs her hand through my hair and I'm heartened. I feel warm and valued, her legs hang loosely around my head, and I feel more than trusted, I feel - encouraged. I use the tip of my tongue to uncover her nub, and begin to flick at it. The caressing hand in my hair clenches, her legs stiffen - I've never felt more in control of a body in my life.

I remember my hands, and reposition myself to comfortably insert a single finger inside. The moans begin to intensify. She is wet and loose, so I pull out and add a second finger. I'm sawing in and out of her while continuing my efforts on her clit - her body dancing now.

I plunge my fingers in deep, searching- crooking them and tickling. I pull my face out to watch as she lay there open mouthed with a look of near anguish on her face. I thumb crudely over the top of her slit, mashing the clit while watching her tense and writhe.

My hand motion quickens until I'm fucking her with my fingers. Her noises deepen before turning into a shrill whine. Her breasts shake as the rest of her body begins to convulse, and I feel my hand begin to cramp as I relentlessly fuck her with my hand.

She cums. She cums loudly and without shame. I slow my movement until I'm practically a breeze. Pulling my fingers out, I curiously graze at her clit, causing her to jump. I look at my pruny fingertips before wiping my hand on the sheet and moving to touch her leg. She recoils, curling into a crying, mewling ball and I feel guilt. I put my hand on her fleshy bottom and she moves away. Before I feel too rejected, a tiny voice explains she's too sensitive after cumming. I lay my body beside hers in a spooning fashion, without actually touching. I look along her back, counting the moles along her spine, and self consciously wonder if I look this beautiful to someone.

I begin to drift off, a million thoughts and feelings in my head, when she turns and madly wraps her small frame around my body. Ours lips connect, our mouths open, and our tongues wrestle as feel her breasts mash against my own. We are gripped so tight, that I swear I can feel her heart beating.

----

When I open my eyes the next morning, I can still smell her sex. I feel the empty bed, and a rising sense of panic in my chest. What did we do? What are we now? Is this it? What happens next?

Wiping the crust from my eyes I move from under the bed sheet and pad my bare feet over to the door. There she is, greeting me with a wide grin, and making breakfast. I breathe again, sliding up behind her, winding my arms around her tiny waist. My bird-like little lover in the pale pink gingham panties with the tiny scalloped edge.