All characters are over eighteen.
***
Isha was pretty. That was the best word for her. Pretty and nice.
We had a couple of classes together. She and I hit it off easily enough, swapping jokes like old friends after she sat next to me once. By mid-way through the semester we were good, if not great friends, meeting up over lunch and arguing about our common tastes in computer games and music. She was a small girl; the sort that made you think of birds, thin boned and slight-figured. But she had a sweet smile about her that drew me in. She had dusky brown skin and deep dark brown eyes and long black hair that only occasionally peaked from underneath her headscarf.
Isha was a Pakistani Muslim and, no matter how close we got, she had made it clear that her own wishes followed those of her family and culture; virginity before marriage to a nice boy back home.
She would have gotten her wish too, if not for my dreaming.
I reached out for her about a week after D and I broke up. At the time it was an idle curiosity mixed with a touch of lewdness. Isha was genuinely pure- kind and sweet and caring. And I wanted to sample that purity. Just a taste. A small little peek, to assuage my curiosity; just that, and then I'd leave her alone.
God, the lies we tell ourselves.
She wasn't hard to find. Two nights of searching; one day in between of telling myself that I should have gone looking for her, that this was a massive invasion of her privacy- not that it had stopped me before but there was a touch of the Madonna/whore complex in my thoughts where Isha was involved- and that I would call off the entire thing the next night.
Like I said: the lies that we tell.
I found her the third night. She was in a bedroom, brushing her hair. Isha's hair was long and dark and- outside of her headscarf- spilled down in a silken black waterfall. She wore pink pyjamas. She peered into the mirror with a sweet, gentle expression on her face. She looked pure and gentle and innocent.
There was no way I was going to leave her alone.
***
Isha brushed her hair with long, luxurious strokes. She peered into the mirror and the plain girl peered back at her. Too small, she thought. Too skinny. I look like a kid. She sighed as the brush made another long stroke down through her mass of jet-black hair.
"Isha?"
She turned to see Barry there, a strange smile on his face. "Found you," he murmured.
She stood up. "Hi, Barry. Um, should you be in my room?"
"It's okay," he said. "This is perfectly okay for me to be here." He licked his lips. "You look wonderful."
She looked down. She was wearing her pink pyjamas with the penguins- a little childish, she knew, but she liked penguins a lot and it wasn't like anyone else got to see them other than Baba and Mama. She laughed. "I must look so silly. Let me go get-"
"No. It's okay."
She frowned. She wasn't meant to be seen without her headscarf; she definitely wasn't meant to have a man in her room at night. "Um, are you sure?"
"It's okay," he said, and he took her by the hand and led her over to her bed. "You don't mind me seeing you like this."
"Okay," she said, relieved. "Um- hey." His hands had undone to top button of her top, fuzzy soft material pushed aside to show the hollow of her collarbones. "You shouldn't do that."
He frowned as though she'd said the wrong thing- had she said the wrong thing? Then he took her by the hand and said slowly, "It's okay. You want to show me your body."
"Oh." She paused as she considered this piece of information. She wasn't entirely pure, after all- she'd had plenty of lustful thoughts in the past about boys, men- even one or two about Barry. But they were just thoughts and she knew she really shouldn't act on them-
"You want to show off your body to me," he said in that same soft, gentle voice. "You love it." He undid another button on her pyjama top.
Prickling heat flushed across her skin as another button went. His hands were slow and gentle and methodical as he undid button after button. Underneath was bare skin; she never bothered to go to bed with a bra. She felt fear and excitement and something else- something deliciously forbidden and dangerously powerful stirring in the depths of her soul as the cute little buttons came undone one by one. She didn't move, hardly dared to breath as he continued. Eventually he undid the last button and stood back to survey his work. A stripe of brown flesh showed from her neck to the hem of her pyjama pants. She knew he could see the slight swell of her breasts, the flexing of her stomach. He raised one hand, knuckle extended, to touch her and she flinched in anticipation.
He stopped a heartbeat from her body, his eyes burning. "No," he said. "I said I'd just look. Just look. That's all." He wiped obviously sweaty palms on her bed as a mixture of disappointment and relief surged through her.
The relief faded a moment later as he slowly reached up and lightly touched the shoulders of her top. Touched them and then slowly slid them down, baring her to his sight.
Her shoulders first; small and skinny and thin. Then the tops of her modest chest with her faint little cleavage. Her nipples- twinkling with shameful lust- came into view and she couldn't help but bite back a gasp. He stopped, his eyes flickering between her bared breasts and her furiously blushing face. Then with a quick motion he pushed the rest of her top down, tangling it in her arms.
She was half naked in front of a boy with only her pyjama bottoms protecting her modesty. The air seemed to writhe and flicker around them, as though coiled serpents of pure lust pressed invisibly against her skin. Her heart pounded. Her body ached with a sudden and terrible hunger unlike anything she'd ever imagined.
She waited for him to touch her, to caress her, to force her down onto the bed and tear off her bottoms and-
"Stand up."
Swallowing, she rose onto unsteady feet. Her hand instinctively rose to cover her breasts-
"Don't. You don't have to be ashamed of your body with me."
Shaking, she lowered her hands by her side. She blinked. Was he naked? When had he taken off his clothes? But he was naked, pale and thin and with a penis that was already hard. It jutted out between his legs like a weapon and she found that she couldn't take her eyes off it.
"Take off your clothes. The rest of them."
She didn't even consider disobeying. Her hands slowly rose and gripped the hem of her bottoms. She swallowed again, her throat as dry as a desert, and then pushed down.
The bottoms slid over her hips. He reached down and touched his cock, the pale spear seeming to pulse at the sensation. Her hot core pulsed as well, as eager as the rest of her was terrified. Her pyjamas slid to the top of her groin, her black mass of curly hair coming into view. He began to slowly pump up and down on his cock. She slid it down a little further and- and then he could see her most secret place. She was panting with lust, lungs heaving in hot, pulsing air, a strange pressure building between her legs. He was masturbating furiously, the head of his penis going purple.
The bottoms slid down to her ankles and she stepped out of them. Some unknown instinct made her turn, to show off her skinny little ass to him; his eyes seemed to scald her flesh. She was naked in front of him now, the air so thick she could barely breath, and her whole body seemed to writhe the that strange burning pressure; it filled her mind, filled her soul, overflowed from between her legs. She stepped closer to him, closer, until they were all but touching. One of her hands moved to caress her breast and the other moved between her legs and that did something to him, his expression went furious with lust and then his penis spat out at her, his seed splattering her hips right before the world exploded into glorious flame.
