I should never have gotten involved, but you know what they say about hindsight. She was from Cambodia, here in our little farming community on one of those exchange student programs that high schools do. Since all of our children are grown and gone from the nest, I was immensely surprised when my wife committed to hosting young Kim Mai.
Kim was one of those straight-A students from somewhat of an aristocratic background. Her family was well-to-do and she had obviously been sheltered from many of the happenings prevalent in her country. She certainly didn't know the Southeast Asia that I knew from my visit in 1967, courtesy of Uncle Sam. She was to spend two months in our home, learning our culture and experiencing some of our farming techniques. Saying that she was five foot tall would be a stretch, and I doubt that she tipped the scales much over 100 pounds. She had that beautiful Asian appearance that I had lusted for many years ago, smallish breasts, rounded hips and delicate olive skin. More importantly, she was as innocent as a new-born lamb.
My wife is a retired nurse and works part time at the local clinic. She goes to town about 6:00 AM and comes home around noon. Since Kim didn't drive, the duty of getting her to and from school became mine. It was not a problem for me, and Kim was a pleasure to be around. She talked and carried on from the time she got in the truck to the time she hopped out in front of the small high school. She almost always wore the traditional oriental school clothes, short pleated skirt, plain white blouse, and navy blue jacket. The procedure became habit. She would jump into the truck, literally, then put her books on the seat between us, turn toward me with her back against the door, put her left leg up on the seat like she was preparing to sit in a lotus position, but her right foot remained forward on the floor.
Generally her short skirt covered her crotch. But frequently her activities allowed for glimpses of a sweet pantied pussy. She always wore white cotton panties that fit like a glove. I often smiled as I thought how I would explain the concept of a camel toe to Kim.
She never made attempts of modesty but I am positive that the thought of flaunting her sexuality never crossed her mind. Five days a week, two times a day, I fantasized about that sweet young pussy. I found myself hurrying through all my chores in anticipation of the short ride from town.
When we got home every afternoon, Kim would rush into the house, change into her terry cloth shorts and tie dyed T-shirt, a fad evidently still popular in Asia, and begin helping my wife with the housework. She was always anxious to finish up in the house and come join me outside. She wasn't afraid to try anything. She would toss an 80 pound bale of hay or grab a shovel and help be irrigate. Naturally, I would give her chores that allowed me to fill my voyeuristic desires. Kim had one of those pussies that I have seen many times on oriental women. The mons protruded to the point that even in loose clothes, the bulging shape was obvious.
But Kim didn't wear loose clothing and there was rarely a time when her virgin pussy wasn't spread and outlined by her shorts. To make matters worse, or better, as the case may be, her shorts were pull-on seamless terry cloth that rarely, if ever, totally covered her panties. One day I gave her the job of sorting nuts and bolts on the floor of the workshop. For hours at a time she would squat with her feet squarely planted and her butt only inches from the floor. Then she would work between her legs, a pose I had seen countless times in Viet Nam. I soon found myself sitting on the floor opposite from her, under the guise of helping, just so I could stare at that gorgeous, bulging pussy. The crotch of the terry cloth shorts would pull up so tight that the material would almost disappear in the cleft of her pussy, and the white cotton panties, forced into her slit by the shorts, only covered the bare essentials. This girl was driving me crazy.
After a few weeks Kim developed a social life with her high school friends. It was not uncommon for her to stay late after school for some particular function and she would always arrange her own transportation home from her friend Lisa. On weekends she would frequently double-date with Lisa. She always met her curfew and never once caused us any grief. The last weekend Kim was to be with us, her friends had a going away party on Saturday night and emotions were running high, mine most of all.
As luck would have it, my wife had gone to Iowa earlier that week to help our daughter move into her new house and she wasn't expected home until Sunday morning. Kim's curfew on Saturday nights was 11:00, but all considered, I wasn't too concerned when midnight rolled around and Kim still wasn't home. By 1:00AM I was ready to head for town to find her. As I pulled from the driveway onto the pavement I spotted Lisa's car approaching. We both sat in the middle of the road facing in opposite directions. As Lisa rolled the window down, I could see Kim slumped against the passenger door.
