On a Friday evening, I picked up March of the Penguins and then came over to Janelle’s apartment. I asked her roommates who were seated around the table eating spaghetti if they wanted to watch it.
“No thanks,” was their response, and then Janelle came out of the bathroom wrapping her wet hair up in a towel.
“Want to hang out tonight?” I asked her, though we both knew it was what we always do.
“Of course!” and she walked into the theater room. She dropped with a sigh of escaping stress onto the couch and pulled the pillow onto her lap, crossing her legs. I sat next to her, put my arm over her shoulder and pulled her against my chest.
The show started, and she leaned over, laying across my lap, tipping her chin back so that her face was under my face. I touched my nose to her freckled nose and gently rubbed them together, letting my lips occasionally brush lightly across hers. We continued this for many minutes, enjoying the slow arousal and gentleness of our touch.
I let my fingertips follow the underside of her jaw and then dragged them lightly up and down her neck. Her skin was pale and soft. I flattened to my hand and curled it behind her neck and felt how the hairs came out of the base of her neck. I gently massaged the two row of muscles on either side of her backbone. As I brushed my lips on hers, and she lifted her chin and pressed her mouth against the mine more firmly. She pushed her tongue into my mouth and gently felt my teeth. I softly probed my tongue with her tongue. We held our mouths together, gently breathing, sharing the same breath, whispering the word “oh” as our arousal built. I could feel my erection straining and about to burst as pre-cum was leaking into my boxers. Today was different than other days. Janelle was feeling more excited than before, we both had no pressing homework to work on, the whole evening was it open and ours. We had no company of friends, and the only thing that was not moving slowly was our hearts and the blood racing to our mid sections.
Janelle leaned back more so that she was lying across my lap, her head resting on my leg. “Do you want to see my breasts?” she asked in a quiet, shy voice with her eyes half shut and flames dancing behind her lids.
She lifted up her shirt to her neck, pulling her bra with it. I reached under her back and fumbled with her bra strap for a while until the tension released and the two cloth cups pulled up to the bundle of her shirt at her neck.
“Do you like them? I think they look the best when I am laying on my back like this.” I could see flash of insecurity in her eyes.
These were the first breasts that I could remember seeing with my own eyes. The skin was incredibly pale and soft looking. The brown skin around her nipples had little bumps like goosebumps, and the skin around that had a few random black hairs, and the rest of the hairs on her breasts were very fine blonde peach fuzz. Her nipples where wrinkly circles that came out like soft brown peas. I did not know what I was expecting, but I loved them because they were hers and I loved her, and they were so real. I thought to myself, “this is what a woman really looks like.” And I adored everything about her. The little black hairs were great. The bumpy skin was great. It was all like I was made to love it.