A Biblical Bad Ass

Then, I felt Anna moving closer. She must have inched on her knees forward, because the mattress kept sinking. She grabbed my index finger. She held onto it with her fist around it. She moved my finger lengthwise across Susie's butt cheek.

"Can you read this?"

She pushed my finger deep into Susie's ass. The flesh must have been pressed down an inch deep or so. Anna jerked my hand around. It was a little hard to follow what kind of letters she was drawing with my finger. She moved it very jerkily. However, in the end, it was "I love you." It was the unspoken truth that had been hanging between us the whole afternoon. I blushed. I did not want to say it.

Susie's puzzled voice sounded muffled from a pillow that her head must have been resting on, "cheese pizza?" Everyone laughed. Anna proceeded to paint a short word on Susie's butt: "Cow." That was read by Anna. While I let myself be used, I sensed the smell of Susie's vagina. It was the clear musky smell of a vagina being turned on to excrete its pheromones into the air. Neither Anna nor George seemed to notice.

I was in a trance, looking forward to the curves and lines that my finger would feel. Anna got intense and absorbed into her little game. Susie's arousal seemed to grow. Her voice became softer and sensual. It definitely had bedroom in it. George was quiet -- a looker, apparently.

About ten minutes in, Susie pulled up her jeans. To raise her butt and move it, she bounced off the mattress. I almost fell over from the shock wave. However, Anna's body leaned against mine and steadied both of us.

The doorbell rang shortly later. My uncle came to collect me. His business was done. He would drive me back to the college town. He put me on a train back home to the Big Easy. When I was sitting alone in the train wagon, I imagined the landscape moving past me. I could only hear the knocking of the train wheels.

My thoughts went back to that crystal clear moment of my fingers on her pussy. It had been the first time that I had touched a pussy. I soaked in every little feeling that still clung to my fingers. I remembered the folds that I felt. I remembered the unique moist and sticky feeling of the skin, the light, flimsy fluff of hair that hovered in front of it. It was my first time that I had touched a pussy. I loved it. I wanted more.

I fear that she was the one that got away.

Life moved on. I meet more girls in college, despite my blindness. However, I always think back on the richness of the afternoon out in the country and what everything had felt like. On quiet, sad days the memory always surfaces like the touchstone of my soul, the place that I want to go back to, the place that is sealed away from my reach by the wall of time. And a tear will drop on my cheek. It's my own archetypal experience of being banished from the innocence that the garden Eden represents.