A Girl with Moonlight In Her Eyes

"Hoped?" Well, that sparked my interest.

"Si. So what do we do now, Eleanor? Would you like to have dinner with me this coming Friday?"

"That sounds lovely. Thank you."

"There's a bonus," she said, "The City Players have a show on this week and I've been given a couple of tickets. We could have an early dinner then theatre." The City Players were a very good pro-am repertory company who put on several performances a year.

"What are they doing?" I asked.

"What you'd call a black comedy, Arsenic and Old Lace," Sofia said, "Do you know it?" I said that I'd heard the name but that was all. "I saw the film on Spanish TV years ago when I was a teenager," she continued, "It starred Cary Grant. So, it's a date?"

"It's a date," I confirmed with a happy smile.

* * * * *

The play was a black comedy indeed with an assortment of weird characters, most of whom were homicidal nutcases. As can often happen, the bad guys were more fun and interesting than the hero who was a bit wet. The baddest of the bad 'uns was the murderous Jonathan Brewster who looked like Boris Karloff's monster thanks to his sidekick, the drunken Doctor Einstein, who had botched a plastic surgery operation meant to hide Jonathan from the law. Great fun and a huge improvement on sitting in the Students' Union all evening or watching some reality trash on television..

That said, the best part of it all for me was that when the lights went down, Sofia reached out, took my hand and held it between hers throughout the performance. Afterwards Sofia walked me back to the small flat I shared with two other girls.

"I'd ask you up but my flatmates will probably be around," I said.

"That's all right," Sofia said, "There will be other times." She held me closely and kissed each cheek before bringing her lips to mine. It was a long, gentle kiss with just a hint of her tongue touching mine. When at last she pulled back I felt quite breathless. "Goodnight, lovely Eleanor," she whispered.

* * * * *

From the outset I suspected that Sofia was naked or near-naked beneath the ankle-length crimson gown. The garment clung to her body as if it had been painted on her rather than simply donned and her nipples were clearly delineated. "I'm sorry," she said, "our supper will be later---we Spanish tend to eat our main meals quite late in the evening and I find it hard to break the habit." She gave a little laugh. "And you caught me on the hop, being so punctual."

Now I didn't believe that for a moment. Punctuality always was one of my strong points and Sofia had commented on this several times in the few weeks we had known each other, extolling it as a virtue. It was a Friday evening and she had invited me to have supper at her flat. "I'll make you a proper Spanish paella," she had promised, "far better than the boil-in-a-bag rubbish that most students consider to be gourmet eating."

Let's see... late supper, caught out by my punctuality, crimson robe, visible nipples... I suspected that I was about to be seduced, not that I'd need much seducing.

Taking my hand, Sofia led me from the tiny hall into a comfortable sitting room where a coffee table in front of the couch held a bottle of red wine and two glasses. A number of discs were piled on a record player's spindle and the record on the turntable was playing a selection of easy-listening music. Sofia sat and patted the couch beside her before pouring the wine, a Spanish Rioja. She raised her glass. "To our friendship," she said. Her free hand rested on my thigh.

"To our friendship," I echoed before taking a sip of my wine.

Sofia took my glass, set it aside with her own, then put an arm around my shoulders, pulling me in for a kiss. It started out soft and gentle then deepened as her mouth opened a little and her pointed tongue traced the outline of my lips. I moaned a little and my tongue duelled with hers. Her robe slipped back slightly from her right shoulder so, with a succession of fairy kisses, I worked my way from the shoulder to her throat where I licked and sucked at the soft flesh.

"You clever girl," sighed Sofia, "I love having my neck kissed. It makes me go weak with butterflies in my tummy."

I turned her head gently so that I could repeat my kisses on the opposite side of her throat. I felt Sofia's fingers fumbling at the buttons on my shirt so I moved back a few inches to make the task easier for her. The lowest button was finally unfastened and my shirt flapped open to show my unfettered breasts.

Sofia took them in her hands. "They are lovely, Eleanor," she breathed before lowering her mouth to plant kisses on them. My boobs aren't massive, a nice medium handful. I haven't much in the way of areolas, mine being not much larger than a ten-pence piece, but my dark-red nipples make up for this being long and thick and very sensitive. Sofia spent some time sucking on one and then the other until I could feel my lacy French knickers beginning to stick to my cleft. She must have noticed my slight discomfort for she said: "Let's have this skirt off... and your panties if you're wearing any."

She discarded my skirt and eased my panties down. She looked at my mound and then murmured: "Mmmhhh," just like that, "Mmmhhh," very much in the way my piano tutor did, not exactly disapproving but sounding doubtful. It seemed to do with my pubic hair. Back then I had quite a bush... well, in truth more like a small forest. I'd never thought much about it as most of the girls I'd slept with were exactly the same, save for varying degrees of density (porn star chic hadn't caught on yet).

Sofia ran her fingers through my undergrowth several times and then tugged gently at it. "Eleanor, are you attached to your pubic hair?"

I wasn't sure what she meant. "Well... yes... when you pull it like that I am attached."

She laughed. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make a pun. I meant, do you wish to keep it like this or would you like me to tidy it up a bit for you. You are really too lovely to hide your most appealing feminine parts."

I thought for a moment and decided that the change might be interesting. "Okay," I said, I'll try it."

"Bueno. Best that we go into the bedroom." Sofia guided me to her bed and covered it with a large bath towel taken from a storage drawer. "Lie here," she instructed, pointing to the towel and turning to leave the room, "I'll be back in a moment." By the time I had settled on the bath towel, Sofia had returned with an assortment of items including a large roll of paper kitchen towel and a pair of what looked like hairdressing scissors. I blinked then told myself not to be silly.

Sofia noticed. "Something wrong?"

"Remember the 'Play Misty For Me' joke when we first met?" I said, "Didn't the maniac threaten Clint Eastwood's girlfriend with a pair of scissors?" I smiled to show I didn't really think that I was in any danger.

"Eleanor, you should stop watching scary movies. I've just got to trim you down a little before I can do a good job."

"Are you going to use wax?"

Grinning, she shook her head. "I don't think you'd enjoy waxing down here very much---it is quicker but it makes the eyes water... among other things. Now spread your legs and lie still." Save for the faint clicking of the scissors there was silence for a few minutes until Sofia said: "That's that. Now for the main job. I use a top quality hair-remover---forget the agonies of waxing." She showed me a packet with a brand name. "If you decide to keep the hair down, use this one." She took a plastic spatula and began to apply mildly-scented paste. "Right, that's that. You must remain lying still---it takes about fifteen to twenty minutes to work.

"Now, we can't waste all this time, so..." Sofia slipped off the crimson gown to reveal a gorgeous naked body. Her boobs were about the same size as mine with small nipples slightly darker than her skin colour. Her belly looked soft, rounded with a deep belly-button I just wanted to wriggle my tongue in. Her mound was bare and smooth, her cleft tight-looking. Tiny drops of moisture glistened along the edges of her labia.

She knelt over me to lower her boobs to my mouth and allow me to suck on her soft nipples. They soon hardened. It wasn't easy to lie as still as instructed---my body was screaming at me to wrap my limbs around Sofia as a prelude to all-out love-making. In turn Sofia sucked at my nipples again. I've said that they are very sensitive and I was soon almost squirming with need. While Sofia continued to lick and suck all over my boobs, I reached to her pussy with one hands.

Her tight-looking lips instantly seemed to relax and my palm and fingers were wet with her nectar. A couple of my fingers slipped into her with ease and I fumbled around hoping to find her g-spot quickly. At the same time my thumb found her clit, caressing the hood gently. Sofia moaned and closed her thighs to trap my hand as she rubbed herself hard against me. I felt her clench down on me and she came with a loud whimpering noise.

"Thank you, Eleanor," she whispered, "that was the perfect starter." She rested for a few minutes and then became brisk and business-like. "Now, I think we can get you cleaned up. You've been very patient but I'm sure you'll find this worthwhile."

Sofia took up the plastic spreader again and started to scrape the hair-remover away, this time using the edge and cleaning it every few seconds on the paper kitchen-towel.

"Almost done," she said after a short while, "soon be finished." Going to the bathroom, she returned with a damp face-cloth and a small hand-towel and cleaned me up before dabbing the whole area with a soothing skin-cream. "One more thing." Sofia went to her dressing-table and picked up a hand-mirror which she held between my legs. "There, isn't that better?"

It looked great. Sofia had removed all my pubic hair save for a tiny triangle, its apex just touching the top of my cleft. Not having seen my hair-free pussy before, I was thrilled. My outer labia were thick and plump, while to my surprise my clit---which was just poking out---looked larger than I'd always thought. A little juice was trickling from me, no doubt the result of Sofia's sucking my nipples and generally cleaning up my pussy area.

"You like it, Eleanor?"

"I love it," I replied, "wonder I never thought of it myself."

Sofia laid a finger on the hairy triangle. "I left this in case you wanted some hair. Now it's up to you---you can regrow the hair, you can leave it like this, or you can remove the hair completely."

"I think it's sweet. I'll keep it the way it is now."

"Bueno." Sofia bent and kissed the outside of kitty. "Your pussy smells delightful, Eleanor," she said before running her tongue from bottom to top. "And it tastes wonderful." She climbed back onto the bed and kissed me fervently, tongue exploring the cavern of my mouth. I responded and we lay there for what seemed a long time just kissing while our hands went between each other's legs to explore our pussies.

Then Sofia turned to lie on her back. "Here, Eleanor, kneel over my face so that I can lick you." I obeyed and Sofia reached up with forefingers to part my lips. "That's so beautiful," she sighed, "did you know that the inside of your pussy is the same colour as your nipples. I don't think I've ever seen anything so lovely before." She slid one finger and then another into me. I was fairly tight then and gripped Sofia's fingers hard as she continued to praise me. "I love your clitoris. It's big but not excessively so. I must suck it." She took me between her lips and I cried out loudly at the sudden tidal wave of pleasure that swept through my whole body. Her fingers continued to withdraw then return to my vagina in a back-and-forth motion while her lips and tongue continued to tantalise my clit along with my folds and inner lips. I normally know when I'm going to come but this one crashed down on me without warning. I barely managed to stop myself collapsing on top of Sofia.

She took me in her arms and kissed me softly. "There you are, Eleanor. Now rest a little and we can make love again. I want your tongue in me..." She gave a little giggle. "...along with your fingers and anything else you can think of..."

We never did get round to the home-made paella. We were too busy much of the night doing far more interesting things to each other. And I believed I had found my love.

So that was that. I was young and in love and happy.

* * * * *

Our romance continued up to the Christmas vacation which was due to start the second week in December. A few days before that Sofia told me she wouldn't be with me during the holiday. "I'm sorry. I have to go back to Spain," she explained, "I have things to deal with including family business."

"That's okay," I said, "I'll look forward to seeing you on your return." She nodded.

I went with Sofia to the City Airport . At the departure gate she handed me a small package saying: "I think you'll enjoy this." We embraced and I murmured something in Spanish that I had learned from a text-book in the uni's library. "Te quiero. (I love you)."

Sofia answered saying something that sounded like 'lossay'. I guessed that meant something like: "Same here." She waved farewell as she walked through the gate. When I opened the package, back in my room, I found two books, Delta of Venus and Little Birds by a writer I'd heard of but never read, Anaïs Nin. They were collections of erotic stories.

Later I asked an acquaintance in the Modern Languages Faculty what 'lossay' in Spanish meant. He thought for a moment then replied: "I think you might mean 'lo sé'. It means 'I know'."

Towards mid-January I received a letter postmarked Spain from Sofia. I opened the envelope eagerly and read the contents. Then giving a loud sob, I crumpled the handwritten letter in my fist and dashed it to the floor. After several minutes I retrieved it to read all over again, willing it to be different as if I had misunderstood the first time. More tears followed. With no return address but dated a few days previously, it read:

My dear Eleanor,

I am sorry to write to you in this way but I must tell you that I will not be returning to the City University. I am staying in Spain and will be getting married in a few weeks' time.

I regret that I allowed you to think that I'm completely gay. That was unfair to you and I am remorseful. The fact is, I am bisexual and most of the time I lean more towards men. But I think you are so lovely I could not resist you. My fiancé Augustín and I have known each other since childhood and it has always been understood that we would marry at some time. I realise that you will be hurt and I am sorry for this.

I was very fond of you and I hope that in time you can bring yourself to forgive me.

Sofia

I recalled my mother's warning from years previously. "... but take care, darling. Some women can be just as bad as some men."

So that was that. I was young and dumped and unhappy.

1993 -- City University: Stephen and Oscar

I don't know why I kept tormenting myself but I read that letter over and over, as if expecting it to miraculously change, and usually with tears almost blinding me. When salvation did come it was in a totally unexpected guise and I almost rejected it out-of-hand. There's a small park area beside the City University campus and as the weather was fairly mild for late January I was sitting there rereading that bloody letter and as usual weeping quietly. My misery was broken into by a resounding and melodramatic male voice.

"Why, what have we here? Methinks we have encountered a damsel in distress. It obliges us to relieve the fair lady of whatever troubles burden her, friend Stephen."

I looked up at the two men who had approached me. The one I took to be the histrionic speaker was tall, about six-two or --three, and slim with long, floppy hair and clothing that seemed to be retro-1960s, flared trousers, flowery shirt, gaily-patterned neckerchief and an unbuttoned donkey jacket. Something about him was familiar but I couldn't place him. The second man was a little shorter, maybe six foot, stocky and broken-nosed, and his clothing was normal, or what passed for normal among students in the early Nineties.

I tried to wipe the tears from my face with the back of a hand. "If you two are looking for someone to make up a threesome, you're out of luck," I hiccupped, "Go away."

"Sounds as if she's encountered some of our less couth brethren," said broken-nose in a deep and husky voice. He took a packet of tissues from a pocket, peeled a couple off and handed them to me. "Here, dry your eyes and don't worry, we're not like that so you're in no danger from us. For instance..." he pointed to his companion "...he's as queer as a three-pound note."

That was why tall-and-slim was familiar, I'd probably seen him at an LGB meeting. I looked up expecting him to take umbrage at the remark but he just laughed. "That's me," he admitted cheerfully, "As gay as a Brazilian carnival. And although he, if you'll excuse the terminology, allows his dick to guide him like a heat-seeking missile to every place crawling with attractive girls, you're quite safe---you're just not his type. No offence."

Despite myself I could feel the corners of my mouth twitching as I said: "None taken."

"But we forget our manners, dear friend. Will you do the honours?"

Broken-nose nodded. "I'm Stephen and he's Oscar."

Oscar grinned. "Very perspicacious of my parents to give me that name. Couldn't have turned out to be more appropriate. And you are...?"

"I'm Eleanor."

"Ah, Eleanor!" Oscar proclaimed, arms outstretched as if addressing an invisible crowd, "A beautiful name, a name to conjure with. Now what do I know about Eleanors? Eleanor of Aquitaine? No, too long ago and Henry was a bloody fool for locking her up for all those years. Far more intelligent than he was. Horace Walpole did mention a Queen Eleanor in a letter to Thomas Gray but he was a boring old sod. I know!---Lenore is close enough!" Without warning Oscar hunched himself low, taking on a whole new persona, a crabbed and withered old man. He glanced furtively from side to side as if fearing a ghostly visitation and began to whisper in a sepulchral voice, far different from his own.

" 'From my books surcease of sorrow -- sorrow for the lost Lenore,

For the fair and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore,

Nameless here for evermore.'

He straightened, resumed his normal voice and shook his head sadly. ""That's Poe, none other than Edgar Allan of that ilk!"

This pair struck me as being a bit odd, almost eccentric in Oscar's case, and they were already making me feel somewhat better. "Is he always like this?" I asked Stephen.

"I'm afraid so. Delusions of grandeur. He's going to be an actor and he's got a head start with a photographic memory. He has speeches and quotes for every occasion and doesn't hesitate to use them." Stephen added that both were studying drama and theatre with a view to making it their careers and while Oscar wanted to act, Stephen's goals fell between writing, production and direction.

"Tell you what," interrupted Oscar, "come to the café with us, we'll buy you a comforting hot chocolate and you can tell us all about your woes."

"If you want to, that is," Stephen hastened to say, "No pressure." Both young men reached out to help me up and so we walked to the café, me between them holding their hands, something I wouldn't have dreamed of doing before---walking and holding one man's hand, let alone two, would have felt a bit strange. At the moment I guessed it was a comfort thing for me. Instinctively I knew that I was safe with these two and felt that I had just made a pair of good friends. In time I came to love them both to bits---they were like wonderful big brothers. (In fact, Oscar started to call me 'li'l sis' with an assumed accent like something out of Tennessee Williams. He'll go far in the theatre.)