Boat Girl

"Would you like to kiss me, Doctor K?"

The question came out of the blue, and nearly unmanned him. The asker, Danielle, was by far the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen -- and he'd seen a lot in his time. Her Mom was full-blooded first generation Chinese, her father plain mongrel American White Boy. Danielle had turned eighteen a few weeks ago, at sea.

The present interesting situation was all Mom's fault, too. At the 4th of July picnic, he'd been introduced to Mom as "the oceanographer", and instantly she had called Danielle over to introduce them to one another -- Danielle, it seems, was thoroughly enamored of the ocean after the family's recent two-year round-the-world sailing junket, and was hoping to catch up academically (and skip her first two years of college ashore) by taking a high-intensity college-level special curriculum focused on the oceans. She and Mom and Doctor K had spent over an hour together, tête-à-tête, obliviato to the rest of the gathering swirling about them, discussing things both educational and oceanographic.

Not only was she drop-dead gorgeous -- all five feet, 93 pounds of her, the most exquisite golden-pink-brown coloring, perfect oval face with stunning lips and eyes, a tight bun of what was obviously very long, jet-black hair held up with a classic sterling-and-pearl hairpin. Insanely touch-demanding skin texture, not a trace of makeup, dressed in plain white blouse, short pleated skirt that nicely exposed the most perfectly shaped calves - taut-skinned, tight-muscled, and supremely smooth. Devastating.

Brains squared, too. Not only all of that beauty, but she was also the only person (much less teenager) he'd ever encountered who, in her first paragraph of their conversation, properly and casually used the words "indictment", "cohort", and "substantive".

During the evening, she and a swarm of grade-schoolers had played with bioluminescent "cold fireworks" -- she'd been enthralled, he had given her a short, private lecture on the chemistry, then taken a necklace, fired it up, and snapped it around her neck. Up that close, well within one another's personal spaces, she was absolutely breathtaking. He let his fingertips linger just a moment on the skin of her collarbones, and she'd given him the oddest little smile, yielding a strong impression that she was considering flirting with him but deciding not to do so. She laughed, thanked him, and trotted out to watch the real fireworks. She sat at the end of the row of spectators, in a cheap lawn chair, an awkward device that held her bottom down and knees high. Doctor K's attention was mightily distracted by the prolonged glimpses of under and inner thigh he caught as he moved about, always standing, setting off the big fireworks.

That evening's discussions had resulted in a dinner invitation (tomorrow) from the family, especially Mom -- "Come see the boat!" - which he'd accepted. The family had moved out of the boat already and back into their uplands house, but they all thought he'd like to see the vehicle, because he had sailed extensively himself.

At that dinner, the conversation centered on the circumnavigation, and on Danielle's still-developing educational plans. Doctor K volunteered to help her decide about the plan -- which would be a huge work-load for her, but sounded like enormous fun and a great opportunity. He would tutor her for a few hours a week -- for a month - in things oceanographic, especially his own research specialty. That way she could see if the interest persisted under the strain of heavy study.

Next day he arranged for her an unrestricted library card at the university, and a private carrel for studying, seventh floor at the rear, a very quiet place especially in the summertime. They planned to meet there every morning to review the previous day's materials and what she'd done overnight, then talk about the ocean and how it worked. She'd been very well home-schooled by enthusiastic, well-educated taskmasters -- her literacy seemed to extend to every topic -- math, history, some chemistry, even politics and psychology. Doctor K found it amusing, and a bit exciting, to have to be so much on his mental toes with such a young person.

On Day One, getting started, she had arrived in the plainest of clothes -- long chinos and a very demure blouse. But things had gone very nicely, and on Day Two (again, in the library) she made a special effort to look good for him -- since he had complimented her on the pleated skirt at the picnic, she wore a similar one, but quite obviously shorter. Intentionally so. She had clearly decided that some flirting was on the menu. He complimented her again, then let her lead the way up the narrow, steep stairs between library floors, his eyes locked on the backs of her knees and calves.

During the morning, amidst some calculations, the subject of their ages and other astrological topics came up -- Danielle, who was conversant with minor Chinese numerology and curious about astrology, was enormously taken by two oddball numerical coincidences. If one added the digits of her age (18), or of his age (63), you got the same number, namely nine. And they also shared the same birthday.

"We Chinese..." she said, "... well, our whole society is number-crazy. Has been for thousands of years. And it's completely illogical, really. But I'm sure that the older generations would say these numbers must be an omen of some sort. Undoubtedly a good omen, too. At least, I'm sure of that myself." When she had asked and been told his age, she looked shocked and protested it was impossible, demanded to see his driver's license, then asked how he stayed so young-looking. Her folks, she said, thought he was in his late or perhaps even middle forties. When he invoked genes ("I chose my grandparents pretty carefully!") and running, she challenged him to a noon-time run next day, saying that she was a regular jogger.

On Day Three, she wore another pleated skirt -- her last -- a sleeveless boat-neck blouse, and no bra. Not that she had the least need of "support". Scandalizing Mom would be a bad idea, so she slid out of the house almost surreptitiously, being sure that Mom wasn't going to be encountered enroute.

He noticed the clothing, of course, just as she hoped he would. She was enjoying his reactions immensely -- especially the fact that he wasn't doing anything beyond letting her see how much he appreciated just looking at her. No comments, suggestions or little touchings, nothing the least bit forward or offensive -- she was almost disappointed at how safe she felt!

At noon, they changed to running togs in the big bathrooms in the library basement. Outside, she found at once that he could more than keep pace with her -- she was, in fact, a jogger, while he was an experienced long-distance runner. Her legs, and the tight high-frequency jiggling of her tiny late-blooming Asian Itty-Bitty Titties almost put him on his face a couple of times -- which she did not fail to notice and enjoy. When they returned, thoroughly sweaty, they toweled off in the baths and returned to the library carrel.

Sitting across from one another, knees almost touching under the little desk, she was concentrating on a graph problem he had set up for her, and he was studying the texture of her skin. She glanced up and caught his eye, studied his expression, and slowly put down her pencil. She raised her head, holding his gaze steadily.

And then came the question, softly, clear, no hesitation or fumbling.

"Would you like to kiss me, Doctor K? I think we're completely alone up here."

He looked at her for a long, long moment, reached forward to cup her chin in three fingertips. Neither knew how hard the other's heart was pounding, but each was exquisitely aware of their own. He sighed deeply, and finally said gently "Yes, indeed I would. More than life itself, I'd like to do that. May I?"

She smiled almost shyly through her forwardness. "That's very poetic. You're very nice to me!" She nodded her formal permission. He leaned slowly across the desk, but just before their lips touched, she stopped him for a second: "I'm afraid I haven't had much practice at this, Doctor K. Almost none whatever. So -- you'll just have to be my tutor in another whole subject. If you don't mind..."

He smiled at her, said "Piece of cake, M'Lady! Follow my lead for a little while, then take the initiative when you have ideas of your own." He used the ball of his thumb to pull her lower lip gently downwards, exposing its inner surface. Their lips touched, then his tongue-tip was exploring her lip, the edges of her teeth, the tip of her tongue.

She met him eagerly: in a few seconds, they were fully engaged -- the kiss was deep, lusciously erotic, and long. Perhaps five minutes' worth. When finally they surfaced, she laid her forehead on his shoulder and whispered "Wonderful! Every bit as nice as I've always dreamed it might be. Thank you so much! You are a great teacher, Doctor K!"

Moments later, she raised her face towards his and whispered "More, please? We can do the graph later." It was half command, half plea. He obliged.

Seconds into the kiss she startled him by taking his hand and placing the palm gently atop her breast: he could feel the hardened little nipple against his palm. Gently he slipped his fingers around the circumference of the shallow rise, maybe all of half a teacup in volume, then in they went through the armhole until his fingertips captured the tiny button atop its solid hillock, tugged, played. She gasped urgently into his mouth. When again they broke and faced one another across the desk with its now-forgotten graph, his fingertips retained possession of their prize.

"Do you really understand what you're doing, Danielle?" he asked her in a whisper. "This is a very dangerous game for us to be playing -- especially with our age difference and the fact that I'm your teacher -- even if it's this informal and completely unofficial. Much of the rest of the world would highly -- and I do mean HIGHLY -- disapprove."

She shrugged. "Doctor K, I really don't care about the rest of the world's opinion or attitudes. And besides, the rest of the world isn't going to know about anything we do, not unless YOU tell them. Because I most certainly won't be telling!"

Then, with a tiny little giggle, "And, Doctor K -- the age difference, well, I don't care about it, not one little tiny bit! I sometimes think about it a little, but not in any bad way. After all, it certainly hasn't gotten in the way of our conversations, has it? And it didn't get in the way of our running -- actually, you could have run me into the ground and we both know it! Not many males my own age can do that to me, you know."

"In fact, I really kind of like the age-difference because it means that you've done so many things that I haven't, and that gives us lots to talk about. Which is very nice. It does make me worry about eventually boring you, however! You are intelligent, well read, well traveled, and a very nice person. And not at all pushy -- I wouldn't put up with that, no way!"

She smiled again: "Besides... don't forget that I'm half Chinese, and in that culture, age is equated with wisdom and knowledge, and is very highly valued. And also, Mom tells me that historically, and even today, it isn't at all unusual for a man more or less your age to marry a woman my age. It's not completely acceptable any more, but still pretty commonly done. So - NO, I do NOT think the age difference is important, not between you and me. Phooey on the rest of the world. It's not even entitled to an opinion!"

Then, "More, please? If you're not tired of me already -- I'm such an amateur at this! I need practice!"

Doctor K stood, stepped around the desk, tugged her to her feet, pulled her up against him full-frontal, trapping his solid erection between them. His free hand slid down her back and cupped the bottom of her buttocks firmly, pressed her forward against him: her body language expressed her startle, then her delighted acquiescence. He kissed her again, more thoroughly and less awkwardly now, and wriggled gently against her. Halfway through the kiss, he pulled away and asked "Danielle, you're losing your amateur standing pretty fast here! You're as good a student as I've ever encountered, believe me. Tell me - do you understand my body's language?"

Danielle pressed herself hard against his erection and whispered into his shoulder "Yes... at least I think so. It's a language I'm not very fluent in, not yet, but I think I understand it anyhow... and I like what it's saying!" It was her turn to suddenly break: she smiled at his nonplussed expression, muttered "Don't worry, I'm not upset, just adjusting something." She kept her eyes firmly focused on his, bent forward, slid her hands up the fronts of her thighs beneath her dress, and gracefully stepped out of her panties, a tiny thong-contraption of transparent red lace. Both the action and the garment were completely unexpected, and she almost laughed at Doctor K's thunderstruck expression. She told him, softly, "Not much experience, Doctor K -- but I have read a lot and I have a VERY good imagination."

She let the skirt fall back into place, dropped the panties on her graph, and returned immediately to kissing. Seconds later, she took his hand, slid it down her front until his palm cupped her mound, then left it there and wrapped her arms tightly around him to continue the clinch.

He sighed into her mouth, gave up any semblance of resistance, slid his hand down her thigh and up beneath the dress. She instinctively shifted to give him unrestricted access: his fingertips explored the wisps of pubic hair atop her prominent mons, then slid gently downwards. She was drooling, drizzling wet. His fingertips found her clit immediately. In half a minute, no more, she came violently against his hand. A second followed, then a third. The fourth drained the last strength from her knees and left her sagging heavily against him, breathing deeply, raggedly through his nose, supported by his vibrating hand and his other arm around her shoulders.

He stopped, let her recover, helped her to support her own weight again. She buried her face hard against his chest, gasped several times, then finally muttered "WOW!" A minute's recuperation and she looked shyly up at him, said "Can we sit down for a second? I have to tell you some things about myself." He nodded, kissed her again, and they settled side by side, his arm around her tightly.

"Doctor K... I'm from a very odd family. Daddy was pretty much an "almost-a-flower-child", a too-late American hippy, free love and all that. Of course he's too young to have been a real hippy, but I know he likes what they stood for. Mom, however, is purebred Chinese from a very traditional background. It makes for some very difficult contrasts. The two of them can pull on me really hard in very different directions."

"For example, Mom's got the traditional Chinese attitude about virginity -- in spades! Dad, I think, couldn't care less, although I've never really talked about it with him. Mom's adamant that without her virginity, no woman has any power at all, that men value it so highly that they would never consider any woman as a wife if she'd been to bed with someone before marriage. In fact, she's so damned worried about me keeping mine, that she actually asks me about it almost every week. Not subtly, either, but right out -- "So, Danielle, are you still a virgin?" is the way she usually puts it. I suppose she thinks she has my best interests at heart, but it's a pain."

"And the way I was brought up, there's no possible way I can ever lie to her -- it just couldn't work. I couldn't even try, and if I did, she'd know it in a single heartbeat. And, Doctor K, I've always, at least since about six or seven years old, felt like I was a thirty-five year old mind trapped in a child's body. It's been awful, waiting for this VESSEL that I occupy to finally get with the program and GROW! But at last it is doing so -- the body is catching up with my mind. Thank heavens!" Then, suddenly shy again, she looked sideways at him and whispered "So -- all that leads to a question for you, Doctor K -- can I ask you about something sexual?"

He nodded, said quietly "Of course. Anything at all."

"Doctor K... you're very experienced at all this, aren't you? Lots of women, I suppose, lots of lovers and girlfriends. I've heard about ways of having sex that don't... well, that don't require..." She sputtered to a stop.

He came to the rescue. "That don't require technical loss of virginity? Is that the question?"

She nodded, her face crimson.

"Danielle, let me ask you a question first, then I'll answer. Do you understand the difference between fucking and making love? They are both sexual, but not at all the same." She looked at him, saying nothing. "I assume you masturbate, like all the rest of us humans?" he asked.

She flushed, nodded, muttered "Yes, of course. A lot." What she left off was "...with you as the target lately!"

He continued "Fucking is just the mechanics of sex, like masturbation. Physics only. Making love involves fucking, at least it often does, but it's fucking between two people who really have some emotional connection. That connection takes the mechanical and makes it sort of sublime. So fucking and lovemaking are both enjoyable and important, but very, very different. For instance, if you and I were to fuck, we would almost certainly be making love as well. We could also make love without any actual penis-vagina involvement -- an ugly thought but doable - ergo no lost-virginity problems. We'd just be making love even without fucking, because we do have a pretty interesting and close connection already. And as to your question, yes -- of course there are ways. Lots of them, in fact. Couples make love with every conceivable combination of hands and fingers, mouths and lips and tongues, penises and clitorises and anuses, and various sorts of toys both concave and convex, so there are lots of ways of both having sex and making love, all without technically losing one's virginity -- so long as you define virginity to mean, purely and simply, "There's never, ever been a penis in my vagina!" -- and I'll bet that's your Mom's definition, isn't it?"

Danielle eyed him. "I suspect so. I've never asked, and she's never said anything that crystal-clear. But I'm sure you're right."

He thought for a moment, then went on: "Well then, Lady... if we were to get together for a serious tryst, how would you propose handling the first 'post-event' motherly interrogation? I suppose one could restrict one's selves to "activities not requiring penis in vagina" but that's more complex and harder to maintain than one might think!" He laid on a quizzical "puzzlement here" sort of expression, said "Please explain!"

She shrugged. "Actually, things are changing rapidly on that front. Ever since I turned sixteen I've been making it very clear that she and her Chinese Women's Marriage Mafia are NOT going to assemble an arranged marriage for me... she wants to do that, but I just throw her own marriage back in her face -- she fell in love head over heels with Dad and had to break with her own culture -- a genuine love match. And ever since turning eighteen I've been refusing absolutely to discuss the status of my virginity. Dad has been very supportive -- when I tell her again for the nth time that it's none of her business, he agrees wholeheartedly. It wouldn't seem strange to either of them if I were to just say, one day, "Enough!" and absolutely refuse to engage on the topic ever again. My first real sexual encounter is the obvious time to quit talking -- it'll piss her off immensely, but like her own mother, she'll have to get used to it!"