Ishmael's Girl: A Virgin in Ruins

Ishmael's Girl

or

A Virgin in Ruins

A story by XXscribbler

PART THE FIRST: THE SNAPSHOT

Behold our protagonist. If you require him to have a name, we may call him Ishmael. We begin with a God's-eye snapshot, one frame of a movie, a frozen moment in Ishmael's life. Be patient, dear reader, for this initial description is necessary to set the scene. After considering the snapshot, we will explore the circumstances leading up to it. Then and only then will we permit the projector to run so that we may see what happens to Ishmael beyond this moment. Do not worry, for we will identify the change-over from one scenario to the next.

Ishmael. Fifty-seven years old and in very good physical shape from a lifetime of running, Ishmael is dressed in hiking shorts, tee-shirt, sun-hat, and hiking boots. He is not a slave to fashion in these things: all the gear is old, strictly functional, and well-used. Nothing "matches" - and were you to point this out to him, Ishmael's response would be unprintable.

In our frozen frame, he stands on what is clearly an ancient ruin of some sort, a series of large carved blocks of marble forming something very like a terribly oversized staircase, with risers about mid-thigh-high to him. The structure, whatever it is, is situated on a steep hillside and is truly awkward to climb. Far above him are the tag-end individuals of a group busily ascending the steps en masse: some are helping one another up and over these blocks.

One gets the feeling Ishmael is part of the group, but lagging behind. In fact, Ishmael is the best climber in the group, and has an agreement with the guide: Ishmael runs "sweep", always being last, making sure that everyone else is ahead of him. The guide finds that noble and helpful.

Beyond Ishmael we see a dry, nearly barren landscape, steep and rocky and dotted with other carved remnants of bygone civilizations, interspersed with ancient, gnarled Greek olive trees.

Ishmael's hands are raised in front of him, at about face level. They cup tightly the bottom of an exquisitely formed young woman. His grip is firm, for we can see the indentations made by his fingertips. Her buttocks fit his palms as if his hands were designed just for this occasion: perhaps they were? She almost appears seated, as if on a camp-stool. He wears an expression that is hard to fathom: it combines peevishness, lust, exertion. He appears to be straining either to lift her onto the next step above him or to prevent her from falling backwards off the step. Perhaps, given the surroundings, he is actually lifting her overhead, intending to carry her off into the scenery, as in myth some minor Greek god might do?

Now for The Girl. We will capitalize the term and use it as a proper noun. Her age is problematic, although certainly still possessed of "essence of child": study her for half an hour, and see... at moments she seems about fifteen or sixteen, but most times quite significantly older, perhaps early or even mid-twenties. She is slim, lithe, well proportioned and athletic. Dark, short hair, a large-brimmed sun-hat with strap cinched under her chin. At this moment, she is certainly not well-balanced on her own step: remove Ishmael, her prop, and she will inevitably fall.

But note an oddity: evidently, from her expression, she is not slipping or falling backwards, but something else is happening. She glances over her shoulder at Ishmael with an amused look, perhaps flirtatious, but not panicked or worried. She certainly does not seem to be upset with his grip on her bottom.

The Girl's clothing warrants considerable comment and description. She is "dressed" if we can call it that, in the very latest mod, which is extremely skimpy and hardly seems appropriate for such a climb. Nevertheless, young women and teen-aged girls are wont to push limits: perhaps she is just exercising that prerogative?

She wears something approximating short-shorts, but of the latest design, which exploded only weeks ago from Paris and swept the known universe. Let us view her from the side: the shorts are of skin-tight lycra-based material that absolutely allows for no underwear whatever. The top hem inclines upwards and rearwards from slightly below the very edge of her pubis, so that one can see, nakedly exposed, its initial rise: the material extends thus to about an inch below the beginning of her callipygian cleft, aka today's "second traditional" cleavage. If we project fashion trends (a dangerous exercise!), then there seems to be a strong push towards revealing a new, third cleavage, low and frontero-central, but that hasn't reached The Girl yet.

The bottom hem coincides precisely with the bottom of her crotch, and runs back to the bottom edges of her buttocks-thigh junctures. The fabric edge lies exactly atop those two creases. Her midriff is bare, save for a small golden navel-ring, a genuine piercing of real 18k gold: it matches her earrings. She wears no other jewelry.

For a top, a snug and very abbreviated tee-shirt. It is cleverly cut to cup her small breasts, and ends about half-way down their undersides, thus exposing a non-traditional, different sort of inverted décolletage, now all the rage. It is NOT designed for, and should not be asked to, retain coverage during, say, horse-back riding. Both shorts and top are extremely clever pieces of couture: the bottom at first appears to be nothing more complex than a tight bikini swimsuit, but in fact it is cut to cleave tightly to the skin, and to follow and display every nuance of curve of the body. Likewise the top. These clothes are quite expensive, especially by the gram.

Upon thoughtful examination, one is certain that she must have shaved herself quite carefully for there to be, as here, no trace of pubic hair showing beyond the edges of the fabric: that would be tres gauche, and The Girl obviously knows it. In fact no trace of pubic hair shows through the fabric, which it would do if it were present - because the shorts and top are precisely five thousandths of an inch thick, thinner than one coat of house-paint, and unlined. Paris has decreed all linings to be passé this season: visible nipples and pubic clefts are IN, IN, IN!

An additional major fashion-industry financial coup is represented in the 100%-coverage leg makeup she wears on the front halves only of her legs. The makeup extends from crotch to ankle. Combined with the shorts, it gives the impression, when viewed precisely head-on, of full-length pants. From the rear, one thinks of swimsuits or boudoir underwear, depending on the viewer's taste.

All this effort does attract both male and female attention, which is, after all, its conscious purpose. In the city far below them one finds this style rampant, from ages in the 'infant' range to well beyond where it should gracefully stop. That is ever so with strong styles: nothing new here. However, in addition, a "truly-daring" variant is becoming distinctly "IN": in Paris itself, and so far unknown to The Girl, some avant-garde women are dispensing entirely with the fabric, shaving carefully and completely, and going with pure makeup. There have been arrests, and near-riots. The most extreme adherents have a technique of leaving just the clitoral area uncovered, like a small bulls-eye, but that hasn't left the trendy clubs for the streets and magazines yet. Not yet.

A major part of the art on display immediately before Ishmael's face is getting the edges of the makeup, the transition between paint and skin, precisely straight when the leg is fully extended. Doing this is a skill that takes considerable practice: those who do so would likely not understand or appreciate a comparison between this process and a flapper's effort to get her seams straight. The leg makeup alone takes an hour to apply, and must, for the truly fashion-conscious, match and blend perfectly with whatever pattern or texture the wearer has in her shorts.

All this make-up business makes shorts-selection critical. The industry, of course, is making more from makeup and lessons about it than they ever will by selling the shorts. The fashion has also had unintended economic consequences of generating whole new industries: for instance, there is the need for some product to keep the edges of the shorts perfectly aligned with the patterned makeup despite the attempts of working muscles to displace the fabric slightly. ("Special, today only, a double-sided ultra-thin glue-tape in a nifty dispenser-pack, only $9.95 for a month's supply!") The Girl uses only the best makeup: guaranteed not to run due to sweat, or to rub off in anything short of a Rugger scrimmage. On the whole, the fashion world is happy, the clothiers marginally less so than the make-up purveyors.

You, dear reader, may perhaps be wondering: whence the resources for her to buy these expensive things? And more importantly, whether there doesn't exist some parental or supervisory check on at least the extreme edges of her obeisance to fashion? Patience, patience. Explanations loom. We are nearly finished with our snapshot, and can soon move on. A few more details only. The contrast between her footwear and other clothing is stark. She wears sensible (although brightly-colored) mid-height hiking boots, complete with heavy, cleated Vibram soles, which are precisely appropriate for the expedition. In overview, she presents an interesting amalgam, rather like a seminude half-human Bambi in Li'l Abner boots.

Ishmael has been studying all this quite overtly, and for some time. The outfit allows him visual access to her physiognomy in sufficient detail so that we see, upon close inspection of Ishmael's own shorts, a considerable bulge suggestive of serious arousal: we would not be mistaken. He has taken in all the subtle physical nuances, for Ishmael is an observant man. He has studied the swoops and curves and dimples of her pelvic region in exquisite detail both fore and aft. He has noted how her small breasts seem to be faired into her chest and sides like underwater appendages on a high-speed boat: no abrupt changes, no creases, no acute angles. Her boobs and butt do not yet know that gravity even exists.

He has watched for wobbles and waggles, but seen none. Perhaps the engineering of the top is even better than one might think? But nipples are present, small, hard. So are the cleft and side-creases of her external vulva. There is occasional sweatiness in the exposed top-flare of her buttocks-cleft, and the sweat makes the pattern of tiny golden baby-hairs stand out clearly on her skin. That particular factor is a major contributor to the present bulge in Ishmael's shorts: other factors have, in their turn, yielded similar bulges. At the moment, he is hoping for enough sweat to make the lycra even more transparent, but they have not yet ascended far enough up this staircase to complete that experiment.

Meanwhile, Ishmael cradles her scantily-clad bottom in his hands, his nose only inches from the sweat just mentioned. We hold him in this pose for the nonce, and proceed to the next stage, where we will describe how, precisely, our protagonist arrived at this interesting position.

PART THE SECOND: HOW WE GOT TO THE SNAPSHOT

Ishmael did not intentionally set up the scenario we have just examined. Rather, circumstances conspired: whether for him or against him the reader must judge.

Conspirator #1: A lost lover. Ishmael's long-term relationship and living arrangements with his lady disassembled some few weeks ago. It happened suddenly, and he has been in a significant funk ever since. Before the breakup they had planned this expedition: a small-group guided tour of very-early-history archeological sites scattered across the Mediterranean Greek Isles. In defense of his sanity, as a distraction, he decided to go ahead sans partner. He is traveling solo in a group wherein he is the only such person.

Conspirator #2: The Girl. Within the tour-group there travels a family: Father plus three daughters. The familial party also includes The Girl whom we have just seen cradled in Ishmael's hands. The Girl is not a family member, but rather the lifelong best friend of the eldest daughter.

Conspirator #3: The Fates. The Mother of the three daughters broke her ankle badly just a few days before the trip. That precluded her traveling on the two-week excursion. In a family consultation, they decided not to try to cancel the long-planned trip, and at the last minute The Girl was invited to join the family, so as not to waste an non-refundable space already paid for.

Although The Girl is definitely more avant-garde than the family with regards fashions, and comes from a very different income level (hence the funds to support the fashions), she and eldest daughter have been best friends almost since birth and are extraordinarily close. They are certainly smart and generally well-behaved, and those of their private escapades known to the parents have never taken them into completely unacceptable territory. They share top grade-point average in their class. Therefore The Girl's extremes of dress, being already known and accepted back home, are seen as relatively "normal" and are allowed here without too much sturm und drang.

The "family+The Girl" arrangement invoked the law of unintended consequences. (This, one must recall, is not "Murphy's Law", which states that if anything can go wrong, it will.)

All of the busses in which the group travels have two-by-two seating. Father + three daughters + The Girl is an odd number. The family-group wants to sit en-bloc, hence most seatings must leave a dangling solo member of the extended family.

Ishmael, as was pointed out, is himself traveling solo. He is also a well-educated, personable man, and good company generally. He and Father sat together on day #1, thus allowing the four females to sit two-by-two. The men struck up an immediate rapport, and Ishmael has appended himself loosely to the group, on occasion helping Father and Guide corral the women-folk, or at least keep inventory on their whereabouts. Father has appreciated this more than Ishmael, who is childless, understands. After the first day, one of the younger daughters insisted on sitting with Daddy, and that perforce left Ishmael with one of the other females as seatmate.

The Girl is precocious. Extremely so. During her first rotation as Ishmael's "partner", she quickly found that she enjoyed having the undivided attention of an attractive, intelligent and very much older man. Not only was it much more fun than sitting and talking with any of the daughters, but it certainly gave her a one-up position as against the eldest: one-upping one another was a long-standing competition.

The Girl, of course, had an unfair advantage in any such contest involving Ishmael, given that the eldest was always in Daddy's sight - a significant constraint on her freedom of action. The Girl thereafter monopolized the position beside Ishmael. She has been flirting with him nonstop since.

She is an outrageous flirt, an amazing admixture of perceived innocence and polished courtesan. She has embarrassed Ishmael frequently, although he finds it more amusing than threatening. Others in the group have of course noticed, and tee-heed privately, but are not in a position to criticize. Some of the other men on the tour are more than slightly envious. Father has discussed The Girl's behavior with Ishmael, and been reassured that The Girl is not making Ishmael's life miserable. In fact, Ishmael feels the contrary: he is enjoying the attention.

He is also very much attracted to her physically, to the point of usually wearing his tee-shirt tail outside his shorts so as to hide his frequent erections, but he has done nothing, and plans to do nothing, about that interest. Not due to any morality issues, but just because it would be improper, uncouth, and distracting to his genuine interest in the tour itself. This resolve is being tested, for The Girl has also taken to accompanying Ishmael closely as the group does its frequent short hikes and climbs: she has gotten to the point of occasional semi-private touchings, thinly (very thinly!) disguised as "little accidents".

This brings us back to the snapshot, which is the result of The Girl's latest "accidental" slip. On this ascent she has dogged Ishmael with questions and extended inspections of bits of carved stone or other artifacts, until they are well behind the group. She has "required" help from Ishmael to clamber up several of these steps: several times he has held his hands for her as a stirrup, to give her a leg up. This has brought his face nearly into contact with The Girl's crotch or buttocks on each occasion, fertilizing his case of the hornies.

He has been mightily distracted by all this. He is, in fact, hornier than he can remember in recent history. Just now, she has climbed partially up the next block in front of Ishmael, then turned slightly to see where he was: when she noticed his position, she "slipped", essentially forcing him to catch her as we see them. He has absorbed her downward momentum and is now levering her upright.

The Girl did not have a real plan in mind, certainly not a specific bottom-grab, but now that she is here, she finds that grip both amusing and sensual. She is looking into his face, not at all understanding what she is seeing, and making a cute expression at him. He is deciding exactly what to do with his burden.

PART THE THIRD: Re-STARTING THE MOVIE

Now, patient reader, we can hit the start button and let the movie run. We will see what transpires. Ishmael, supporting The Girl almost cheek-to-cheek, peers around her and up the hill: the tail-end Charlies of the group are several tens of meters away, and totally preoccupied with the climb: not a soul is looking back, and most are entirely out of his sight.

He supports The Girl, but instead of heaving her upwards as she somewhat expects, he takes a step backwards, supporting her full weight as her feet leave the marble. She is startled, and shows it. He sets her down on her feet and turns her about, facing him. The startle has erased The Girl's cutesy, flirtatious expression of a moment ago.

He says, low and seriously, "I believe I need to talk to you. In real privacy."

She flushes slightly but before she can react, Ishmael's right hand cups her hip, his left grips her shoulder, he spins her about and propels her before him. She is perpetually off balance as he moves them quickly sideways off the staircase and twenty paces into the loose tangle of unkempt olive trees and rubble. He stops beside a ten-foot tall, five-foot diameter, heavily-weathered stump of a white-marble column. The stump is between them and the uphill group.

Ishmael puts The Girl squarely between himself and the stump, moves his hands to her shoulders, holds her firmly, but she makes no attempt to move. She is completely puzzled. This is totally out of her contextual framework. Ishmael knows that: it was planned so.

The Girl opens her mouth to say something, but Ishmael shakes his head and growls "NO! Not a word until I'm done talking."

Her mouth closes and she nods silently.

He launches a soliloquy born of his frustrations and a significant level of genuine concern for The Girl, for whom he has developed a real fondness.

"You, young lady, haven't a clue what the game is you are playing. You don't even know its name. Most importantly, you don't know the rules. You don't know the consequences of your actions, and you have no plan to either advance or fall back if necessary. You think you're being a flirt, but you're now far beyond that. You're a prick-tease."