Jayhawk Girl Alone in the Big City

If fault were to be assessed, it belonged to the dancers on the DC Metro platform.

Nine PM at the West Falls Church station - they were a young couple, maybe seventeen, mixing jitterbug with break. Not busking, just having fun, waiting for their train. His train, too. A tight cluster of other kids was watching, some providing rhythm.

The sign said ten minutes to wait for the New Carrolton train, his stop, far end of the line, 22 stations and an hour away. An ugly, stupefying ride. Especially at night, like now. The kids were good boredom-relief, so he watched, grinning to himself, as he strolled slowly past the cluster.

He stopped near a girl who was also watching, her toe tapping quietly. It looked as if she ought to belong to the group, but her body language said no. The two of them watched the show for a few seconds.

"They're doing well," he volunteered: "Wish I had learned to dance at their age."

The girl looked at him: her almost violet-colored, wide-set eyes scanned him once from hair to feet and back again, then settled on his own. A cool gaze, not unfriendly. It felt rather as if he had just been measured by some futuristic customized-tailoring device. His dress at the moment - shorts and tee-shirt - was not his most impressive haberdashery, but it had been a museum day, not DC-work.

If she could scan him, he could return the favor. She was mid-height, plain-pretty, with short blond hair, perfect complexion, no trace of makeup, no jewelry. Her clothing was interesting; a loose, clingy blouse that showed she was wearing a far more substantial bra than her slight build needed. That was strange; it was "July-night-in-DC" warm and muggy, there were lots of unconfined boobs in the group of kids. Nothing special visible in the way of figure, but a lovely bolt-upright carriage, rare in her age-group today. An unfitted soft cerulean dress complemented her eyes, and fell maybe five inches longer than even the conservative end of today's young-girl clothing spectrum. Thick-soled, sensible shoes with bobby-sox and no hose.

She noticed the detailed return scan, smiled at him unflustered - and turned out to be one of those rare "Plain-Janes" that go absolutely beautiful and radiant when they do smile.

She nodded, said "Me too. I wish I had learned to dance!"

Odd comment, he thought. "Well, it's nowhere near too late for you to learn... not like me!" he told her. Then, "You with them?" He nodded towards the group.

She shook her head. "No... I'm a bit of a foreigner here - from Kansas actually."

His home state! Further inquiries were required: "Where, exactly?"

She gave him another strange, detached-study look. "Little tiny place called Morristown. Out in the serious sticks."

"I've been there" he said.

She looked genuinely startled.

"In high school, I did research on hawks and owls for the Kansas Biological Survey. Drove through all 105 counties in the late winter mapping nests so we could come back and find them when the trees had leafed out. We measured and banded the young birds. I grew up on campus in Lawrence, at KU."

She smiled again, dazzling him. "Wow! Small world indeed. Do you live here now?" He explained - used to but not any more, this was a five-day business trip, his motel was ten minutes of taxi beyond the far end of the line, an amazingly bad choice! Today was his off-day, a personal reward - museums. And what about her?

She told him a lot, quickly, compactly - second day in town, first visit, staying all summer as a Congressional intern, her reward for stellar performance in her just-finished senior year of high-school. The interns came from all states, were being put up for ten weeks at GW University two stops up the line, only ten minutes from here. No, the group on the platform was not made up of interns, at least, she recognized nobody.

Actually, she was out on her own, inspecting the area. At GWU they were in dorms, very nice double student rooms, but single occupancy for interns. Individual keyed entry to the building. With another smile, but a trace of edge, she said "At last I'm being treated a bit like an adult!"

The train rumbled past them to a stop: the kid-swarm flowed into one car, filling it. He pointed to the next. She nodded, and they trotted to it, got in, sat down together. As the train lurched gently into motion, he turned to her and said, "Sorry I haven't introduced myself. Didn't mean to be rude, not to a fellow Jayhawk. I'm ..."

She stopped him with her index finger to his lips.

His turn to be startled.

She shook her head and said "I think I'd like to keep it this way." She watched his face: before he could respond, she continued "You weren't at all rude. And really, I'm not being rude either. Please. I have my reasons. Okay?"

He nodded, she dropped the finger, stared out through their reflection in the window. He wondered if he had somehow offended her, reviewed the entire encounter, came up blank. "As you wish" was all he said.

She thanked him, said nothing more, leaving the puzzle in the air.

Deceleration and rough track swayed their thighs together. When she didn't move, neither did he. Through the twenty-second station-stop she looked at him, silently, from what should have been a very uncomfortably small distance for them both - but surprisingly was not. The silence more than anything was getting him.

Acceleration came on again, and the train swooped, plunged underground. Noise ratcheted way up. She looked out again for a moment, staring into the blackness, then turned to him and said "Are you one of those men I always read about in novels, who can size up situations quickly and make important decisions on a moment's notice?"

What an oddball question! The brakes came on for the next stop - she gathered herself, rose to her feet, it was her station.

As she stood, he said "Usually. Why?"

The brakes' squealing was louder now, deceleration pronounced.

She held out her hand towards him, smiled again and said "Come spend the night with me. No names. Will you?"

The car stopped, doors hissed open with their usual thud. He reached for her hand, stood, and with a quickness he admired in movie characters but never seemed to find in himself, he said "Of course. Thought you'd never ask!"

She blushed - finally!! - and they darted out onto the platform hand in hand.

Inside the dorm they took the elevator: his raging hardon was ill-concealed by sports shorts, and he caught her glancing at it in the mirrored wall.

They walked in silence to her door. As she worked the lock, he put a hand beneath her chin, turned her to face him: "Do you do this often?"

She said firmly "Not only do I NOT do it often, this is the very first time EVER!"

It rocked him back, mentally. He was buying into something very peculiar here. Hopefully there wasn't a crazed boyfriend on the other side of the door. His heart was actually racing, his stomach churning. How long since he'd been this excited? Years - maybe decades? Nice to know it was still possible, still so near the surface.

The door swung inwards, and she took his hand, saying "Inside, and I'll give you a one-minute biography. Then we're going to try very hard to fuck ourselves if not to death then at least into a stupor. But you have to be gone before seven A-M tomorrow! And no names!"

The promised story tumbled out: "I was raised all my life in the most insanely conservative, radically fundamentalist religious sect that ever gave god a bad name. And I do mean INSANE! I'm eighteen now. I've never danced. Not allowed, evil evil evil! No music, listening or playing. Never been on a DATE! Never been left alone with a boy, not once, not ever. Hell, I've never even owned a swimsuit - can't have mixed bathing going on, naked legs in public. No bicycling for girls either - too much like masturbation, I suppose."

"My folks almost had apoplexy when I won this internship and they finally woke up to realize it meant I would have to travel to the Big City all alone... but it's MINE, I worked for it and won it and it's going to be my escape hatch because so help me by the end of the summer I will have found some way to stay here and go to school. I am NEVER going back!"

She paused, watched him closely.

When he said "I understand. Damn, but you have guts!" she knew he approved. It was a huge relief. Then he grinned at her and asked "Literally not even a DATE?"

She sighed and told him "Nope. Not one single solitary. But believe me, I have had one amazing fantasy life, all in here..." she tapped her forehead. "A very detailed fantasy life. I started daydreaming way back -- I really don't know how little I was. Then the neighbor boy's collection of x-rated videos that his sister shared with me last summer, well - they at least gave me some concrete images to work with."

She smiled her sunshine smile on him, told him "Close the door, please!"

When he turned around again, her back was towards him and she was shimmying her skirt down over her hips. No underwear! His erection throbbed. Beautiful skin, a trace of baby-fat perhaps, stunningly nice buttocks. Still with her back to him, she kicked off her shoes, pulled the blouse over her head, dropped it. He had been right about the bra - a four-hook boulder-holder. Why in the world? She couldn't need above a B-cup.

Over her shoulder she asked "Can you please take this thing off for me?"

Two seconds sufficed: she shrugged the unhooked bra onto the floor, then took one step away from him and turned around, full frontal, arms at her sides, making no effort to hide anything. Almost a sacrificial offering. Nude, her body shared the unexpected beauty of her smile. Not one visible hair below her collarbones. She had unusual, pretty, solid, flat-discoid breasts, topped with delicate pink over-large nipples, fully erect.

The reason for the heavy bra was obvious - it was padding, disguise, - threaded through each nipple was a lunette of silver, nearly a quarter-inch thick where it penetrated. A silver ball at each tip kept the arcs in place. A ruby stud in another silver ring guarded her deep-set navel. Below that was a prominent, completely smooth mound, overhanging nine rings of glittering, hammer-faceted silver, each an inch in diameter. One through the hood of her clit, hanging over the button, framing it. The others in two sets of four marching in lockstep down her outer lips, the bottommost almost out of sight between her thighs.

He shivered. Body piercings were a mystery - in photos, they did nothing whatever for him. This, however, was his first exposure in the flesh, and the silver against baby-smooth lips and mound was a blindside full-throttle turn on.

He thought a moment, then said to her, "Nice, things re sort of symmetrical, we have "firsts" on both sides. That's a good thing."

She nodded, then whispered "I'm sorry I don't have a triple-X porn-star body. But I think all the parts are functional. Will it do?"

His look told her all she needed to know - yes, indeed it would.

She smiled at his stare, fondled the rings briefly. "I made them all myself, in jewelry class. My teacher, Mr Tight-Pants Jones, would probably literally die if he knew what they were for. Or maybe he suspected, because he never did ask. I did the piercings myself, too. Learned from a friend's mother how to pierce ears with an ice cube and a needle and a cork. It didn't really hurt much."

She giggled, and it made her momentarily all of twelve years old. "The rings sure did feel nice while we were rocking back and forth on the Metro just now. I came once. Could you tell?"

He shook his head. Truly, no, he hadn't had a clue.

He stepped towards her, but she stopped him: "You should get naked now."

Easily done. He stripped, putting on a little show. His cock sprang out, eager, ready and willing.

She gazed at his equipment, then blew him another smile: "Nice! You shave too... I bet that's unusual! It wasn't part of my fantasies. But..." One more patented scan, lingering on his crotch, "... it'll do quite nicely. I can add it to my tiny inventory. Come with me."

She reached for his hand, detoured to caress his erection, then grasped it firmly and used it as a leash to lead him bedwards. The bed was already turned down, and on the sheet lay two dildos, one small and pink, the other large and black. A little bottle of ultimately slippery lube. And a vibrator, the cord disappearing over the bed's edge into a wall-socket. On the night-stand lay all the original packaging, neatly stacked. She must have had a busy day's shopping!

All he could do was goggle: the forty years between them clearly made no difference whatever to her - perhaps it was even a requirement? He, himself, was as ready as he had ever been. But it was her show, and he decided consciously to buy into it - he could be, and WOULD be, whatever she needed for these next few hours. It didn't seem likely that it would be wasted time.

He tried to be considerate, aasked "Never a date? Are you sure we won't hurt you if we get vigorous? I wouldn't want that, and vigorous is a high probability. And what about babies? I didn't go to the museum today with this in mind - no contraception in my pockets. And no vasectomy either. Sorry."

A head shake, negative. "It's very nice of you to ask, though. I hear most men don't care, it's just the girl's problem, so thank you. I have a very regular period, we are perfectly safe. And you won't hurt me. Believe me, I've been ready for this for years. So - vigorous is something I think I want. But of course it has to be nice and slow and delicate and loving at the same time. That's rather oxymoronic thinking about a physical process, isn't it? People just cannot be logical or honest about sex, can they?"

"I suppose I'm technically a virgin - and you are the very first man to ever see me naked, at least that I know of. But there have been lots and lots of other things, you know. For instance, those toys are all clean now, but they've all been broken in. Everywhere. All three openings. And if you don't mind, I'd like to get started, I'm so wet down here I can't stand it! What I want..."

She stopped. He waited. A deep breath and she continued. She certainly had all the words right - and the tune. A stellar performance for a virgin.

She said, in a low and serious tone, "I want to try everything tonight, at least once. Start by eating me until I can't breathe, make me come a lot, then fuck me for a long time, and then finally I want you to fuck my butt. And later, maybe, you can teach me how to suck on you correctly? That just isn't a very interesting thing to practice on these plastic cocks."

"Can we start, please?"

She threw herself backwards on the bed, spread-eagled widely, slid her hands down her belly and over her mound. Eight fingertips slipped into the rings and she tugged sideways, opening herself completely. She was pink and white and red and swollen and dripping wet. Totally ready, totally committed. And shivering with anticipation, maybe even a little bit of fear, at least worry.

Inside her ready body was a galloping and equally ready psyche, with many questions: Would it work, could reality match years of imaginings? Could she actually do this, make such a total clean break with her upbringing? Would she suffer the psychological terrors of the utterly damned? That thought almost made her giggle - she doubted it in the extreme.

More importantly, had she chosen the right man?

She prided herself on making quick, accurate assessments of people and situations, making snap decisions that worked perfectly despite their speed. He was attractive, much older, extremely male, clearly appreciative of her body, gentlemanly, available, non-judgmental - all very important, and it (he!) was quite a fortunate concatenation. She just hoped that he would prove to be as good as her fantasizings, but she was prepared for it not to work quite that way... all the literature said that it usually didn't.

But then, much of the literature also maintained that once in a while, maybe once in a lifetime if a woman were really truly lucky, then just that once it might rise to such "fantasy" heights. This pairing certainly seemed a possibility, both instinctively and intellectually.

He knelt between her legs, leaned forward.

She held her breath, wondered how many millions of goose bumps she could raise all at once, watched entranced at the effect she was having on this lovely man. She didn't think she had ever seen such a look of studied devotion and ecstasy on a face, not even her own family's religious nutcases deep in their personal relationships with whatever God they had invented to meet their private needs.

And when his mouth closed over her clit, and the first long slow slither of fingers into pussy and bottom collided with lips and tongue and teeth and suction to send the first strokes of lightning scorching into her brain, she knew.

If there were a God at all, he (more probably SHE!) must be buried in this exquisite process.

He kept his promises - never a name, and moving to be gone by seven, but seven came entirely too soon.

At six thirty, lying underneath him with arms and legs wrapped tightly around him, she was exhausted and goofily happy. She really did not want this to end. So she made another snap decision. When at seven sharp he prepared to leave the bedside, she reached for his hand, slipped into his palm the card with all the information he would need to find her. She stood up, kissed him hard, deep, long, guided him to the door, opened it.

"Call me tonight. At six sharp. Please?"

He smiled and said "You bet!" as she gently shut the door in his face.