May's 18th Birthday

He slowly pulls her dress up over her head. She can feel him closely watching her in case her willingness falters. But she raises her arms, and when she opens them again she sees him looking, mouth open, at her body.

She's now wearing nothing but a bra and panties, both lacy, almost see-through. He must've even seen her nipples through the lace as her dress was over her head! Reflexively, she crosses an arm over her breasts and puts her fist over her vagina.

He looks back in her eyes. "Wow," he whispers, shaking his head. "Just amazing. Even better than I'd imagined."

To hide herself, she steps forward, into his embrace. She feels the softness of his shirt against her body.

His hands begin on her waist again, now burning on her bare skin. Then he begins to slide them upwards, very slowly.

She knows they're going toward her breasts. She can't wait, but she sees him watching her face to be sure she's ready. She assents, looking up shyly at him, moving to create a little space between their bodies for his hands.

"I love your breasts," he breathes, barely audible, as his thumbs slide over her bra.

"They're only B-cups," she admits. It's a little manipulative, but she's confident that he will reassure her on this point.

"B-cups are perfect."

"No, D-cups are perfect," she teases, brazenly fishing for compliments. She knows he knows what she's doing, but she doesn't care, because she can feel that he knows he wants to make her feel good. Anyway, she tries to focus her attention on these details to distract herself from his hands. She doesn't want to tense up.

"C-cups are okay," she goes on. "B-cups are too small."

"B-cups are my favorite."

"Don't lie," she teases. "But in some bras they're C-cups."

"Actually, I don't care about these letters." He has begun to hold her breasts in his hands, squeezing them softly, filling her with fire. "A, B, C, F, G, X, K, Z, whatever. Means nothing to me. No matter how they're classified," he says the word scornfully, "your breasts are perfect."

"Perfect?"

It's nice, but "perfect" is going too far.

"They look amazing, they're very comfortable handfuls, perfectly upright, and, if you don't mind me saying something a little naughty, I can't wait to see them jiggle during sex."

"Really?" she giggles.

"Oh, yes."

"Yeah, but," she tries to consider what he's just said while objecting to it, "they're not big enough. Wouldn't you like bigger ones?"

"No, I wouldn't. A lot of guys would, I guess, but I wouldn't."

"What?"

"Seriously. Breasts like yours, B-cups I guess —"

"C-cups in some kinds of bras. But," she admits, "usually B-cups."

That's important to her, but he basically ignores her.

"Breasts like yours are my favorite to look at, my favorite to touch and kiss, and by far my favorite during sex."

"Are you teasing me?"

"No, May, I couldn't be more serious. Do you really think all guys want D-cup boobs?"

"Yes. At least. Maybe double-D or bigger."

He chuckles, "No, silly. Some guys even like A-cups."

"No!"

"Really. Guys' tastes are as diverse as women's bodies."

"Really?"

"Absolutely. And it's a good thing for everyone. If all the women looked like you, there'd be a lot of unhappy men."

He pauses as if he wants the truth of that to settle in. He's not just saying whatever she wants to hear. When her face shows that she's understood, he goes on.

"But if nobody looked like you, I'd be unhappy. Because for me, you are perfect, your breasts are perfect, your waist, your hips, your height, everything. And," he flirtatiously taps her nose with a finger, "I cannot wait to see what all those parts do during sex."

She sighs. "My mom apologizes to me all the time. She says I got these tiny boobs from her."

"Tell her to shut up. She has no idea what she's talking about."

"Even my dad, or, you know, him, even he says they're too small."

"Jesus, what a creep he was. Don't ever take anything he told you seriously. Please don't bring him up again tonight."

"I know, but are you really telling me that you like how tall I am, and you like my waist, and you like my boobs?"

"No."

"What?"

She was a little too earnest. She made herself vulnerable, and he makes her wait for a moment to sweeten the satisfaction to come.

"I'm telling you," he says very slowly, giving her time to absorb each word, "that I love how tall you are, I love your waist more than I can say, and I really, really love your boobs."

She laughs. "You must really like me."

"Love you. And every time you see me look at you, I want you to remember how perfect you are for me. I want you to feel beautiful in my eyes. When I look at you or touch you, I want you to feel as beautiful as I feel you are."

She's so in love with him in this moment. She can barely whisper.

"I'll try."

"Remember what you said about fantasizing me into existence? If I fantasized you into existence, this is exactly what you'd look like."

After a wonderful moment, in which their eyes declare to each other that they are certainly about to fuck, he kisses her again.

She's learning. He kisses her top lip, her bottom lip, and each time she reaches her lips out to welcome his kiss, to encourage it and affirm it. And this time, when she feels his lips open, and his tongue touches her lips, she opens her own lips slightly. At first he only puts it in her lips, not in her mouth, licking them tenderly, but after a moment she wants more, she wants to invite his desire. Not knowing where to put her tongue, she simply opens her mouth more and leaves it just inside. When he senses her invitation, he slides his tongue inside her mouth, brushing her tongue. He does it so slowly, she has to push her own tongue into his to satisfy herself. Then she feels his arms tighten around her body, pulling her into him, tight against his cock.

They kiss for ... she doesn't know how long... before he steps back to look at her again.

"I love you, May."

"I love you too, Raoul."

"I'm still completely dressed," he smiles. "Would you prefer to take off some of my clothes before we continue with yours?"

"Sure," she whispers.

As he steps away to hang her dress on a towel hook, she looks around the bathroom, as if she needs to take in the situation. Now that her eyes have adjusted to the darkness, she sees the frosted glass doors of a huge shower, two sinks with elevated stone basins — she guesses that one next to her jewelry is meant for her — mirrored cabinets, hooks with towels and robes, two towel warmers, and a door that must lead to a water closet.

Then she notices that each sink has its own little chandelier. For a moment she's dazzled by the flames of dozens of candles reflected in hundreds of crystals, but he stands before her, resting his hands on the top of her hips, so she begins to unbutton his shirt.

Self-conscious again, she tries to keep her arms in front of her breasts while his eyes travel repeatedly between them and her face. When she's unbuttoned the last button, she realizes that she will have to expose herself a little to pull his shirt off his shoulders, but by then the happiness and desire in his eyes has given her confidence and she's ready to let him see more of her.

"Where should I put this?"

"Just in the hamper there."

She looks where his chin pointed. It's several steps away. Rather than let him watch her walk over to it, she tries to toss it in, but, of course, she misses. It lands on the floor just in front of the hamper.

She looks up at him. He has understood exactly why she did that, and he knows that she's going to have to let him see her when she goes to put it in the hamper, and that in fact he intends to watch her very closely.

He could spare her, telling her to leave it there, but she can see in his mischievous, eager grin that he is not going to say anything like that. She can see that he wants to watch her run over there in nothing but her underwear, watch her bend down basically bare-assed in her thong panties to pick up his shirt, and then to watch her run back, tits bouncing.

She sees in his eyes that he knows it will be a little difficult for her, but he knows she can do it.

And he's right.

For him, she can do it.

So, after a kind of warning-squint to let him know that she knows how naughty he is, she lets him watch her hurry over with cute little steps, grabbing the shirt and stuffing it in the hamper, and then run back, covering her breasts with one arm.

She worries that he'll be disappointed by her shyness, but when she looks up as she pulls his t-shirt over his head, something in his smile reassures her that he really does like her girlish modesty. She sees that he really likes her, that he's enjoying himself, and for a moment she feels confident and sexy, even wearing nothing but lacy lingerie.

She looks at his body, loving the powerful muscles of his arms and chest and shoulders, the cute little brown buttons of his nipples, the blocks of the muscles of his torso, lightly sprinkled with black hair.

But then something catches her eye.

The tattoo on his chest, the rose that represents Amy, his first love, with the stem right below the mass of his pectoral muscle and the blossom on the side, almost under his arm.

Hardly believing what she sees, she blinks to look closely at it.

There's another rose there!

Why would he...?

"It's you," he says.

She looks up at him.

"Me?"

He only nods.

"Really?"

He smiles to confirm it.

"Oh my god, Raoul," she says. "Can I touch it?"

"Of course."

She runs her fingers over it, from the blossom down the stem and back up.

His body is so hard, so powerful. She's tiny, vulnerable, in his presence.

But there she is, that rose represents her. He's added her. For the rest of his life, she'll be there on his chest, along with Amy, who is almost mythical.

"When did you get this?"

"Only a few days ago. I thought of it a long time ago, but I didn't want to have to explain it to anyone until we were together, so I waited."

"Thank you," she says, embracing him warmly.

He holds her shuddering body a moment as she weeps, overwhelmed by the knowledge that he certainly really does love her, that already she means more to him than any of the women...

He holds her, and she feels the hardness of his body, his strength, but then she feels him shudder too, and she notices the cold metal of his belt buckle, reminding her that the next thing to do is to take off his pants.

Every time she gets used to something, something else comes up.

But she has to do it. She knows he wants her to and so she wants to do it for him. He deserves everything she can do for him.

With trembling hands, she unbuckles his belt, unbuttons his pants, and then, pulling them away from what is obviously a huge boner, she unzips them.

She squats to pull his pants down his legs, trying not to look, and turns immediately to put his pants in the hamper, not even thinking about him watching her because the only thing in her mind is that bulge in his underwear, a bulge that means that without a doubt he definitely wants to fuck her right now.

When she returns, she stops short of him's embrace for some reason, so they stand there looking at each other for a moment. She covers herself again, suddenly shy again, but also using it to excite him. She sees his powerful shoulders, his broad chest, the "happy trail" of dark hair leading from his belly button to —

Her eyes snap back up to his face.

"What now?" she asks.

"Would you mind putting my chain over there with your jewelry?"

"Sure."

She moves to step behind him to unclasp it, but he takes her waist, keeping her in front. So she pulls the chain around and unclasps it while he holds her.

"What are these?"

"Dog tags."

"From when you were a Marine?"

"I am still a Marine. You never stop being a Marine."

Looking into his eyes, she understands what he means, and smiles up at him.

"Do you wear them all the time?"

"Whenever I wear a shirt."

"To hide them?"

He nods. She understands again, and smiles again.

Then she runs over to put them on the counter with her jewelry, and runs back to his embrace, enjoying the feeling of his eyes on her body.

"And now?"

"How about my socks?"

So she has to squat back down with her face right in front of his boner. (She tries not to think about how big it is. But is it really that big? A quick glance: yes, it really is. One more glance. "Oh my god," she thinks. "I have to stop looking at it!") Then she runs to the hamper again, but even so, one of the socks falls on the floor, and she's in such a rush that she bends over with her ass in the air....

She runs back to hide herself against his body as fast as she can.

He holds her for a moment. But then he asks:

"Can I take off the rest of your clothes?"

"I'll be really nervous."

She looks up at him timidly. At this point, though she feels a little less shy, she's learned to play up her innocence to excite him.

"Not more nervous than I'll be happy!"

She laughs.

"You're so sweet. You can do anything you want."

But when she steps back, she covers herself with her hands again.

He reaches around to unhook her bra. It occurs to her that he might think she's perpetrated a fraud when he sees how much her bra has been pushing up "the girls," so she tries to keep them in place, covering her nipples with her arm as he slides the straps over her shoulder and she lets her bra fall.

She anticipates him pulling her panties off, but instead he begins kissing her body, from just below her ear, down her neck, with special attention to that place he'd found on her shoulder earlier — and she can't breathe while he's there, teasing it with his tongue and lips — then down her side to her waist, then her hip. His hands caress her body along the way.

He bites her pelvis with his lips, even his teeth a little, his fingers digging into the flesh of her ass. Then he takes a long, slow lick, his tongue sliding down the line from the front of her hip to — he stops just short, achingly short of her burning pussy.

He's going to get there, she wants him there now but she knows he's going to get there. The pleasure is so intense: she has to simply close her eyes and let the waves of tingling and chills and excitement pass through her.

She feels his fingers begin to tug her panties, his tongue licking her pelvis again, and they slide down, and his kisses move down her thigh. She can't look but she knows he must be seeing her pussy right then. She should have covered it but she doesn't want to move her hand there now; it's just too late.

She shivers nervously: Is it okay? Does he like it? Has she trimmed her pubic hair well?

As if to answer all her questions, he kisses her just above her vagina, as close to it as he can get without forcing his face between her legs.

It's so sweet she could cry. The sensation of his kiss just barely reaches her clit. She has never felt such intense physical pleasure.

Pulling her panties down, he kisses her thigh, licking the curve that he told her he likes so much. His tongue flows up, short licks punctuated by little nibbles with his licks, almost to her sex again. Instinctively, she parts her legs ever so slightly, wanting more, but he pulls back.

Her panties are around her ankles. He's looking up at her. She raises each foot a little to let him pull them off, and he steps back to look at her in the candlelight.

There she stands, completely naked with a man for the first time in her life, though her arms are tightly crossed over her breasts.

He tosses her panties and bra on the floor, below the hook that he hung her dress on.

She looks up at him.

"Let me see you, May," he says, looking in her eyes, his voice deep and sweet. "You're so beautiful. Can I see you?"

She nods, but she cannot move her arms away from her body. He takes the hand of the arm covering her breasts, and at his touch she moves it away, opening to his view.

Then his other hand slides down her arm to the fist she's holding in front of her vagina. When he reaches her wrist, she takes his hand.

Now, gently holding her hands away from her body, he slowly looks over her nakedness, head to toe, and then back up to her eyes.

She feels her nipples standing up for him, her back arching. Her body cries out for his praise.

"Amazing, May. Amazing." He shakes his head in disbelief and looks her over again. "Absolutely perfect."

He lets go of one hand and takes one of her nipples between two fingers, gently feeling it.

They look in each other's eyes.

"You're perfect, May." He teases her nipple. "Radiant and so sexy."

She smiles up at him and he kisses her, taking her cheeks in his huge hands.

Then he whispers, "Please, May, please take off my underwear. It's way too tight right now."

"Okay," she whispers.

He lets go of her face, and she squats to pull them off, freeing his cock.

She has to see it now, standing up there, while he steps out of his underwear.

Reassuringly, it's actually not too long — it's long, yes, but not like the monsters she's seen in porn.

It does look a little too thick though.

As she runs over to put his underwear in the hamper, she actually wonders if it will fit. But on her way back she decides: Yes, it will. She's determined to get it inside her. Other women have, so she will too.

Then she's standing in front of him, covering herself again, while his cock points up at her.

"What now?" she asks.

"We could get in the water," he suggests. "But it's up to you."

"Let's get in!"

She wants to fuck him, but she definitely won't mind putting it off for a few more minutes.

"I have a hair wrap for you, if you want."

"Oh, that'd be perfect!"

She watches his cute butt as he steps to the ledge where the candles are and picks up a pink silk hair wrap. Then, she feels him watching her as she stands there, naked, putting her hair into the wrap. The whole time his boner just points up at her, as if it were claiming her, telling her, "You belong to me. You are the exclusive property of this cock."

"Done!" she says, looking up at him happily.

He holds one hand to steady her as she steps into the warm bath. Then he steps in behind her.

It's a huge tub, long enough and big enough for both of them. He sits down behind her and then helps her sit in front of him. The water and bubbles close over her, and in a way she's not naked anymore. His huge arms surround her, and leaning against him, she can feel his cock hard against her back.

"It's so nice," she says, feeling the warmth of the water. Closing her eyes, she lays her head on his shoulder again, inhaling the lavender scent. She suddenly hears the music again, and remembers the candles and the wine, and thinks about the time he must've spent planning this.

He really loves her. She can feel it.

"I'm glad you like it," he says. His hands move down her arms, and then, crossing his wrists over her chest, he takes one breast in each hand. She puts her hands on his and pulls them tightly against her, feeling the power and desire of his hands against the softness of her breasts.

They sit like that for a long time. She feels the jets of water flowing over her legs and hips — so that's how the bubbles have lasted so long, she realizes — and listens to him breathe. His body is so hard, so big and so hard, she feels so safe, so loved, she could almost fall asleep.

But he interrupts.

"Let's talk about terminology."