My Life with Serena

She had tiny feminine delicate hands and fingers. If she was wearing any nail polish it must have been clear.

We started talking and I found I enjoyed her company immensely. Let me clarify that just a mite. I enjoyed listening to her sweet melodic voice. The way she articulated her comments, and the manner in which she held herself were nothing short of angelic. On the other hand some of the things she wanted to talk about didn't make a lot of sense. She seemed to be all in on 'Area 51', aliens taking humans up in their spaceships, and things like ghostly apparitions. Like I said I enjoyed listening to the sound of her voice and in watching the way she expressed herself, her mannerism, her facial expressions, but as far as the content went I was off the board.

After our first introductions she clung to me all night, and I enjoyed it. I'd just broken up with a girl whose sexual appetites were a little too wayward, so Serena seemed like a good transitional person. As the party wound down she told me she had no way of getting home. She apparently knew fewer people at the event than I did so I agreed to take her home. I thought, she was one hot number, she acted like she liked me, and I was just a little horny, maybe tonight I'd hit a homerun?

I mean I felt great; it was like some cad had brought her to the party and I was rescuing her. It was weeks later when I found out she'd driven herself; the whole thing about having no way home turned out to be a subterfuge.

I walked her out to my car, a raggedy old Chevy Cavalier, helped her inside, and she gave me directions to where she lived. When I dropped her off she asked me to step inside for a few minutes. As it turned out she shared several rooms with a somewhat older woman who I found served as a kind of servant and companion. I thought the whole thing seemed a little odd, I got the impression she came from a wealthy family and having a personal servant might not be that unusual among people from her social background. At any rate I got her phone number and soon thereafter called and asked her out.

We started dating. I found her to be a wonderful and entertaining, if not an occasionally somewhat oddly opinioned, date. I mean she was beautiful, and as I said, marvelous to listen to. I wasn't falling in love, but I was certainly drifting into deep like.

On the other hand there were things about her that should have raised some suspicions. Her clothing was always so extraordinarily juxtaposed to her very obvious beauty; it was like she was trying to hide her allure behind a façade of drabness. Her hair was lustrous and the coloring was like wheat ready to be harvested, but it never looked quite finished. I mean it was marvelous, but it looked like she needed to run a comb through it a few dozen more times; it wasn't what I would call unkempt just unfinished.

She had beautiful blue eyes, lashes that would have stopped traffic, lips that cried out to be kissed, and cheeks that begged to be pinched between my thumbs and index fingers, but she never wore a speck of makeup. I believe if she tried even a tad of makeup she'd have been on the cover of Vogue. For sure, that was how luscious she was.

Our first serious sexual encounter was most extraordinary, and I suppose that was when I should have realized something a little more murky was in play. I'd been invited to a country club dance. Being somewhat impecunious, hell I was poor, I belonged to no such organizations, but I had several friends and acquaintances who did. I asked Serena to go as my date.

We got to the dance, found a table, and I thought we proceeded to have a pretty good time, at least I did. Serena was an excellent dancer. By then I realized she was gifted in most things of a social nature. We danced several times, and in due course several gentlemen came by our table and asked if they might have a turn with her. I was delighted that my date attracted so much attention; it made me feel proud.

I guess Serena didn't see it quite the same way. While she danced I made the rounds talking and sharing conversation with a few friends. I should have paid closer attention. Though Serena seemed to enjoy the dancing and the flirting she watched me like a hawk. Anyway, while I was busy having light repartee with another young lady Serena stepped up near to where I was seated and slowly began to undress. She was wearing a rather plain black dress, high heels, and black nylons. First she ditched her shoes, then her stockings came off, and then she started to slowly slide her dress off her shoulders. By then she had everybody's attention. I turned around just in time to see her dress fall to the floor around her ankles.

I jumped from my seat and immediately went to pull her dress back up. All I can say is her strapless black brassiere and soft silken French cut panties left me breathless. As I got her dress back up I asked her, "Serena, what are you doing?"

She pressed her right hand against my cheek, smiled and softly laughed, "I was afraid you'd forgotten me."

I was flabbergasted. I walked her back to our table amidst something of a minor tumult asking, "What made you think that?"

By then she was holding my arm so tightly I thought she was angry, but her response was anything but. She posited, "I thought you'd handed me off so you could be with that other woman."

I saw the beginnings of tears in her eyes. I also noticed that quite a few of the other partiers seemed like they'd be happy to see us leave so that's what we did. We walked to the checkout. I got our coats, asked the valet to bring around my car, and I started to take her home. On the way she asked if I might take her back to my place. This was what I'd been hoping for. I agreed.

When we got to my place she didn't seem a bit put off by the paucity of furniture. She asked if she could use my bathroom. I showed her where it was, and she disappeared. Only moments later she reappeared at the doorway completely undressed. Framed by the soft yellow light from the bathroom I swear she looked like the angelic Fiametta the long dead Italian writer Boccaccio described in one of his Renaissance love stories. Long shapely legs, exquisite hips, perfect breasts, and her long strawberry blonde hair hanging down below her shoulders, man I was completely blown away. I knew that my warmth toward her had blossomed into something much more profound.

She stepped toward me, and in her uniquely melodious tone of voice she asked, "You won't leave me like that again will you?"

I was already out of my shirt and was dropping my pants when I answered, "No, never."

She hesitated but a second and asked again somewhat more timorously, "You promise, you'll never leave me."

I swore, "No, I'll never leave you." At the moment I had no idea what that would end up meaning.

We climbed on my bed, and I thought I was about to have the greatest sexual experience of my life. It didn't quite work out that way; at least not at first.

To this day, though she's never admitted it, I'm sure she was virgin when I took her that night, but in all candor at first she pretended to behave as though she'd been with hundreds of men. She acted like she knew every position, every move, every way to touch a man to make him feel the greatest gratification, but at the same time there was something profoundly wrong.

It started with our first, what I considered sexual, kiss. She puckered up and we embraced, but it was as though she was running through some series of steps in her head. I guess everyone remembers the first time they took the dance floor to do the Fox Trot. Everybody sort of correctly does the steps, but it comes across stilted and not at all enjoyable. Serena's opening kisses were like that. She knew the movements, but there was no joy or enthusiasm.

We were lying there, side by side on my rickety little bed and I felt like I was with a robot. I stopped, sat up, and pulled her up too. I asked her, "What are you doing?"

She replied, "I'm kissing you."

I answered, "No you're not, you're just going through the motions."

I could tell I'd hurt her feelings. I backed off a little, "Look here," I said, "pucker up."

She puckered up.

I took my right hand, reached over, and very gently squeezed her lips together so they slightly protruded, "Now take you tongue and lick your lips."

She licked her lips.

I leaned forward and planted my moist and puckered lips on hers and started to kiss. She knelt there like a wooden Indian so I took my lips and sucked hers so they came slightly into my mouth. My action managed to loosen her lips up a tiny bit. I did this several times and pretty soon we were kissing like two honest to god love birds.

It occurred to me then, what with the clothes, the makeup, the kissing; my beautiful adorable goddess must have spent the bulk of her life living in a shoe box. We lay back down and continued to kiss. She was getting the kissing part down good, but the touching and cuddling, you know the foreplay, was as mechanical as her opening kisses had been. Yes, this beautiful woman knew the moves, but I figured she got the moves from romance novels. I was her first real experience, and she knew 'the what' just not 'the how'. I was just a little incredulous. I always thought this stuff came naturally; well I guess I was wrong.

So we got the kissing part, now we had to get the cuddling piece. I rolled back and told her, "I want to snuggle and cuddle before we do anything."

She grinned, "Me too."

"OK," I said, "I'm kind of rusty at this, so I want you to lie back on your back, put your hands up over your head, and pretend I've tied your wrists to the headboard."

She panicked, "No don't tie my hands, please?"

'Gosh,' I thought she got really scared so I said, "All right just pretend I'm holding your hands over your head in mine."

That seemed to work; she put her hands over her head.

I said, "Now I'm going to nibble and kiss all over you. I don't want you to think about anything except where I'm touching you. Don't move, and don't try to touch me. I'll do all the work, I mean touching and stuff." I used my fingertips and started to softly, I mean very softly, caress the nape of her neck, her cheeks, around her ears, across the tops of her shoulders.

I whispered, "I'm going to fondle your breasts."

She sighed. I spent the next hour just kissing, and touching, and licking her upper body. Like always with any woman, I especially liked kissing and touching her boobs and her nipples. At first she made noises like someone would read in a novel or see on TV. She made noises like Oh, Gee, Oh God, Wow, and such, but gradually she started to relax and the fake sounds she'd read about or watched died and were replaced by things like mm and ah, and soft little melodious sing songy sounds that were more like her real voice.

She was really relaxed and getting into it. I kept softly massaging her with my hands while I repeatedly kissed her lips and around her neck. I knew this was her first real foreplay, and I was teaching her. It made me feel like I was extra special.

At last I shifted my focus to her abdomen and her vagina. I found out she was so tiny I had to use the greatest care to get even one finger inside her without hurting her. She really started to resist. She even cried some. I knew I'd have to come up with something different; something that might either get her on board or drive her away.

She had this glorious bush; the color even matched her hair, a real woman's shrubbery. I was delighted, but I was also a little put off. A woman's curly wiry vaginal hair was great, but it had its drawbacks; it was scratchy, and it could impede my efforts to stir her up.

I crawled back up and whispered in her ear, "You know what I'd like to do for you?"

She curled in close and we enjoyed one of our now 'famous kisses', "No what?"

"I want to trim your pussy."

She leaned back. The look on her face was priceless. I couldn't be sure if it was surprise or just plain anger. She replied, "No you can't do that."

I decided then and there it was all or nothing at all. I started to get up and roll out of bed, "OK."

She leaned up on one elbow, "What are you doing?"

I looked at my wrist where my watch should have been. I smiled at her and said, "Come on its late. I've got a busy day tomorrow. I need to get you home."

She sat up on her behind and crossed her legs, "But I don't want to go home."

I was headed toward where I'd left my pants and shirt, "Come on we're done. I need to get you home."

She gave me one of the most beautiful pouts I'd ever seen a woman display, "You're only taking me home because I won't let you shave off all my woman's hair."

I was pulling my pants up, "No I'm taking you home because you won't let me make love to you."

She looked down at her marvelous breasts and then at her bush, her lower lip was sticking out I bet a quarter mile, just like a child's pout, "Shaving my puss isn't making love," she hiccoughed, a sure sign she was about to cry. She added, "My pussy hair is the proof that I'm a woman. If you cut it all off it'll be like I'm just a little girl again."

I thought, 'What an erotic thing for her to say.' I sat on the bed beside her. I took my right hand, cupped her chin and pulled her face up to look at mine, "You don't want me to leave you. You said so, but how do I know you won't ditch me?"

She gave me this look of the purest sincerity. "Oh I wouldn't I promise."

I'd thought up a quick, and what I hoped was a plausible response, "I want to shave your pussy so I can write my name on it. Then if you took your clothes off for another man you'd have to explain my name."

She looked at me like I was crazy, "You want to tattoo me with your name?"

I was really in deep, "A tattoo might come later. Tonight I thought I'd just write my name on you with a black pen."

I watched her; damn she was thinking it over. She looked at me again, maybe a little suspiciously, "Your whole name?"

"No just my first name."

She thoughtfully responded, "No, but I could go with just Trav, but it would have to be small and in script."

I leaned toward her and kissed her just to the left of her mouth, "I'll need to use scissors first; and then I'll shave your hair."

She took my hand and rubbed it against her cheek, "You'll be careful. You won't cut me?"

"No, of course not; you're my girl," I got up to go to the bathroom to get a pair of scissors, my shave cream, some warm wet towels and my razor," I glanced back. My comment about her being my girl had struck home. She was looking at me like I was some classic hero. I felt a little guilty. On the way back to the bed I slipped into the kitchen and filled a bowl with some hot water.

I got back to the bed and told her, "Lie back sweetie and spread your legs."

She plopped her head on a pillow and lay back down. Honestly, I didn't think about it at the time, but the look she gave me was not a look of surrender. Later I realized my shaving her was more like a capture technique. This woman was smart; in a flash my erotic desire to denude her puss had become in her mind just so much feminine bait. It took me long time to realize just how manipulative Serena could be.

Well I wasn't thinking about things like webs, and spiders and flies then; I went to work. I was careful. I cut and trimmed first. After every two or three cuts I leaned in and blew away any loose hair. Once the thick hair was gone I took several warm wet clothes and covered her puss. I told her, "This will soften you up so it won't scratch or pull."

After a few seconds I pulled the towels away, lathered her up, and slowly and very carefully shaved away all the remaining bristles. I took my time. I frequently wiped her off and kissed her to make sure she was comfortable and that I was getting everything. It took me quite a while. I got everything; all around her labia, her Mons, that special place between her ass and her puss, and I even made sure I got every little bit of the hair near her rectum.

I was very careful and extremely gentle. It was great to watch her reaction to what I was doing. It excited her. By the time I finished the creases between her labia she was damp, and not from shave cream or water.

I sat back and looked at what I'd done. She watched me. I took her hands and said, "Come on, get up."

She got up and I walked her to the mirror that was hung on my bathroom door. I turned my bedroom overhead light on and stood behind her, "Look; aren't you just beautiful."

She leaned back against me and stared at her naked pussy. I took the thumb and index finger of my left hand and squeezed her labia together. Then I took one lip and pulled it away from her crease to reveal her smaller labia inside, last I covered her entire vagina with my hand. I whispered in her ear, "You're mine Serena, and you belong to me," little did I know.

She turned around, placed her hands on my cheeks and kissed me. She whispered back, "This is my gift to you."

I walked her back to the bed, removed all the towels, and we lay back down. I murmured in her ear, "From now on you're my girl, my sweet precious little girl." Honestly I never felt so protective, so paternal, so, how can I say it, so masterful before. I felt like she really was my special fragile woman child.

She snuggled up so close I almost couldn't breathe, she almost inaudibly whispered back, "You're mine too; promise me, you'll be mine forever."

At that moment I thought I was playing along with some love game, I answered, "You and me forever."

After that it took me half the night, what moving from her upper body to her lower body to get up the courage to actually start to move my penis against her labia. God it was so smooth, like baby's skin. Eventually I did get inside her. She was so small, she cried and whimpered the whole time, but she was a courageous kid. She didn't try and stop me. She trusted me all the way.

I thought back on Linda Hettleman, my first cherry back when I was in the tenth grade. Serena was like that only better because I was better. Honestly Serena and I didn't have sex, we didn't fuck, we made love, honest to God all the way love. I never felt so good about a woman before in my life.

The following morning I found blood on my sheets. I believed, and still believe her behavior that first time was the result of things she'd read but never personally experienced. Once we were both fully awake I got a cool cloth and wiped her puss again. I got my black pen and said, "Now I'm going to give you my name."

She breathed a deep sigh. I penned; small and neat, 'Trav' on the skin just above her camel toe. We were both so aroused we made love again, and then after a brief rest we did it again. Later we went out and had breakfast at a nearby IHOP. That first night and first morning was the beginning of the wildest rollercoaster ride of my life; a ride I'm still on.

After our first night I made a concerted effort to get her to relax whenever we were alone together. I bought some feathers and silk scarves. I made her lie down on my bed and I teased her mercilessly. I quickly grew to love the sounds of her giggling and laughter. I'd tickle her; she'd try to push me away, then pull me close, and then curl up in a fetal ball while I wrapped my arms round her. We'd kiss and nibble, we'd cuddle and fondle, and then we'd make love. She was so small. I loved getting up inside her. No matter what, no matter when; she was always glad to see me. She never got tired of me.

I had a good friend whose family had some real money and what I considered a palatial estate just outside the city overlooking the Delaware River. I got two thick quilted blankets and got Serena out in a secluded section of their lawn. I spread one quilt on the grass, we'd lie down and then Serena and I crawled under the second quilt and got naked. I mean it, out there in the fresh air, lying on a thick quilted blanket, the river below, and us under another blanket in the grass naked and cuddling. That was terrific! When it got cooler I bought two of those winter type sleeping bags. We zipped those together and crawled inside. That was the greatest!