That Green Dress Ch. 01

On that Monday evening, it was readily apparent that something was amiss. Melissa remained pleasant and courteous, but seemed pensive and withdrawn. She had no smiles to offer. I tried to calculate what my best response might be, and in the end just decided to go with my gut.

"Is everything OK? You seem a little withdrawn this evening."

"Yes, I'm fine. I just have some things on my mind that I need to work out."

I nodded agreeably and said, "OK." No pressure, I thought. She knows I am sensitive to how she's feeling, and that's enough. If she has an inclination to open up to me about what's on her mind, she now knows I am receptive. The ball is in her court. (These little self-counseling sessions that took place in my head while in Melissa's presence, admittedly strange as they are, had become absolutely necessary for me. I didn't admit it to myself then, but I was already falling in love, which made it extraordinarily difficult to stay cool and collected around her.)

One week later, again on a Monday evening, as if continuing the conversation from the week prior, Melissa said to me, "My boyfriend and I broke up."

Inside, my heart leapt up into my throat. I swallowed hard before mechanically answering her, "Oh, I'm sorry to hear that." My mind began racing to decide how to carry the conversation further.

"Thanks," replied Melissa.

We were on the rowing machines during this exchange, and we continued rowing for several minutes before I found my next words. Those minutes felt like awkward hours. I had to end them.

"Were you together long?"

"Two years. Just a few days more than two years."

"Wow. I'm sorry," I repeated.

"Me too," she confided.

Melissa had just taken us one step toward real friendship, and in a way we were breaking the ice all over again. The remainder of the evening remained mostly quiet.

"Hey, how are you?" I asked in greeting to Melissa the following Thursday. Suddenly the phrase had taken on a whole new dimension.

"Better," she answered. She even offered a weak smile. "Greg picked up the last of his things from my apartment on Tuesday, so everything is finished."

Ah, so his name is Greg, I noted in my thoughts.

From there, our conversations broadened quickly into more personal subjects. Within a few weeks, quite naturally, we left the gym at the same time and continued walking together down the street before parting ways. On another evening that sort of walk turned into stopping by a restaurant to grab a bite to eat, and with the conversational topic turning to restaurants, quite naturally, that evening, suddenly everything changed.

Melissa asked, "You've never been to Tandoori House? Well, in that case, I have to take you. What about tomorrow night?"

"Sure. I'm free tomorrow." It was a date.

Soon Melissa began introducing me to her friends, one or two at a time. She introduced me as her "friend," and I was perfectly content to accept that label. There was no need to remind myself that it was the investment of time in this relationship with Melissa that would build my trust in her. Despite my secret love for her, which urged impatience, my will to move slowly was unwavering.

On the other hand, I was compelled to reciprocate by introducing Melissa to a few of my friends, which were mostly men. Sometimes while we were together, I questioned in my mind their motives with her, or scrutinized some things she said, but I successfully hid all those mistrustful and angst-riddled thoughts behind a mask of relaxation. When alone I would replay entire evenings with our friends, analyzing every word and gesture in an effort to discover any clue to a scheme, but in the end would come up empty. Gradually my trust in her increased, and my need to scrutinize and review decreased.

Meanwhile, quite honestly, I had not ended my habit of masturbating to fantasies of cheating girlfriends. I had no current girlfriend, as I wanted to remain completely available to Melissa, so masturbation was my only recourse to release the sexual tension I felt toward Melissa and the lust produced by jealous thoughts. In my head I replayed the sounds of Jackie getting fucked on the other side of the wall, or I re-watched the images of Rich fucking Heather that Amy and I had painted for each other. Sometimes I watched cuckold porn or a Hollywood-type movie that had a cheating girlfriend or wife in it, as these sorts of movies always made me cum. But to my credit, I never dirtied Melissa in my mind by using her image in any of my masturbations. I held her in too high regard and desired to keep my thoughts of her as pure as possible.

More months passed, the happiest of my life until that time. Melissa and I spent several evenings together each week, and we always saw each other on the weekends. It was apparent to us both, I'm sure, what we had become, but we didn't talk about our feelings, and I refused to be the first to acknowledge them. Every evening when we parted ways, I did my utmost to avoid any conditions that could create the possibility of a goodnight kiss. But then that became painful, because Melissa's eyes began lingering on mine often - more often than a friend's would. Somehow she had fallen in love with me, too. I knew it.

With that realization, I had to counsel myself. Nearly a year has passed since we first met, I thought. This may be all the time for friendship without romance that I can afford. There is a certain ripeness that I must aim for, or else the ripeness may turn to rot. The pain I feel in avoiding that goodnight kiss, if she loves me too, is certainly not mine alone. If I continue to produce that pain for her, she will find a remedy, one day or the next, and it could destroy me.

And so the next time we went out, as soon as we approached each other and she greeted me, I answered with a kiss. She froze in surprise for an instant, but then softened, wrapped her arms around me, and reciprocated.

Before it would be accidentally discovered that Melissa and I had differing ideas on what to expect from one another in our new romantic relationship, which would likely result in a fight, Melissa sat me down on her couch one evening to have a talk. "Look," she said, "I need to tell you something that's very important but also very private and potentially embarrassing. But given where we now find ourselves, it's necessary for me to tell you, because not telling you would in effect be dishonest, misleading, and disastrous."

"These are the scariest sentences you've ever spoken to me," I said, trying to smile. Given how I felt toward women in general, I was indeed suddenly terrified that she was about to shatter my image of her. I looked upon Melissa as if it may be the last time I ever see her, memorizing every detail: the shine of her thick, dark brown, wavy hair, the way that hair framed her face and tapered so low on her breasts, the lightness of her sage-colored eyes that contrasted so sharply to the brownness of her skin, the cuteness of her freckles, the glow of wetness on her gentle, rosy lips, the soft warmth of her red flannel shirt that reminded me of how she made me feel inside, and the sensuality exuded by the tight fit of her black jeans below as she sat facing me on the couch, with one leg folded flat between us and the other with its foot resting on the floor.

She returned the smile and took my hand. "Yes, but it's not scary, I promise. Here it is: I'm a virgin."

"Serious?" I asked. I probably couldn't hide a puzzled look on my face.

She nodded with a tight-lipped smile.

"Wow. OK. You're 24, right?" She had once told me her age, which I had already approximated based on other facts. She had skipped a grade in elementary school and graduated high school at the young age of 16, which meant she finished college at 20 and her Master's program in speech-language pathology at 22, which is approximately the time when she and Greg began dating.

"Yes, I'm a 24-year-old virgin." Melissa's smile persisted as she patiently waited for me to process this information. Perhaps she saw that I sufficiently processed it, because then she added another statement. "And it's because I am waiting to marry before I will have sex." The smile faded from her face as she searched mine for a reaction. I detected a hint of dread in her eyes, worried at what I might say next.

Suddenly, an irrepressible smile pulled itself across my face. I grabbed Melissa by the sides of her head, kissed her hard on her forehead in a celebratory fashion, then sat back down.

"That's perfect!" I exclaimed.

"Really?" She was incredulous.

"Yeah. I'm so happy you told me that."

"OK. Wow. I'm relieved." The smile returned to her face. She even laughed a little. "But why?"

"Why? Well.." Suddenly I wasn't so happy anymore. "That's...uh..." My smile was in full retreat, and my stomach sank. "That can be difficult to explain."

Melissa's smile was gone, too. "I understand. Tell me when you're ready to tell me."

A moment passed with a hundred thoughts, and then I asked, "May I ask you something that's probably even more sensitive?"

"Yes, this is why Greg and I broke up. That is your question, right? While we were together, there came a time that he should have asked me to marry, but he wasn't ready. I was too patient with him. Our two-year anniversary together should have been a happy occasion, but instead it became the moment I drew the line. I realized months before that I had already stopped loving him. I had grown tired of his sexual advances toward me. Somehow he got the idea in his head that he could wear me down until I acquiesced. I showed him otherwise. He had lost his respect for me, and I for him."

"I'm not a virgin," I blurted out.

"That's fine," Melissa answered, smiling, "I didn't think that you were." She squeezed my hand to reassure me.

"I worry that it's not fine," came my response. I should have been more worried about guarding my words. Realizing this, I quickly collected myself and tried a repair. "Look, without getting into details, I had a tough time with dating in college. I have a lot of regrets that I don't want to dredge up from that distant past. What's important is that I learned a lesson, which is that sex can overly complicate a relationship, especially one that is not already stable. This is why I am so happy that you are saving yourself for marriage. Removing the prospect of sex from our relationship helps me to focus on what is most important." I couldn't believe these words were coming out of my mouth. Did I really believe their meaning?

"I love you," Melissa said.

I stared blankly back at her. It struck me that no girlfriend had ever said that to me before, because none of them ever did. But I didn't need to search my feelings for Melissa. I knew them.

"I love you, too."

A moment of relaxing silence passed between us as we contemplated our newfound bond, and then we shared a tender kiss. Withdrawing from that kiss, our faces still so close, I looked into her beautiful gray-green eyes, still so distant despite their proximity to mine, and then initiated another kiss. Unexpectedly, Melissa opened her mouth to me, inviting my lips to match hers. Her tongue plunged into my mouth, circled my tongue, and then stroked it, deep on one side, then deep along the other, coaxing it outward into her mouth. Blood rushed to my groin. Our mouths separated and I gasped for air, as did she. Our arms pulled our bodies closer to each other. Our foreheads met and pressed tightly together as we again looked to each other from the tops of our eyes, our mouths hanging open to breathe. At once our lips collapsed upon one another in urgency, and my tongue invaded. I pushed it deep, then withdrew. I pushed it deep again, and then withdrew.

In response, Melissa's hands dropped from my upper back to the belt of my jeans. She hooked her fingers into its leather and pulled me into her, forcing me up onto my knees. I pulled her up with me, then slid my hands down her back, enjoying the soft feel of her flannel shirt against her firm body, until they came to rest at the small of her back. I didn't yet know if my hands were allowed to roam farther. As I awaited any signal from Melissa, I flexed my tongue and wiggled the tip of it quickly, side to side, repeatedly, against hers, to impress upon her the idea of what that tongue could do right now to her clitoris. She moaned into my mouth. Her hands advanced to the bottoms of my ass cheeks and squeezed, pulling my lower body into her and causing my hardening cock to push against her crotch. Message received. My hands also advanced to the bottoms of her trim, muscular ass cheeks, tightly clad in denim, and I squeezed, pulling her into me. Her pelvis instinctively rolled forward to prolong the contact between our crotches. It was my turn to moan. Her tongue took the initiative, dominating mine with an energetic swirling, around and around and around, as if my tongue were the head of my cock, then diving deep into my mouth and dragging itself slowly along my tongue, as if it were the cock's shaft.

Our mouths parted for air. Our gaze did not meet. As our bodies mashed together, our hands still groping each other's asses, my lips brushed lightly against her cheek, and her lips brushed lightly against mine.

"I don't know the rules," I whispered.

"I know," she breathed. "I thought it would be more fun to show you." Her husky voice in a sexual context was positively erotic.

"But we agreed no sex. What are we doing?"

"Anything but."

I still didn't fully understand. To prevent frustration from altering my mood, I needed clarification. "You need to spell it out for me."

With my hands under her ass, supporting her weight, Melissa leaned away from me as her hands departed my ass, took the bottom of her flannel, and in one motion pulled it up, over her head, and off. Her long brown hair settled chaotically on all sides of her shoulders.

She gave me a moment to look at her before she answered. Her eyes had become glassy, and their gaze had become even more distant. Her cheeks had flushed. So had her neck, upper chest, and the skin over her sternum. That sternum boldly separated her proud breasts from one another. Those breasts, unfortunately, were still bound in a maroon lace bra.

Melissa's hands returned to my ass. She squeezed and pulled my crotch into hers as I did the same. Her lower lip folded inward. She bit down on it and audibly drew in a breath.

Then, with that faraway look in her eyes, she finally answered, "Just don't put it in me." Her voice cracked as she said it again. "Don't put it in me." It almost sounded like she was begging.

Our mouths collided and our tongues swam. She pulled my crotch into hers again. And again. And again. My hands slid from the bottoms of her ass cheeks inward. The fingertips reached past the hard bones that formed the base of her pelvis, and pressed into the hot softness between.

"Uhhh!" moaned Melissa.

My fingers pressed harder, inward and upward. The denim of her jeans had become steamy there. She moaned into my mouth. I withdrew my right hand, created a space between us, brought that hand to her front, then slid it forcefully down her pubic mound and into the depth between her legs, until my fingertips once again found that steamy denim. There my fingers curled, and once again, pushed inward and upward, as the rest of my hand pressed and massaged the mound that filled it.

Melissa withdrew her mouth from mine, but did not pull her face away. Her soft lips brushed carelessly against my chin, then my cheek, then my nose, and then my cheek again as I rhythmically dug my fingers into the damp denim at her vaginal opening. Her hot breath tickled my face and filled my nostrils. I could see her eyes cast downward, but her gaze was completely absent. She raised her right hand to my face. Its fingertips lightly traced the outline of my jaw near my left ear.

My left hand, still anchored at the base of Melissa's ass, was now mostly responsible for keeping us balanced on our knees. I sensed this as her hips' movements changed. They started pulling downward against my left hand when my right hand's fingers pushed into her crotch, the intention being to push her vaginal opening harder against those fingers. She wanted them deeper. To maintain our balance, my left hand was forced to pull against Melissa's hips' movements. Perceiving that the middle fingertip of my left hand was near her anus, when my left hand pushed against Melissa's ass, I tentatively pushed the middle finger a little harder. I registered no reaction. I pushed the fingertip a little farther inward next time. Melissa's hips responded by pushing harder against my left hand. I pushed it farther still.

Both her hands dropped to my crotch. Her left hand reached deep between my legs to cup my balls, its fingers pushed into the muscle behind them. Her right hand began stroking my cock through my jeans. "More," she whispered, perhaps unconsciously, her breath drifting across my cheek. I jammed the four fingertips of my left hand deep into the crack of her ass as the fingers of my right hand tried in vain to rip through the denim protecting her vagina. She gasped, and then a low, creaking moan escaped her throat. Her hips instinctively pushed down against my hands. She rubbed my crotch behind my balls, from my anus forward, as her right hand pressed harder and stroked faster on my cock.

Over and over, through her jeans, my fingers fucked her ass and pussy, and her body begged for more and more, rhythmically fucking my fingers right back. I tried to kiss her, but she absently disregarded the effort. Our lips haphazardly bumped into each other's faces, mouths open, occasionally sharing the same breath. Her eyes were lost to me.

Suddenly Melissa drew in two short, successive, audible breaths. The cheeks of her ass clenched tight beneath my hand. And, as once more my attacking fingers jammed into the hot, damp denim defending her holes, she came.

The sounds that escaped her throat were that of long sighs descending in tone, each exhausting the air in her lungs before a quick intake of air allowed the next to begin. "Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah! Aaaaaaaaaaaaah! Aaaaaaaaaah!" Her hips bucked as I continued to press my fingers into her, but soon she fell slowly backward into the couch, pulling me down with her. "Aaaaah! Aaaaah!" Her orgasm continued still, even though my hands were forced from her body to catch my weight, preventing my crash into her.

Melissa brought both her knees up to surround me with her long legs. Her left hand went to the back of my neck to guide my face toward hers. Her eyes were less vacant than before, but her faraway gaze persisted. She pulled me in for a kiss as her right hand went back to my cock. The kiss was soft and wet and sloppy. She pulled my face past hers and began kissing my neck similarly, the whole while stroking my cock through my jeans. Melissa's hips rose and fell underneath me as if she were still bucking through her orgasm, or as if we were really fucking.

In her deep, husky voice, just above a whisper in my ear, she demanded, "Cum." Then she resumed wetly kissing my neck.

She stroked my cock faster. As if I may not have heard her before, and that is why I did not perform as demanded, she again spoke in my ear, "Cum." She pushed her tongue into my neck at the jugular and licked it like a cock. She raised her hips and positioned them such that, except for the fabric between us, the head of my cock was pressed to her clitoris.

By that point I couldn't help but follow orders. Resigned to cumming in my pants, I pushed my hips toward hers, rubbing my cock over her clitoris. Over and over again, Melissa jerked me off as I dry-humped her, pushing my cock into her pussy, and as my orgasm hit, she moaned into my neck. Loads of hot cum spilled into my underwear and spread to wet my jeans. Her hand cupped my cock from underneath, creating a barrier between us.