The 19-year-old Virgin Ch. 07

Eventually, I slept too, a pleasant nap after a heavy expenditure of energy.

When I woke she was in the bathroom. I went in and stood beside her, waiting for her to finish before brushing my teeth too.

"You promised me dinner and dancing, I think," she said, giggling.

"And you shall have it," I said, "but on one condition."

She turned and face me then.

"Condition?" she asked, and there was another of those words that you see written but never really say.

"Condition?" she asked, looking at me incredulously.

I grinned and patted her hip, enjoying the way she jiggled.

"Yep," I said, "I get to pick out what you wear."

Her eyes got big at that.

"And what do you have in mind?" she asked.

"Dunno," I said, flashing my best boyish grin, "I'll look through your closet and see what catches my eye."

She looked at me for a long second then, one eyebrow raised.

"Oh," I said, "and I get to do your makeup."

That brought the other eyebrow up and then a slow smile spread across her face.

"You're on," she said and then ran her fingers through my hair, crusty with her love honey, "but first we shower for God's sake."

I laughed then, reached in to start the water in the shower, letting it run hot.

"Come on, toots," I said, "you ain't lookin' so fresh yourself."

We showered together then, and it was fun. It was sensuous rather than sexual, and I enjoyed every second.

I started with her face, soaping the washcloth and then gently washing it until she was all pink skin. I noticed a light dusting of incipient pimples across her forehead and a couple on her chin as I did that.

Then I shampooed her hair, working the lather into that thick curly mass, rinsing it, and then working conditioner in, leaving it as I started on her body.

Once again I noticed a light dusting of pimples on the bottom of her right breast and then, later, at the bottom of that big roll of her belly. I liked them. They turned her from my beautiful Goddess to be worshipped into a human woman to be enjoyed.

She got the giggles and damn near fell when I did her feet and then turned her around to do her back.

Her ass had another of those sprinkles of blemishes, right at her gluteal sulcus, that line where a human ass meets the tops of his, or her, thigh.

As I did her back she leaned against the wall, her hands flat, allowing me to apply a lot of pressure. She was obviously enjoying this.

Finished with her body, I used the handheld shower head to rinse the conditioner from her hair, and then I handed her the soap.

She did me the same way. Scrubbing my face first, then my hair, then my body. I had to chuckle when she took a little of the shampoo and worked it into my pubic hair. To my amazement I did not get hard. Then she put a little bit of the conditioner in it as well.

While she was doing my ass she surprised me by running a soapy finger up me.

She giggled as she pulled it out and then continued washing my back.

We dried each other the same way, giggling a lot. It was very sensual but not really sexual.

"Okay," I said, "sit and let's see what Uncle Davey can do."

She smiled and sat at her little makeup desk.

I'm actually very good at hair and makeup. I'm the product of a single mother's upraising and at one point, as a boy, I had become fascinated with the way she did her hair and makeup when she was going out on a date. She taught me to do it and it became a part of her regular getting-ready routine.

Yeah, okay, not exactly a classic family arrangement but that's a subject for a different story.

I started with her hair. She has thick, coarse, naturally very curly hair, so it was a hairdryer and hair pick project. In a few minutes, I had a nice curly cap, almost a halo, framing her pretty round face.

For her face I started with the Clearasil I found at the bottom of her vanity drawer, a light coat on that little group of tiny pimples at her chin. Then it was the base, a little blush along the lines of her cheeks to make her face a tiny bit more slender.

But it's the eyes that make the difference in any woman. I was careful to smooth and then work a pale blue eyeshadow, a good contrast to her coloring. I highlighted and darkened her eyebrows, a gentle arch. A fine line of eyeliner and a light touch with the mascara finished my work.

"Damn," she breathed, "thank you."

I smiled and kissed her on the top of her head.

"I had good things to work with," I said.

I rummaged through her closet, seeking something, anything that would show her off rather than hide her.

Finally, in the back, I found a sort of peasant outfit with a bit of a scooped neck and short sleeves. It hung with a skirt in a brightly patterned material that looked like it would probably brush the tops of her shoes. Under it was a pair of shoes with moderately high heels so I got them out too.

In her underwear drawer, I got out panties and a bra along with a pair of pantyhose.

She was watching, a sort of Cheshire Cat smile on her face.

"Do you have a half dozen safety pins?" I asked.

She looked puzzled at the non sequitur but said, "I think so."

I said, "where," and then followed as she went back into the kitchen and rummaged through that junk drawer that everyone has. She came out with a little plastic box with straight pins and said, "will these work?"

"Yep," I said, now let's get you dressed.

I enjoyed dressing her. Unlike painting, which is done from the top down, dressing a woman, as she taught me, was done from the bottom up.

Panties first, nothing particularly sexy, just white cotton. What I call "granny panties" today. She squealed prettily when I buried my tongue in the deep tunnel of her belly button.

Then the pantyhose. I was careful to not get runs in them after she showed me how to bunch them and then work them up alternating between legs.

Then her shoes, right and then left with her foot in my lap as I slipped the shoe on and then buckled the ankle straps.

When I looked up she was smiling down at me from her position sitting on the edge of the bed.

"What?" I asked.

"I think I like you on your knees before me," she said.

I lifted her foot and kissed the top of her shoe. "For as long as you'll have me," I said.

I stood then, bent, kissed her, and started looking through her underwear drawer. The bra I selected was like the panties, white and cotton with no underwires or anything. More a titsack than a bra to be honest. I couldn't help peeking. 44JJ. She's VERY well endowed.

This was a first for me but it wasn't exactly rocket surgery or brain science. I got her arms through the straps, her boobs into the cups, and did up the six hooks in the back. I couldn't stop the grin that spread across my face as she reached into each cup separately and adjusted her boobs until her nipples were pointing straight ahead.

I dropped the top over her head and adjusted the sleeves, short and puffy, to show off her arms and made sure the scoop neck was centered on the cleavage she was showing.

I held the skirt while she stepped into it and then tied the built-in cloth belt, making a nice bow at her hip. The skirt hung to her ankles and I got the box of straight pins and pinned it up right at knee level. When I stepped back and looked I whistled.

"You are stunning," I said.

I liked, very much, that she actually blushed.

I dressed in my student/preppy uniform. Light tan slacks, a blue pencil-striped button-down Oxford cloth shirt, and black loafers.

"You are cute," she said with a giggle and I smiled.

"Well, I was trying for handsome but I'll take cute," I replied and she giggled again.

"Anyplace in particular in mind?" I asked.

She grinned at me then.

"I think I'll take you to ΘΘΘ," she said although she pronounced it "theta, theta, theta."

"We're going to a sorority?" I asked.

"You might call it that," she said with, and here's another of those things you see written but never actually say, an enigmatic smile.

"Oh?" I asked.

Then she did something on her cell phone and showed me the Greek letters.

"It's more a place for a certain body type," she said, "let's leave it at that. You'll see."

I smiled, went to her, and offered my arm in that bent arm way you see from old movies or at weddings. She giggled, laid her hand on my forearm where it was bent, and said, "I'm starved."

We took the Yukon and she gave me turn-by-turn directions. Soon we were on the outskirts of town and she had me pull in at one of those little strip malls that were once so common but now you find abandoned in pretty much any city with over about 30,000 people. The parking lot was pretty big and it had a couple of dozen cars in it.

In the middle of the long building, one of the double doors to one of the storefronts had ΘΘΘ over it in bright pink neon.

It turned out to be one of those places that was much bigger on the inside than on the outside. It looked like the walls between the adjoining two storefronts had been removed, making a large open room. There were a couple of dozen tables, four tops my brief stint as a busboy taught me, a long bar across one wall, a raised stage at the other end, with a little four-piece band warming up on it.

We waited, at the "Please Wait to be Seated" sign.

And as I looked around, I understood what she meant.

In this crowd, Carla was actually one of the smaller women present. Interestingly, this roomful of big, well, okay, VERY big women was accompanied almost exclusively by much smaller men. This was to the point that the two couples that involved two big people stood out.

Carla's breath was warm in my ear when she said, very softly, "not exactly a sorority but a place where we can gather and not wonder if anyone is commenting about our size behind our backs."

I took a deep breath and turned to her.

"You should call it Heaven," I said and she laughed that good rollicking belly laugh of hers.

The hostess, an absolutely beautiful woman I guessed at 40-ish who looked to be a real redhead and who I estimated at somewhere north of 300 pounds greeted Carla by name and led us to a table a couple of rows off of the little dance floor.

I seated Carla, holding and then scooting the chair forward as you see in the movies but almost never in real life. When I started to move around the table she caught my arm and patted the chair to her left.

"Sit here, Davey," she said, "I think I'm going to get a fantasy fulfilled tonight."

I sat next to her and said, "fantasy?"

"You'll see," and there was that enigmatic smile again.

The band started and it quickly became apparent that at this venue they understood that slow music was in order. Looking around the room it was hard to imagine the women I saw doing a jive or even the twist.

When the waitress came Carla ordered a pitcher of beer and a basket of onion rings. Then she stood and held out her hand.

"Dance with me," she said.

The band was doing something very slow, Cry Me A River if memory serves, and we stepped off into a nice box step. When it was clear Carla was a good dancer we moved it into a pretty nice waltz. By the time I Will Always Love You ended she was breathing a bit hard and I could feel the warmth of her skin through the material of the blouse.

"We'd better go sit," she said, smiling at me, "before I start sweating. I don't want to look like I'm in a wet T-shirt contest."

So I walked her to the table and seated her again.

She took a drink of her beer leaving a hint of a foam mustache and then sort of leaned back.

"Feed me," she said, her eyes half-closed.

It hit me that this was the fantasy she was talking about and my cock jumped erect. She giggled as I scooted around, adjusting my fresh erection.

I brushed the hair back from her face and picked up one of the onion rings, obviously made in the kitchen, not shipped in a 50-pound frozen box. It was round and thick with breading and a sprinkle of salt.

For the next three hours, I fed her almost constantly. Oh, it wasn't like I was stuffing her mouth all of that time. I would brush an onion ring against her lips and she would open her mouth and take a bite. Then I'd wipe her lips gently with the napkin, and tell her how beautiful she was as she chewed slowly, her eyes closed, the look on her face rapturous.

I looked around the room and saw that she wasn't the only woman here with this particular fantasy.

Dinner was a double order of meatloaf, mashed potatoes smothered in a dark brown gravy, corn, and cornbread still warm from the oven. I would take about one bit for every three I fed her. I was full before she was.

And the scent of her arousal filled my nose.

This was a special kind of intimacy, beyond anything I had imagined. As I fed her it was like I was claiming her on levels I didn't know existed. With each bite and each gentle wipe of her lips, each drink from the beer, it was like she became more and more linked to me. And I could see it getting to her as well, the way her eyes closed as I would put a bite into her mouth and she would chew, making it almost a sexual experience.

She was giggling, saying things like, "oh, baby, I'm full," for the last half hour or so of her feeding.

Her eyes got big when I ordered a piece of lava cake for dessert.

"Baby," she said, "I can't eat another bite."

But she could.

I would brush my fingertips across her forehead and say, "Open up," and she would giggle and say, "I'm stuffed."

But eventually, she would open her mouth and accept another bite.

"I love you," I said and she giggled.

"No, David, you love this," she said, waving her arm around the room. Then, in a foreshadowing of what would come, she said, "you'll especially enjoy Thursday nights after I graduate."

That line hit me on several levels.

I honestly hadn't thought about her graduating and what came next. I was too smitten for such things.

And I wondered just what the hell "Thursday nights" were.

"But I thought," I started but she cut me off.

"That what? David?" she asked, "that we'd get married and I'd be your good little hausfrau?"

"I don't," I started but she cut me off again.

"David, I like you. Hell, I love you too. But we've known each other for a matter of hours so don't be silly," she said. "I graduate in a little over four months and I already have an offer with a publishing house in Chicago, an offer I am accepting. So enjoy what we have," she finished, winding down and then breaking into one of those smiles I liked so much.

"Now take me to bed, Goose, or lose me forever," she said, giggling as she quoted Meg Ryan from Top Gun.

So I did.

The sex that night was terrific.

The sleep afterward was deep and restful.