Winter Of Angela

Maybe it's as simple as what Angela herself said previously. I'm just out-of-my-head horny and ready to fuck anything that moves. And I'm getting that mixed up with the genuine warmth and friendship I feel for her.

I went 'round and 'round in my head that night. Tossed and turned. After a while, I could hear the steady sound of Angela's breathing that told me she was asleep. I thought of the rise and fall of her breasts atop me earlier when she reached for her pants.

A haunting memory in the middle of the night. Surrounded by the susurrus of her breathing. Immersed in minds-eye snapshots of her loveliness.

What would Angela do if I crept to her side of the room and crawled into bed with her? Just to wrap my arm around her and hold her close; feel her warmth against me again.

What would she do? Would she welcome it? Would she be appalled?

There, in the quiet and the darkness, mind working in overdrive, I was sorely tempted.

What would she do? What would she do?

But, in the end, I did not want to risk losing my friend.

I tried very hard (and very unsuccessfully) NOT to think of how beautiful she was.

And how near.

***************************************************************

The next day's noon found me seated in a subway car returning from The Mall in Washington D.C. The ride passed in an expectant blur.

I had risen early that morning so I could shower, dress and get out of Angela's hair before she popped in anticipation. She hugged me before I left and kissed me on the cheek. I resisted the impulse to turn my face slightly so that my lips met hers.

"Thanks for doing this with me, Em. I appreciate you not making me feel like some kinda sex-crazed freak."

"You're welcome." I replied and leaned in to kiss her back (don't worry, I kept my head and pecked her chastely on the side of her face). Then, I got the hell out of there before I did or said something radically stupid.

The University of Maryland is a short subway ride from the nation's capitol. Washington is supposed to have some wonderful museums, none of which I had yet had the opportunity to visit. So, I had decided to while away my morning in one of the Smithsonians.

The Museum of Natural History is a wonderful, vast storehouse of fascinating knowledge. Which I had to discover for myself at a later date. Because that day, I was so preoccupied with thoughts of 'my turn' and musings on my roommate, that I was oblivious to the offerings at hand.

Slowly, reluctantly, the appointed hour arrived and I boarded the Metro back to College Park. I figured I probably wouldn't get to the dorm before 12:45 or 1:00. That should have given Angela plenty of time to get herself together and clear out. It had occurred to me that given what we were both doing, there might be some awkwardness about 'passing the baton'. But of course, I was surely projecting my own apprehension. Angela probably would not have cared in the least.

I may have made the entire walk from the subway to the dorm without my feet once touching the ground. The giant butterflies in my tummy were probably what held me aloft.

When I opened the door to our room, I was immediately struck by the smell. The scent of pure, raw carnality. There was no mistaking what had been going on in that room. In my revved up state, it was fuel to the fire.

My guess was that much like a chef cooking in the kitchen, Angela was so immersed in the aroma that she probably wasn't aware of how strong it was and never thought to open a window to air the room.

Not that I minded. Not a bit.

Upon crossing the doorway to our room, a guest had to pass through a short passage that formed a sort of mini-vestibule. After that, the room opens up with Angela's bed on the right and mine on the left, each with a small nightstand beside them. On the far wall was a window flanked by a pair of desks. Under the window sat a mini-fridge.

As I stepped past the vestibule wall, I was shocked to discover that Angela was still in her bed. Apparently sound asleep!

What the hell?!

I had purposely arrived later than the agreed upon time to make sure she didn't feel rushed or constrained. What went wrong?

I touched her lightly on the shoulder and spoke her name. She stirred, but did not waken. I repeated the combination a little more forcibly. Angela's eyes opened and found me with bewilderment, then dawning realization clearly expressed on her lovely features.

"Fuck! I'm sorry, hon!" she exclaimed. "I was so blissed out, I just meant to close my eyes for a sec and savor the afterglow. The next thing I know, you were shaking me awake just now."

As she spoke, she cast her sheets aside and sprang out of bed, which is when I realized that she was still completely naked!

This was hardly the first time I'd seen Angela nude. She'd never been bashful about that sort of thing. It's just that the context changed my perception.

Now, seeing so much of her loveliness with sex uppermost in my mind made me catch my breath. I was mesmerized by the swaying of her breasts as she moved - her swollen areolae jutting out in two delightful rounded peaks; the exquisitely smooth, slightly rounded belly beneath them; the play of the muscles under the silky skin of her legs. The fleeting glimpse I got of the cleft between her thighs gave me a pang of longing. Angela's sexuality filled the room. Her magnetism held me in a trance.

Thank God Angela was too preoccupied with gathering, then donning her clothing, to notice me gawking at her like a lovestruck simpleton.

When she'd gotten herself together, Angela came over to me. Placing her hands on my shoulders, she said, "I'm really sorry for the goof, hon. I ended up fucking myself silly, cumming a gazillion times and then didn't realize how spent I was."

"So," she gave my arms an affectionate squeeze as she went on, "you take as long as you need. I won't be back before five."

With that, she was gone and I had the room to myself.

First, I gathered some body wash and a towel and ventured down the hall for a relaxing, hot shower.

When I returned to our room, I locked the door behind me and stretched across my bed, luxuriating in my nakedness.

Without even having touched myself yet, moisture was already gathering between my legs. I was determined not to rush this, so I began by simply closing my eyes and running my fingertips over the contours of my face. It was as if a blind man was reading my features with his hands; soothing and stimulating at the same time.

When, I wondered, would hands other than my own come to fathom this flesh? And whose hands would they be? I tried to imagine that the hands belonged to Sander, my boyfriend back home.

The gliding digits made their way to my throat, exploring the muscles and the soft skin. Over my collarbone they moved, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

I consciously thought of Sander doing this, but my mind's eye had a will of its own... and brought me Angela instead.

And her recent nudity provided my imagination with a sumptuous visual feast. No matter how much I tried to concentrate on Sander, images of her kept intruding.

God, how I ached to touch her! To kiss her. To explore, taste and lavish attention upon every inch of her loveliness.

One of my hands cupped and caressed my breasts. The other made its way between my legs. But my heart convinced me these were Angela's hands.

My fingers were not pulling my nipples taut, it was Angela suckling them. The slippery seam of my labia was parted not by my fingers, but by her tongue. An exquisite bolt of carnal lightning shot through me.

My mind fanned the flames with searingly erotic visions of Angela. I gave myself up completely to the fantasy. Her lips blended with mine while we pressed our flesh together to become one writhing, panting form.

My swollen mound and my sopping inner lips spasmed at her touch. When she flicked her finger directly over the swollen, hypersensitive bud of my clit, I screamed her name.

Her lips spread in a sensuous, dreamy smile. Angela's eyes flashed to meet mine while her fingers sank into the folds of my pussy. My hips thrust to meet her fingers.

The wet sounds of her pumping hand laced with my gasps and panting to fill the room with carnal music. My every nerve ending was afire with need and anticipation.

My nipples were lovingly caressed, a fingertip slowly circling them, making them tighten even more.

My pussy wept in copious pulses. A sticky stream trickled down between my cheeks and puddled on the sheets. Angela's fingers plunged faster and deeper into me, while her thumb moved up between the folds of my inner labia and under my hood.

My hips lifted from the bed, my cunt pushing high into the air. My head thrashed from side to side, my damp hair falling across my eyes. I gasped and panted. Moistening my dry lips with my tongue, I tasted salty perspiration.

Angela rubbed my clitoris fiercely. Up and down, round and round and from side to side until I exploded in a shattering orgasm. My pussy walls contracted rhythmically around my fingers, flooding them with thick cream. I unleashed all the pent-up excitement of making love to another woman for the first time. And not just any woman. The unbelievable Angela.

As the passion slowly receded, I relaxed and lay back on the sheets, spent. My heart thumped beneath my breast and my skin was tingling. I squeezed my thighs together to exert pressure on my still-throbbing pussy.

Holding Angela in my arms, breast to breast and belly to belly, even if only imagined...

Would this, could this ever happen for real? Would I ever have the nerve to find out?

I looked at the clock on the nightstand beside my bed. Angela wouldn't be back for more than an hour and a half.

And there were still things I wanted to do with her. To her. But, more slowly this time.

I smiled, closed my eyes, and let my fingers and imagination go to work again.

**************************************************************

The next several weeks passed in a fog of classes and homework. Punctuated by 'alone-time' sessions that grew in frequency. We got to the point where we were scheduling them three or four times a week, as our workload permitted. Believe it or not, I think the much needed venting of sexual tension actually improved our classwork and sharpened our ability to focus.

I found that no matter where I started out, Angela always ended up the true object of my masturbation fantasies. The imaginings grew more vivid and the climaxes more intense with each passing week. Looking back on my inexperience at the time, I'm amazed that I managed to keep this up without making a complete fool of myself with Angela.

Making the arrangements for these had the side effect of making me relax a bit about the subject of sex. Considering what we were doing, this was certainly the most intimate relationship I'd ever had with, well, anyone. Of course, I know that everyone masturbates. But before then, I had never before admitted to anyone that I did.

Oddly enough, it was something of a relief that Angela knew. This made her more of a confidante; someone I could trust and with whom I could relax.

By the time Thanksgiving rolled around, I must've been laid-back indeed, because I did something I never would've dreamed of doing before knowing Angela.

Neither of us had the funds to go back home for the holiday, so we practically had the dorm to ourselves for a four-day weekend. We went out together to a local restaurant for Thanksgiving dinner and stopped on the way back to the dorm to rent a movie. I convinced Angela to try ROMAN HOLIDAY with Gregory Peck and Audrey Hepburn. I had some trepidation about that choice because not many people our age were into old black and white films. I'm crazy about that one though, and I was intensely curious (and hopeful) about Angela's reaction to it. It was an experience I wanted to share with her.

Luckily, Angela had brought a TV and VCR (this was 1998, remember) with her to the dorm. Up to this point, we really hadn't had the chance to get much use out of them, but we were happy to have them for the holidays.

We donned our PJ's and popped some popcorn and settled down in front of the TV for a cozy, girl's night in. It was a cold November night and Angela had drawn her blanket and comforter all the way up to her chin. As I put the tape in the machine and made my way back to my bed, Angela suggested, "Why don't you come on over here with me? If we combine our body heat under one comforter, it ought to be nice and toasty."

Wow! This night was getting better and better. I was gonna get to snuggle up for two hours with the subject of my most luminous fantasies. While sharing one of my all-time favorite movies with her, yet. No complaints from me, sister!

Angela was quiet while the film was on, seemingly absorbed in the story. I tried not to be too distracted by her proximity, but it was wonderful to feel her body against mine in the warm embrace of her blankets.

When the picture ended, Angela was quiet. I turned to her and asked, "Well...?"

She answered simply, "Thank you."

After hesitating a moment to gather her thoughts, she went on, "I used to have the idea that those old movies were all dull and kinda hokey. But, this one was sweet and tender without being corny. Movies now are always impatient to 'cut to the chase' and get to the 'good part'. ROMAN HOLIDAY let you get to know the characters and care about them. Then, it took its time building to the payoff, which made it so much sweeter."

"I also love the fact that they didn't end up together, which, considering the circumstances, would've been completely unbelievable."

"The Vespa ride... " Angela continued, "the haircut... the boat dance... it was all so magical."

"And Gregory Peck, what can I say? He could take me on holiday anywhere he wants! Not only is he yummy, but his voice is to die for! I don't know if butter would melt in his mouth, but I sure would!"

"Damn, girl," I nudged her playfully, "you are shameless."

"Oh, right." Angela laughed. "Like you'd kick him out of bed."

"What", I wondered aloud, "did you think of Audrey Hepburn?"

"She was perfect. Adorable... charming... innocent. After you got to know her, you just knew he was a goner. I mean, she was irresistible. The audience falls in love with her right along with him and hell, she's not even my type."

My mind latched onto 'not my type'. What did she mean by that? Does that signify that some women are her type? Of course, as soon as I thought it, I realized that I was pathetically grasping at straws. But it did make me curious.

"What do you mean 'not my type'?"

"Well, like I said before," Angela responded, "I don't really know much about old movies, but I kinda had the vague impression that at least the stars back then --- you know, Marilyn Monroe, Sophia Loren, Raquel Welch --- were a little healthier, a bit more va-va-voom than the scrawny chicks they parade across the screen today."

"Don't get me wrong. Hepburn had charisma and presence to spare. But as a visual ideal, she was almost as underfed and unhealthy looking as what we see in the theaters right now."

"Hmmm," I mused audibly, "I've been watching Hepburn since I was a little girl. By the time I formed my notions on 'visual ideals', I was so used to her that I never thought about how thin she was. But, you're right. She's not exactly robust looking. But, hey... next to you, most of us look sadly underdeveloped."

"Oh, puh-leeeze, girl. I just know you're not complaining."

I let the comforter fall away from my torso. Looking down at my chest, I cupped my breasts through my pajama tops. "Well, it would've been nice if Mother Nature had seen fit to bless me with a tad more than she did. At this late date, I've stopped hoping for a delayed growth spurt."

"You're kidding, right?" Angela protested. Her eyes held mine for a moment, and then... "Oh my God! You're not kidding! Emma, don't you have any idea how gorgeous you are? Just 'cause you don't have tits out to here...", she gestured with her hands in the shape of a ridiculously large bosom, "doesn't make you scrawny."

"Em, if you only paid attention, you'd see what your mirror tells you every day. You are one of the most beautiful girls on campus, and believe me, I don't say that because you're my friend. If you weren't busy focusing on every minor flaw you perceive, you'd realize what I did the moment I met you: you're a knockout."

"Angela," I began, "you don't have to... "

"Obviously, I do." Angela interrupted. "I want you to see yourself the way I do. Just be careful not to let your head get too big." She reached over and placed her hand on my cheek. "Close your eyes and listen to me for a minute."

I leaned back into her pillows and brought my lashes down. "I know you've told me," Angela began, "that you used to play soccer and softball in high school, and it shows. You stand tall and erect and there's an athletic grace in everything you do. I love watching you move. I never told you that before 'cause I thought it might sound, I don't know, kinda weird. But, I'm telling you now and I don't care how it sounds." I felt her hand take hold of mine.

"That wavy, burnished copper hair grabs all the guys' attention and then those penetrating emerald eyes make sure they can't look away again."

"And don't forget," Angela went on in a mischievous tone, "I've gotten an eyeful of the rest of the package. Those tits you were bitchin' about? Let me tell you, when some guy finally gets his lips wrapped around them, he's gonna think he's died and gone to heaven. They're perky and topped off with puffy, pink nipples that were just made for sucking."

I could feel my nipples stiffen in response to her praise. Goosebumps spread across my neck, shoulders and arms and I know I had to be blushing.

"That slender waist," Angela continued, "curves into luscious hips that somebody's definitely gonna wanna hold onto someday. And if it wasn't for that dazzling smile of yours, I would say that your legs might be your best feature: shapely and strong, without being masculine; creamy smooth thighs. Whenever you decide to let some lucky boy between them, he'll know he's in the promised land."

We both chuckled at her hyperbole, but my eyes were moist with emotion. I opened them and looked into hers, speaking in a low voice. "Thank you."

Angela leaned close in the bed and wrapped me in her arms. "You're welcome." Her mouth was next to my ear, her voice soft and sweet. "But, I know I can't be the first person to tell you you're beautiful."

"My parents, of course." I responded. "But that's kinda their job. I've had some interested boys back in high school pay me compliments too, but nothing anywhere near as stirring as what you just said."

"Well, then," Angela kissed me on the cheek, "it was long overdue."

"Would you be willing", I asked, changing the subject, "to try another old movie with me?"

"If you've got any that are as good as ROMAN HOLIDAY, then, sure."

"In very different ways, yeah, as good or better. If you want another romance, Garbo's QUEEN CHRISTINA is marvelous. If you're willing to take a chance on a drama, I can tell you that ON THE WATERFRONT or A MAN FOR ALL SEASONS or INHERIT THE WIND might just change your life!"

"Sounds like we've got a date for tomorrow." Angela smiled. "But, for now, I'm ready to get some shut-eye. Aren't you?"

"Yeah, I guess so." I pulled the covers aside and began to climb out of her bed. "I had such a good time today, I got a little greedy. I wasn't quite ready for it to end."

"Well," Angela replied, "if you don't mind the close quarters, you're welcome to stay over here with me. The way that wind is whipping out there, it's a great night to keep each other warm."