Rules

I was ready to go back to sleep, but she placed my hands on the hem of her tank top. I scanned her face for a 'go ahead' cue. After a minute of uncertainty - but no tears - she gripped my hands with hers and together we pulled it over her head. I came face-to-face with the nicest breasts I had seen in a long, long time.

I cradled them, one in each hand. My eyes feasted on them. "So beautiful." I wasn't exaggerating. They were wonderfully firm, perfectly shaped, creamy smooth, and they rippled enticingly across their surface when they bounced. They were crowned with silver-dollar sized pink areolae. Her nipples were so swollen they looked like they would burst any second. I paid proper respects, gently kissing each one.

She began undoing my belt. I raised my eyes to hers, and said, "Are you sure?"

She answered by unzipping my shorts and pulling them off. She hadn't said anything about my rule being suspended, so now I was entitled to free her from her Daisy Dukes. They were so tight I had to wiggle them over her butt before they joined my shorts on the floor.

She hooked her thumbs in the elastic of my boxer briefs, and lifted her face to mine for another soul-stirring kiss. When our lips released, my underwear was on the floor, and my cock pointed at her navel. She gripped it and gulped. A range of emotions flashed across her face, but after a few moments it looked like cautious delight won out. She said, "Nice," but I think it was more to reassure herself than to compliment me.

It was my turn to free her from her panties, some slinky, low-rise, lacy black ones. I approached the task with all due reverence. I kissed her tummy below her navel, and when she didn't stiffen, hooked the elastic with my fingertips. I slowly pulled them down in the back only.

"Still sure?" I whispered.

Her eyes looked unfocused, and she was so deep in thought she couldn't seem to breathe. She finally exhaled slowly and nodded. Slow as Christmas, I drew them down. What emerged in front was a complete surprise: she had a full bush, neatly trimmed so it wouldn't leak out of a bikini. I hadn't seen that in years - every lady I had been with since I began college either had a narrow racing stripe or was shaved completely smooth.

When I first became sexually active, all girls, at least the ones I knew, had full, natural, untamed bushes. The first time I encountered a lady who shaved, I nearly came on the spot just from looking. It was the sexiest thing I had ever seen. Lately, though, being shaved is common - either shiny smooth or with half an inch of landing strip, an inch at most. Spencer's thatch was hypnotic. Face to face with it, all I wanted to do was stare. Now this was the sexiest thing in the world.

Her nether hair was fine enough that her slit peeked out. It was visibly engorged, a screaming hot shade of pink, with cute little crinkles of inner lips peeking out from the outer ones. I kissed the smooth skin right above her pubes.

"Joe..." she said, trembling, "Stop. I, I'm not ready. I want to be, but... "

"I understand," I said, partially telling the truth. Obviously I had much to learn before I could fully understand.

"I-" she began, but I cut her off by pulling her in for a hug. She melted into it. She sat up, pushed the covers back, settled onto her pillow, and reached for me.

There are few gestures as honestly tender as being reached for. Words can be false, nakedness doesn't always indicate feelings of closeness, and there are so many ulterior motives for sex it is unreliable as a sign of affection. But I've never known being reached for to be anything but a pure, sweet statement of warmth. I reached for her as well.

Once again, she fell asleep, leaving me alone with my thoughts. They congealed into a minor revelation. Her bizarre combination of eagerly initiating things then fearfully shrinking from them made sense if I sorted the things she had told me into a linear story: she had been sexually traumatized, she aggressively wanted to be back to 'normal,' she had taken a year mentally working through things, tonight was her first time with a live guy since the abuse, and turning her mental recovery into practice was harder than she expected. Sleep came easier for me with a realistic hope that she was on a healthy course, hopefully near a breakthrough.

: : : : :

We slept until mid-morning. She fixed us breakfast in bed, fresh fruit with a yogurt and honey sauce. We made a real date for the following Friday night, but didn't decide what we'd do - she wanted me to surprise her.

Resting her head on my chest, she said, "I'm embarrassed at how emotional I got." She struggled to find words. "And I'm mortified that I didn't... couldn't... follow through... with actual... sex. I've worked so long, and so hard, I really thought I was over the damage Sam did to me. I guess not... I feel like an idiot... I'm a failure..."

"You said this is your first time since him, right?" She nodded. "That doesn't make you a failure. Give yourself a break - he obviously put you through hell. Anyone would struggle to overcome that. I can see how hard you're working."

At her door, she said, almost whispering, "Please don't cancel on Friday." I promised I wouldn't, and kissed her. It was another great one.

To say I thought about her the rest of the day would be a laughable understatement.

: : : : :

The apartments I live in are gated. That might sound ritzy and elite, but it's not. In this part of town, all but the very cheapest apartment complexes are. There are two ways to enter. The residents' lane has a keypad where we enter a personal passcode to raise the gate. Visitors drive up to a guardhouse and give their name and who they are visiting. The guard phones the resident to approve entry.

Imagine my surprise, then, when Sunday evening there was a knock on my door. I hadn't authorized anyone through the gate, and I never interacted with my neighbors. I looked through the peephole, and opened it as soon as I saw who it was. "Spencer!"

She looked incredibly nervous. I stood aside and said, "Come in."

She looked around my apartment and saw it was relatively neat. Obviously, since I wasn't expecting her, I couldn't have straightened up on her behalf. She said, "Wow. This how you keep your place?"

Turning on the charm, I said, "Um, yeah."

"I'm impressed. Where are the empty pizza boxes and beer cans?"

I laughed, but I wondered many things, such as how she found my apartment, how she got past the gate, and what was on her mind.

"My apartment requires me to have a land line for the guard to call when there are visitors. I thought yours might, too, so I looked you up. Old school - you're in the phone book. There are only two J. Bloes listed, and according to the GPS on my phone, the other one lives in a house on the far side of town."

I nodded. She continued, "And over the summer I had a part-time job delivering pizza."

I didn't get it. She explained, "There's a 'pizza code' for the gates - all the apartments and all the pizza joints use the same number. The drivers don't get delayed, and the guards don't have to confirm multiple pizza deliveries every night."

"That makes sense," I said.

"So, what am I doing here?" She was answering my questions in order - was she reading my mind? "I have this sliver of a memory, from what feels like a long, long time ago. I remember these amazing hugs, and some world-class snuggling. It's a faint memory, though."

"Friday night does seem like a long time ago, doesn't it?"

"Yes," she barely whispered.

I drew a breath to offer her a seat and something to drink, but she was so nervous she couldn't stop talking. The more she said, the faster she spoke. "I remember these amazing hugs, and this incredible snuggling, and I felt really safe with you, and I'm not used to feeling safe with guys, I mean I used to, but that really was a long time ago, and I've had a terrible time since then, and I really want to be able to feel safe again, and-"

"Spencer..." I interrupted softly but firmly, gripping her shoulders. For a second we both just awkwardly stood there. She looked panicked, and I hoped I hadn't spoken too harshly. I held out my arms, and she melted into them.

She trembled as I held her. I pushed her shoulders back from my chest to kiss the tears from her cheeks, but what I saw was a huge smile - she was laughing. "I babble when I'm nervous. You were perfect cutting me off - firm, but gentle."

She leaned back into my chest. "Yes," she said, squeezing me. "This I what I remember. I wasn't sure if my memory was exaggerating, or if I really felt this comfortable. Mmmm, I was right - this is heaven."

I had DVR'd the latest episodes of a couple of the TV shows we both watch. We cuddled on the couch and watched them together. When they were over I said, "I have an 8:00 class tomorrow."

"I do too."

"I see you brought a gym bag. Is that a change of clothes?"

Very shyly, she said, "Yes."

"Would you like to stay?"

She barely whispered, "Yes."

I stood and held out my hand. She took it, and I pulled her to her feet. When we got to the bedroom she didn't waste any time. "Will you undress me?"

I began with her denim mini-skirt. I unbuttoned and unzipped it. I slowly eased it over her sweet hips half an inch at a time, revealing her panties - lacy red this time. I dropped her skirt to the floor, and she stepped out of her shoes, kicking them and the skirt to the side.

I repeated from Friday night, "Are you sure?"

"Yes," she said, not very convincingly. "Pretty sure," she corrected.

I kissed her. She responded enthusiastically. Good - so far, no stress.

Her top was like a t-shirt but nicer, with a wide neck surrounded by elegant stitching. I lifted her hands over her head and left them there, tracing my fingertips down to the hem of her shirt. Looking into her eyes I saw calm, so I lifted it past her tummy and bra, which was red to match her panties. As her face emerged from the neck I kissed her again.

Freed from her shirt, she wrapped her arms around me, pulling me tight against her chest as our kiss reached new heights. I broke the kiss to say, "You're the best kisser I've ever known," and she blushed.

I reached under her panties and cupped her butt, and feeling no tension, worked my hands up to her bra and unhooked it. I eased the straps off her shoulders, and slouched my back to separate our chests slightly so I didn't have to break our kiss to drop the bra on the floor.

I still had my shirt on, so I couldn't feel her breasts on my chest. I started to pull my shirt up, but she said, "Nuh uh. If your rule is any kind of fair, then it should work both ways."

"Both ways?"

"You get to undress me, I get to undress you."

It seemed like a wonderful idea. Leaving her panties on for the moment, I lifted my hands in the air. She slowly, teasingly, sensuously pulled my shirt over my head. She kissed each of my nipples briefly, distracting me from noticing that she was pulling my running shorts down. That was when she found my little 'in for the evening alone' secret. "Oooh, commando!" she squealed.

Invoking my rule, I kissed each of her nipples. I knelt in front of her and kissed her tummy right above her navel. I could feel her breasts resting on my scalp. I gazed upward at her face, framed inspiringly between her boobs. I hooked my fingers in the elastic of her panties, and asked, "Still sure?"

She nodded.

Slowly, slowly, slowly, I slid them down. Her bush surprised me again - I had forgotten about it. It still looked sexy as hell. Her personal bits peeked out, more engorged and brighter pink than before. Little droplets of arousal clung to the nearest hairs. Whatever reluctance she was feeling, it was all psychological - physically, she was freakin' ready to ride.

I stood and took her by the hand. She stepped toward my bed, but I stopped her - I had other plans first. I lifted her hand over her head and twirled her slowly in a circle, a partner-dance move done to an impossibly slow tempo. I blatantly checked out her body, front and rear, as she pirouetted. I found the moment, both of us naked, taking my time to study the fine details of her body, almost unbearably exciting. My dick felt like it was going to burst.

Her breasts were perfect: large, round, and somehow soft and firm at the same time. Her waist curved elegantly down to her luscious hips, her tummy was both flat and soft, leading down to her sweet blonde triangle, and her ass was a soul-stirring, firm, round, succulent treasure. Its shape was perfect, its skin fabulously smooth. "So beautiful..." I said in a low voice that I hoped sounded sexy.

"Why Hugh, are you an ass man?" she said teasingly.

"With you I am," I replied. She blushed. "And a face man, and a breast man, and a waist man, and a quim man-"

"Quim?" She giggled. "What kind of word is 'quim'?"

"Somehow 'pussy' seems too crude to describe something so delicate and sweet."

She blushed again. "'Quim' it is, then." Her laughter trailed off as I leaned in to kiss her again.

Compliments always seemed to surprise her. I thought that more of them would be good for her psyche. As we eased onto the bed, I said, "I have to say, I've never had this much fun just getting undressed with someone before - you're amazing." She glowed in response.

I nudged her onto her back and settled in beside her. I stroked her face and leaned in for another kiss, this one as light as I could make it - lip barely brushing lip. She sighed into my mouth. I vowed to take my time and make this an exquisite experience for her... well, actually, for both of us.

I kissed down her cheek, under her chin, and down her neck. I cupped a breast and lightly brushed the nipple with my fingertips. I kissed the other one, brushing my lips from side to side across it, feather-light. She moaned, very throaty, almost a purr.

I continued teasing her nipple with my fingers, and began easing my mouth downward, kissing continuously. When I reached her navel I kissed a circle around it, flicking my tongue as I went. I massaged her hips with both hands, caressing her gentle curves. I began to kiss lower, down her tummy, and that's when the train came off the track. Her body stiffened and her thighs clamped tightly shut. She turned onto her side, her back to me, blocking me from any possibility of continuing to romance her lower body. She moaned again, this time in despair rather than pleasure.

I slid up alongside her, and gently pulled her shoulder so she faced me. I was afraid she would push me away, but she pulled me in, and rested her forehead on my shoulder, clearly distraught.

"What did I do wrong?"

It took her a moment to form an answer. "Nothing," she murmured, "nothing. I'm just, I'm just... shit, I don't know, I'm just fucked up. I'm damaged goods."

Using my gentlest tone, I stated the obvious. "This has to do with Sam, right?" She nodded. "Obviously, he forced you to have sex even when you didn't want to."

She nodded.

"Did you know that's rape?"

Her eyes widened. She shook her head. "He was my boyfriend. I was his girlfriend."

I kept my voice soft and even. "His girlfriend, Spencer, not his whore or his slave. Even if you had married him, if he forced you to have sex when you didn't want to, that's rape."

She nodded, almost imperceptibly. "I'm lucky I didn't marry him. I mean, he never asked, I don't think marriage ever crossed his mind, but if he had asked, I, um... I probably would have said yes."

"That wouldn't have been pretty."

She nodded and began explaining. "When I met him, things were fine, for months, until I moved in with him. Actually, things weren't fine, there were obvious clues that he wasn't the nicest person in the world, but I didn't notice.

"The second or third week I lived with him, he had his biker friends over for poker. He asked me to keep them set up with beers and snacks, and I was fine with that. Later in the evening, though, he demanded I serve them topless. I didn't want to, but he ripped my shirt and bra off.

"He was on a losing streak. I heard him raise the next bet, and some of the guys barked at him that he didn't have enough money." She took a deep breath. "He said, 'If I lose the hand, Spencer will blow the winner.' I charged in and said, 'Not gonna happen!' He backhanded me, knocked me to the floor. By the time the evening was over, he had me blow them all."

She paused, staring at the floor, avoiding my eyes. "Are you sure you want to hear this?" I nodded.

"The next day, he didn't exactly apologize, but he sort of implied that maybe he might have gone too far. I should have left him then... duh! But I had no money, and nowhere to go. And I had no experience with anybody that abusive, so I had no idea how bad it could get."

The further she got into her story, the quieter she spoke, and the more monotone - all the expressiveness left her voice.

"Next time he had them over, it was Monday Night Football. Blowjobs for all the guys again. No apology this time."

"Jeez, Spencer, you put up with that?"

"What I've learned is, he was a classic manipulator/abuser. When his friends weren't around, he was kind, he was affectionate, he was generous, more than enough to string me along. The nice things he did - always in private - kept me from realizing how badly I needed to get out.

"The worst was another poker game. I refused to blow any of his friends, so he knocked me to the floor - again - and tied me to the bed, spread-eagle, with my head hanging off the side. He cut my clothes off while they stood around the bed cheering, and told them they could fuck me, anywhere they wanted - 'no holes barred,' he said. Um... are you still sure you want to hear this?"

Softly, I said, "Tell me the whole story now, and you'll never have to tell me again."

"Most of them fucked my pussy, he had never let them go there before. Several of them, though, fucked my mouth, even though I had blown them before. This was different - with my head hanging off the mattress, they could try to penetrate my throat. They laughed when I gagged, and with my face upside-down, they laughed when their balls bounced off my nose.

"One guy fucked my tits. He came all over my upper chest and neck. He gathered the blobs of goo on his fingers, and fed them into my mouth - needless to say, I wasn't allowed to spit it out. A couple of them tried to fuck my ass, but Sam had tied me too tight to the bed to manage that. They did stick their fingers way up into me back there." She blinked back more tears. "I moved out the next day."

"Did he come after you?"

"I'm sure he would have, but he went on a motorcycle rally that weekend. He lost control of his bike and had massive head and chest injuries. He was in a coma for five days before he died."

"Jeez," I said, "no wonder you stress over sex." I pulled her into a hug. "I'm amazed you're as functional as you are."

I held her for minutes upon minutes. Any words of comfort I could think of seemed hopelessly small and inadequate. All I came up with was simply to hold her some more.

She finally said, "Uh, Hugh?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I have a rule, too?"

"Of course."

She paused, deep in thought. "Could you let me do the initiating? I mean sexually. Could I be the one to start things, each step of the way?"

"Of course."

"Except kissing." I nodded. "You can kiss me any time."

I kissed her, and said, "Good. I like that."

"And hugging. Hug me any time you want to."

I hugged her. "I like that too."

She smiled. "But from undressing onward, let me initiate things? For now. Until I get better."

"Sure. That's a good idea."

"Are you sure it's okay?"

I said, softly, "How about we try it? If it doesn't work, we'll change it."