May

She reminded me of Maria de Medeiros who played Parisien diarist Anais Nin in "Henry and June". Big eyes set in a small face, lips perpetually puckered up in a petulant pout. Slim and smallish in build, May seemed to live up to her prissy Chinese name of Pretty Ice, as in cold, frigid, blue nosed even.

But in the darkness of the cinema hall, she reached between the buttons of my business shirt to stroke my bare chest. She was playing with my nipple. Her body leaned into mine, encumbered only by the armrest of our seats. Then suddenly her whole body went into spontaneous spasm, and I could feel her trembling through the length of her exploring arm. She had worked herself into an orgasm.

This was the same girl who had insisted I maintained a safe distance during our first date dancing at the Christmas party of a hotel function. When I sent her home soon after midnight, she told me she felt safe with me, that I was unlike other guys who would paw her like lustry primates.

I remained the gallant gentleman for several more dates, and often met after work to take in the evening movie. But not for long.

The show was about a cabaret, but everything else was a blur. What I recalled was reaching over, and into her neckline, to grasp her bare breast in one swift move. I had a glimpse of her tits when I picked her up at her home, when she bent down to wear her shoes, two forbidden fruit dangling in her loose bra. She caught my glance and looked down her own cleavage, and didn't seem to care less.

The soft cup was pleasurably pliable under my enfolding palm, and the warm of her flesh was emphasised by the cool air-conditioned cinema air. It was a wiseman who said anything more than a handful is a waste anyway. Index finger and thumb found the raised cylindrical knob of a nipple, and kneaded and pulled and tweaked it. The rough manipulative action of the digits did not appear to cause her any pain, perhaps it may have given her pleasure instead. I worked that firm teat like a push button on a control console, as if I could whip her into throes of ecstasy by my effort. After quite a while, the hand that massaged her left breast was reluctantly relocated and repositioned between her legs. The flesh of her smooth, bare thighs was surprisingly warm to the touch, with a hint of hot, moist perspiration. Working discreetly under her dress, I reached for the top elastic band of her panties, preparing to dive into the confines of her passion cove. But she would not allow me further access to her maidenhood, clamping her thighs stubbornly shut. I managed only to feel around the pubic growth of her mons, the apex of the erotic triangle denied by her sudden reserve. So near, yet so far. Her vaginal orifice couldn't have been more than a couple of inches from my finger tips. She consoled me by French kissing me full on the mouth, permitting me to violate her oral cavern with my tongue instead of letting me tunnel between her nether lips. When the show ended, my hair was all mussed up with the frentic activities in the dark. She asked coyly, "Did you enjoy the show?"

Dropping her off, I helped her retrieve her shopping bags from the boot in the rear of the car. As she was bending over, her behind stuck out enticingly at me. I laid both palms flushed on her cheeks, and gave her a start. But she remain frozen in that position, as my hands moved the fabric over her flesh, raising the hemline in the process. One hand glided down the crack of her buttocks and I ventured forth for the elusive slit through her flimsy underwear. Tracing the contours of her private folds, her labial majora felt full and plump to the touch, and I knew the sensitive clitoris would be somewhere within that musky valley. The bright street lights woke me to reality, and I couldn't really penetrate her with my index finger right in her driveway. As I drove away, the doleful eyes that stared at me through her gate made me wonder if she had wished for me to continue the carnal intention to fruition.

Linda

She drove the car off the road and flipped the Toyota on its side. And all because I laid my hand on the expanse of pale flesh on her inner thigh, exposed by her ultra short summer shorts. In Australia, they are called cheeky shorts, named so because a vast expanse of the derriere is uncovered for tantalizing tease. Linda was short and plump, not the ideal build for such attire, but it was summer, and all females were frisky, thanks to the stimulating rays of the sun after a winter of cardigans and knitted pullovers. She must have had an orgasm set off by the tactile contact, at a region so close to her crotch.

"It's your fault," she said in a whisper, so that Jerry was out of hearing range. It was not a rebuke, but more of a confession. Jerry had come along on the ride down south, partly as navigator, partly as the busybody he always was.

That night, poor Jerry had a real problem on hand with his moral scruples. When we thought he was fast asleep, I climbed into Linda's bed and assumed the missionary position. As we were both clothed, there was nothing we could accomplish except to excite each other with the friction and warm of each other's parts. She wrapped her arms around me in a tight embrace, while her legs cross over my buttocks, squeezing my masculine components against her pubic privates. Even in the heat of the night, I could feel the warm of her mons veneris building up, and the wetness seeping through her cotton pyjamas. Her barely suppressed moans drove Jerry crazy, and he crept outside to invoke divine help to prevent a sexual impropriety from being developed into full climatic conclusion. Linda had her satisfaction, but I had to postpone mine until another opportunity arose in the future.

The dastardly deed had to wait another two months.

Her rich father bought her a nice house with an attached pool. It was meant for her and her brother, but latter preferred to stay in a dormatory where the female roommates were quite liberal minded about cohabitation. Alone with her in a big house, we didn't waste the occasion for polite conversation. We resumed the physical position we were in two months ago, in her comfortable Queen size bed. This time I was stark naked, but she wore her man's pyjamas. She maintained her top should stay on, and playing with her small breasts through the cotton fabric didn't hold my attention for too long. Loosening the string of her pyjama bottom, I slipped it over her generous hips. This was new territory for me, and I wasn't really clear where I was heading. But she apparently knew better, and maneuvred our mating body parts so I was soon sliding my phallic shaft over her moistening crack. I was just gliding on wet flesh, and as I hardened and lengthened, the rod seemed to assume a target of its own. Suddenly I felt it was engulfed by an envelop of hot flesh, as if a tiny fist had it in an unrelenting grip.

"Now you have to marry me."

The words, spoken softly, woke me up from the delirium of pleasure. I raised my pelvis from her vestibule of heated passion, and discharged cupiously for a whole minute. In the darkness of the room, I could not tell if the discharge was seminal fluid or just urine. I dashed into the attached bathroom. The bright light there showed my penis in an angry state, the foreskin retracted fully to reveal the red and rigid shaft. I sat on the toilet seat, slightly confused, wondering why my penis was still ramrod hard, causing me a new pain I never felt before. Linda opened the toilet door, the soaked blanket unders her arms, and looked at the elongated protrusion between my legs. "I'm going to put it in the washing machine," she said, heading for the laundry room.

She must have known it was my first time, and did not want to embarass me with awkward questions. Instead, we changed into swim wear and headed for the pool in the middle of the night.

The water had it's cooling effect, but Linda was still staring at the bulge in my pants while I sat on the edge of the pool. Looking down, I noted that the bouyancy effect in the water produced a neat cleavage. She saw what I was looking at, and smiled. Joining her in the shallow end, I slipped her straps off, and clasped her naked breasts with my exploring hands, while our tongues intertwined in the embrace. Her nipples were teased into protuberant hardness, while my own erectile flesh stayed safety in my swimming trunks. She reached in with a free hand and coerced it into a blood engorged cylinder with expert finger work, pumping me vigorously until a milky white fluid oozed spasmically into the blue pool water.

Juliana

At dinner time a roommate told me that a new arrival in Perth was asking for my whereabouts. It had to be Juliana.

After washing up, we drove to the small house in the suburbs of Clarmemont, where she met me at the doorway with a big grin. She was staying with her host family before term started, and had just flew in over the weekend. I picked her light frame up by the waist and whirled her about while she laughed girlishly. It was my first body contact with her.

As I recalled , our dates back home were all primp and proper. We didn't even hold hands. The movie outings, the set lunches at Skillets, came about after our meeting at the week long conference outing in Fraser's Hill, Malaysia. There was the picture taken of her holding a stalk of a red rose at a flower bed, and one on a swing. Apparently these were significant moments for her, nevermind the fact I had also photographed other girls at that outing. When I packed my bags for Perth, it never crossed my mind I was leaving anyone special behind.

As it was the weekend, her host family suggested I stay over, as they expected we had much to catch up. We talked for a bit, and she told of me her girlfriends who I also met at Fraser's, and how each had settled down with careers and family. She chose to further her studies.
We were still chatting on her bed, after she changed into pyjamas. It never occurred to us that we were in dangeriously close proximity, something that was taboo back home. In that small room in a foreign country, we seem to have adapted to a new value system. After a while, we just laid quietly next to each other on her single bed.

She let me unbutton her top. Her small breasts came into view in the dim light. The last time I saw them was when we were fooling around in her house, and I chanced sighting the pendulous twin orbs through the neckline of her loose pyjamas. She never wore her bra when in sleeping clothes. I couldn't figure then why they were dangling so freely. My innocent mind had imagined they were firmly mounted on her chest. My exploring hands confirmed they were of modest proportion, not the overripe melons of Hollywood fantasy. I kissed the top of the slopes. "Don't touch the nipples," she announced quietly, defining the permissible zone for the night's explorations. I stripped off my T-shirt and jeans, and removed her pyjama bottom. Her pantie stays, another rule established. I pressed my whole body against her flesh, the hardening rod parked between her legs. My lips explored her breast again. This time she did not object when I wondered onto her forbidden brown nipples. Pinching with fingers and sucking with my mouth, I ventured to stir them into life, expecting them to be aroused into the stiffness of my shaft below.

We were to fall sleep in that posture, my face snuggled against the enveloping warm flesh of her breasts, my erect penis nuzzled against her nether lips, held safe at bay by her cotton panties.