Pink Pearl

"I said before that I need to come out of my shell, and I am trying to. And I have been following your advice. I am using my fantasy now, to think of things I would do or should do. I imagine myself being able to walk up to someone, smile at them, feeling good about how I look and that I know what to say." She turned and looked at me just then, "Do you like the way I look?"

"Yes."

She dropped back down, "This outfit is new."

"It's very nice, beautiful."

"You have to say that . . .you're my brother. I want to buy a red skirt, I want to have my hair down at school so it hangs over my shoulder, and my eyes green. I want to put a little make up on. I want him to notice me as I walk up and sit by him."

"Who are we talking about?"

"That boy I told you about. Michael. I would sit by him. I think I would giggle." She laughed, "Even in my fantasy I \'d be nervous. But, now this is fantasy, I want to hold my arms around his neck and sit in his lap." She laughed.

I said, "I think that is the fantasies that are getting you into trouble."

She laughed again, "Oh, I could never DO that." I realized it had been a while since I had last heard her laugh.

At that moment she rolled onto her back, a kind of playful roll so she could look at me. This big smile on her face. Her white teeth and green eyes, sparkling. Her red lips.

"I decided I'm too shy."

I hadn't realized, but her top had been pushed up even with her bra strap as she lay on her stomach and let me rub her. Now, turned around, her entire tummy was exposed to me, and I could see from her navel up to the cups of her bra. I quickly looked away, and she was realizing as well. Her hands instinctively covering herself and her pink cheeks and teeth still smiling up at me, but more frozen. Like a small animal that had been spotted. And looking down she just said "Oh," and tugged her top down a little.

I blinked a few times, looking down and then back at her. We said nothing, and I sat over her as she lay on her back and slowly lay my hand at her tummy. "I'll start here," I croaked.

She smiled, "K. your hands are warm."

"Good." I could barely speak. My cheeks burning.

Something had changed in that moment. I realize it now. Somehow, this transition occurred. She had turned her head to the side and closed her eyes holding her chin in the air, and hands held flat at her side. I can remember this moment like it was yesterday. I stroked her tummy, reaching my hand up under her top, staying within the frame of the bottom of her ribs and the line of her skirt. The line of her skirt was just below her navel. I could see her belly button, her concave tummy, her hips were below the waistband. I drew these light very small circles with my hand there, watching the downy hairs move beneath my finger tips. So light and soft, they were dark like her hair and rising from her navel. The lightest fuzz. And then, I began to let my hand draw larger circles, curling my fingers around her sides and up along her rib cage. She turned her head back again, I froze, I was noticing her every movement, her every breath.

"This ok?"

"Yeah it's fine."

She made no move.

And I continued to softly touch her, rub her, pressing my fingers into her flesh, rising higher and higher through her center, over her tummy, watching her, seeing her skin in the soft light of the room. The windows were open, I was seeing more flesh than I had in quite awhile, and it was having an effect on me. I could feel myself getting warmer, feel my penis stiffen. But I was rationalizing it all. I let my hand slide up, tracing the line of her ribs and under her arms, just touching the edge of her bra there, where the strap widens. My heart was beating madly, and my hand was trembling but I continued. This was the first time I thought, 'Maybe I should stop.'

Her top rose higher still and I could see the cups of her bra again, and she knew they were visible. Only this time she did not move. She continued to lay there contentedly. Smiling. Eyes closed. Breathing deep.

I let my hands open a little wider too, both hands on her now just sliding softly on her body, and for the first time I let them graze up onto her breasts touching the fabric, just over the edge of fabric that was holding her breasts. It was at that moment that she opened her eyes and looked back at me.

I caught her gaze, we held this moment, looking into each others eyes, before I said, "Sorry."

She took a deep breath, saying nothing, and then turning her head a little, closed her eyes again. Permission?? No. Yes. It didn't matter. It doesn't matter. This was ridiculous. I had to stop.

But instead of stopping and getting up and going downstairs, I convinced myself to simply continue rubbing her tummy, staying back on a path of small circles. This was ok. This was helping, It was ok. This was ok. I kept thinking of that.

But, then my hand began to wander again, just the littlest bit. First following the waistband of her skirt, one side then the other; and then feeling the edge of her hip bone over the fabric again. That concave space over her abdomen, over the fabric between her hip bones, just before the little mound, the little rise between her legs. In one little moment I touched, let myself 'caress' her bare navel and tipped my finger just under the hem of the top of her skirt to do it. At that very moment, she brought her hand up, and took my hand in hers, lay set it back on her stomach.

"Sorry," I said again. I was blushing crimson I know it. I had gone to far. Was she mad? I took my hands away from her.

She said, "S'alright, it tickled. That's all." And then, rising from the bed she swung her legs around. "We should stop." She pulled her top down around herself.

I rose up from the bed, I wanted to apologize, but then it would be like an admission of thoughts I had, of I didn't know what to call it. Thoughts I did not want her to think I had.

I just said, "Ok."

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

She did not show up the next day. I was watching out the window for her, I even went outside and stood out in the street, looking. Nothing. She did not come. I was nervous. She had come every day for weeks. Her absence pained me. I went back inside. Looking out the window again. Watching.

It was because of yesterday. I was wracked with guilt. I went back outside and walked toward her school, it was another windy, cold day. I pulled my coat around me and wandered around, what had I done.

It was really awful.

She did not arrive the next day either, and so that evening I called.

"Hello."

"Lisa, Hi . . . it's Matthew." And then I froze, why was I calling? To ask why she didn't come over?? Why would she think I was expecting her too? She never came to the house more than once a week previously. It had only been over the past weeks that had been the case. Why should I be expecting more.

But now here I was, silence extending. She was on the phone with me. I was committed, "I was. I was just wondering where you were this afternoon?" I asked. Even as I said it I thought I should not have.

"At Home."

That is no answer. It didn't help, that was all she said.

"You doing alright, I mean..."

"Fine."

"Ok then. Bye."

I felt like an idiot. She had stopped me. What I had done was completely inappropriate. She would not be able to talk to me now, my trust violated. What kind of pastor would I be. I was in a frenzy, and then....Mandy came home.

She had no idea what was going on.

"What's for dinner?"

Shit. (I can't believe I had forgotten). I had done no planning. Dinner was my responsibility since I was the one at home in the afternoon. Now what would I say?

"I was writing a paper, and lost track of the time."

A lie. I was lying now. I began to sweat. A stiff smile on my lips.

"Need me to help edit?"

Shit. She always helped me with my papers. This was out of control.

"I thought we could go out tonight, I am tired of sitting around the house."

She looked at me, quizzically. I never wanted to go out. I never thought of things like this.

"You all right?"

"I'm FINE."

"Ok. We'll go out." She left, eyeing me, "Be right back. Let me change."

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

The entire week went by without Lisa stopping by.

I went over to my parents house and she was out with friends. Mandy was not happy with my moods. And to top it off, I could not stop thinking about that afternoon I had Lisa laying on our bed, rubbing her stomach, feeling the softness of her, that singular moment my hand slid under the edge of the top of her skirt. I thought of how low my finger tips had gone. I would lay in bed at night and think one inch below her navel. Two? My middle finger, maybe it was more. I looked at my abdomen. Where would that be? Oh god! Too far. When Mandy was in bed with me I was rubbing her at night now, she was liking that, no sex just soft massages and cuddling. It was really having a positive effect on our relationship.

(How can something so wrong have a positive effect . . .)

But I would lay my hand on Mandy where I knew my fingers had been on Lisa. That place just below her navel. And holding my hand there. But it was dark. I could not see.

And then. . .

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

Lisa was standing at my door. Her absence, then presence. A kind of happiness flooded me. I let her in, looking at her could see her eyes were red.

"The last few days have been bad Matthew. I haven't been good."

"I thought you might be mad at me?"

"What!" The look on her face was utter confusion.

I had been wrong about that and let it drop. "It was just that. I hadn't heard from you and when I called. . ."

"Dad was in the room. I can't exactly talk about my problems with him there. I thought you would get the hint and call me back. I just figured you were busy, and I had been feeling so happy, so good. So . . . And you know what, you are right. It is stress. I was better after that SAT test, but then last Monday I had another test, and it did not go so well. But it did not go well for the whole class. He is letting it be a do-over. But I don't feel I will be doing any better. I had headaches from worry, and then . . ."

She let the silence speak for what had happened as she walked into the room, sitting down by me. She began, "I've been praying, I have. And you are right Matthew, when I left here the other week, I felt like I was not even walking on the ground. I was so happy, I got home and cleaned up and went to bed, and . . . just fell asleep. So . . ."

She rose again and stepping toward the upstairs door, looking back at me, "Can we . . .? I mean, I felt so much better."

"Uh, yeah. Yeah. Sure." I set my cup of coffee down.

"You want another massage? Is that it?" My heart was pounding in my throat. Here she was standing before me, kicking her shoes off. And we went up the stairs, she walking ahead of me.

She had another skirt and top. The top was loose, still buttoned to the collar. Her skirt was pleated, striped, still at her knees. She took her socks off too, was barefoot and lay down quickly on the bed with her hands out by her sides.

She was looking back at me and smiling. I felt a slight erection just from the sight of her, and the feeling of guilt was still lodged in my gut.

Go back downstairs.

I walked over and sat at the edge of the bed. "This is all right then?"

"What?"

She didn't move as she said that, and I sat down beside her and lay my hand on her back, and without saying a word, pushed her top up higher as I did. My heart soaring with the softness of her skin, and rubbing her bare back up through her spine. I paused at her shoulder blades. She had no bra on. That was my immediate realization. I had this moment where I sort of felt around. Said nothing, as I ran my hands over her utterly bare back. I realized her breasts were not covered, would she turn around?

My hands felt numb and my heart was racing, tipping my hands around her sides just under her arms. Nothing. Bare skin. This week had been too emotional for me. I was a man of thought, these feelings, I didn't even know what was happening. Lisa had been gone for a week. I hadn't talked to her. I thought she was mad at me for . . . touching her below her navel one time, and there is no way I could share any of these feelings.

Lisa was oblivious.

I managed, "So is anything else going on? You were crying."

"Mmmm. No. Nothing else. Oh, I was going to try talk to Michael. I had it all worked out, and then I couldn't do it. So I am mad at myself about that too. I was crying about that, and then realizing that I am not, well . . . behaving right. I started to go to a Bible Group at school and thought that would be good. I like the people there fine. I'll keep going."

"Good. Good." I said in rote. I could feel her pressing up into my hand as I moved on her, the lightest pressure meeting my touch, telling me these stories as I was rubbing her shoulders, and curling my fingers over the top of her shoulders beneath her top. I had her top lifted now so that it was even with her underarms, just across the bottom of her shoulder blades, and I began to look at her, her narrow waist. I loved the way her back curved, the color of hair falling about her shoulders. I noticed the waistband of her skirt was just the tiniest bit lower, hanging just above her hips. She lay there before me, it almost looked as if she had no top on at all. I realized she was wearing her hair down.

"Your hair is down, like you wanted it."

"Yeah everyone loves it this way."

I began rubbing her sides now, up her sides, her bare skin. I was not NOT going to touch her inappropriately, like last time. I was sliding my hand along her side up toward her underarms and was just about to stop, when she snapped her arms down over my hands.

"Tickles."

I was paralyzed, I had gone too far. What was happening, and then I stayed to the center of her back to the small of her back, and feeling her press into my hand, her closed eyes. In all my turmoil, I was still in heaven.

"Mmmmm. This is soo nice. I'm sorry I haven't had more time to stop over. There's been a lot of drama between dad and me. He is not happy that I am letting my hair down and wearing, I guess, more revealing clothes."

"Like?"

"Like what I got on now."

I thought about the top and skirt, I thought about the bra.

"So maybe I should have called you?" She looked back at me.

"No. No. I've been busy too. I was wondering a bit, a little worried maybe." There was hurt in my voice. I hadn't intended for there to be.

She rolled over just then and sat there, without warning, and her top was lifted high, exposing her middle, just across the bottom of her breasts, she pulled her top down a little. "I have been neglectful, and I'm sorry. It seems like no matter how hard I try to be there for everyone, someone gets neglected."

"No that is not it at all. I don't expect you to come here every day. I wasn't neglected. Don't think that."

It was at this very point that I wanted to say, we should go downstairs. Again, just at that moment. Go get some coffee. And in fact, my very next breath would have carried those words, but then . . .

She was pulling her top down, and asking, "Can you do my legs?" And she began to lay back down, but I realized she was not going to lay on her tummy. I realized that she probably did not want me to do her middle for the obvious reason that I had been indiscrete. I felt guilty all over again.

I simply said, "Alright."

Even as I said that I wanted to correct myself and say, we had to go downstairs. But she began sliding herself higher on the bed and I noticed her bare feet. Her skirt was at her knees.

I began at her calves.

"My legs are stiff for some reason, must be the cold." I curled my hands around each leg and rubbing her feet first, then her ankles and her calves. I was wondering about the skirt, and the bottom hem laying across her knees, I continued to rub her legs over and over and over. She would lift each foot up and I would hold her leg in my hands. I kept looking at the hem of the skirt. That line. I kept looking and trembling.

Skin to skin, the warmth of her rising around me. And then I was rubbing her knees and letting my fingers, just their tips rise up beneath her hem.

"This alright?"

I must have asked that with guilt in my voice. She sort of smiled and looked at me. I had my hand laying just under her skirt. "Yeah. I asked you to rub my legs."

So I began rising my hands up on her thighs, each leg, one at a time. First one inch above her skirt, two inches above her skirt. I could feel every muscle, she slid her legs open slightly and with each stroke up her thigh her skirt rose, one inch, two inches, three. I went so slowly. Little squeezes, not hard but a pressing of my fingers into her, and then down the whole length of her legs, and her feet again.

"So is being an adult pretty much a crazy juggling act?"

It was then, at that moment she asked this that I could just see her panties, this shadowed view of the crotch of her panties. They covered her completely, were white. Harmless really. Her skirt was at least six inches above her knees, bunched up in the middle. I looked at her, eyes closed. She had just spoken to me. Her breathing was soft. She was waiting for an answer.

At first my mind was utterly blank. My voice was odd in my ears, "Yes. Pretty much. But it's . . .uh. . . the changes. It's the change that is confusing. Once you...uh....get into like school, uh, college, it sort of . . ."

My voice trailed off.

She began again, "It all seems really hard to me. So much at the same time." She rattled off how she would have to pay bills, own a car, a house, or rent, food, groceries, raise a family, be married. "It just seems impossible."

"Not all at once," I said as I continued to stroke her to rub her, and focusing now on the inside of her thighs, and eying her panties. She had to know. At the moment I touched the inside of her thighs I felt her tense, and her voice trail off. She was silent. I paused slightly, measuring her, waiting for her hand to move me away, to close her legs. Something. But her movements began to match my touch, pressing her leg against me, the slight undulation of her hips. I watched her tip her chin higher and her breathing become heavier as I lay my hand high up on her thighs, so that my finger tips were touching the edge of her panties.

I began to stroke my thumb down the inside of her thigh, over and over and over. She letting me.

I watched as her hips began to move more noticeably, still the slightest of movements, but I loved the look of it, the way she moved to my touch, this tipping of her hips as I kept rubbing her there. Soft, steady firm. We said nothing. I kept rubbing the inside of her thighs. At one point I was going to let my hands drift down the length of her legs again. But as I began to move lower, she breathed out, "No. Just. . . Keep doing that."

So I did. Gradually more insistently, this steady rhythm that she was matching in her movements, her chin was turned up and she lay her hands across her middle. Her top was still raised and her hands were moving lightly on her stomach. And after about ten minutes, she opened her eyes and looked at me. We stared at the other, said nothing. I was utterly breathless, and to be honest I was unable to talk. My thumb on each thigh was pressing up high, not over the fabric, but I was following the line of her panties right at her thigh, each side of her labia, as high as I could without moving my fingers from where they were - no further - the line I had lay in the sand. It was a rapid movement now, steady, and her breathing was getting heavier. She was getting so hot and warm and moving as I rubbed her, pressing in. Undulating her body, up and down. Breathing faster.