A long wait.

An attractive brunette woman passed by me on the street today, and for some reason the way her wispy, dark, straight hair caught itself behind her ear caught my attention. Several short, swaying strands peeked from behind her lobe as she casually strutted down the street, and while she walked by, I also noticed the full thickness of her dramatic eyebrows above her dark eyes.

When I turned away, the distant memory of Danielle suddenly awakened in me.

Blake, Danielle, and me were almost inseparable friends during my junior year of high school. Danielle was Blake's girlfriend, and then as now, she remains one of the quietest women I have ever known. She was friendly, smart, and articulate when she actually said something. She had a radiant, friendly smile that would warm your heart, even if only for having broken through her shyness. Danielle was, in a word, sweet.

Of average height, she nevertheless had broad, strong shoulders and impressive arms. In sharp contrast to her vibe, she was built like a wrestler with a thick but firm midsection and trunk-like thighs on her strong legs. A plain-faced brunette with shoulder-length wavy hair, her voice was deep and resonant (when she used it), her eyes dark, her brows thick, her jawline strong and chiseled.

Despite being seventeen or so and only fairly recently having had my virginity taken, I still could sense a sexual tension between us. I never acted on it. There was one afternoon when the three of us hung out at Danielle's parents' house in Staten Island where the tension thickened enough that Blake was hinting about (what would pass for, in our high-school libidos, as) a threesome, but it never went past the wink-wink, speeding-palpatations, what-if-what-if stage.

Blake and Danielle graduated. I stayed in school for a few more months because I had been academically naughty. Blake followed in his father's footsteps and became an actor. I'm not quite sure what Danielle did. My plans to enlist in the U.S. Navy fell through and eventually I began working the renaissance festival circuit, meet Diva, and start a new life. The three of us gradually lost touch.

Fast-forward by ten years.

I've moved from New York to Massachusetts to New Jersey, and I'm on the campus bus while attending university. Things with Diva and I have ended, I'm newly-single, and I'm finishing up my last semester before planning a trip to Canada. It's a bright spring day, my backpack full of anthropology and medieval art history textbooks is killing me, I'm thinking about this paper I have to write about German mythology, and I look over my shoulder only to spy... Danielle.

She hadn't changed a bit: still shy, still quiet, still built like a killer wrestler, and still possessing that same radiant smile when she realizes who's staring, open-mouthed, at her as she rides the bus. I take over the seats in front of her and we begin to catch up in the way old friends are suppoed to do. It's very cool. We exchange numbers. Later, we talk, and we set a date to go for drinks and hang. Drinks become dinner.

We talk about the time she, Blake, and I were in high school drama class together. We had an improv assignment randomly thrust upon us by the instructor: "The three of you are on the subway when one of you begins reading a pornographic magazine." Before the class, the three of us sat side-by-side with me in the center. We rocked and jeered to the movement of the "train" as I "opened" the "magazine." Blake acted like an exhausted office worker, his head lolling side to side before eventually falling to my shoulder as he snored. Danielle behaved demurely and shocked as I leafed through the "pages." Catching her glimpsing, I offered her the "magazine" itself, which she rebuffed dramatically, only to snatch it from my hands and "drool" after I reached the "centrefold page."

That memory brought us to that afternoon in Staten Island. I felt our long-lost sexual tension rebuilding. Our night was ending. She had taken us back to the house she was sharing with some other women.

No one else was home when we got there. We went immediately to her appallingly tiny room. A desk and a bed.

I had my hands in my pockets, leaning against a wall, and was staring at my boots when I opened up about how that tension left me feeling when we were in high school. She grew quiet again, looking at me from the corner of her dark eyes, trying to hide a faint smile. She nodded silently.

The pit of my stomach was tight as I leaned closer and kissed her. Her eyes shut immediately as she leaned against the opposite wall. Her round breasts were firm and full against my chest as I pulled her closer, her tongue tentatively darting across my lips.

It had been a while since I had enjoyed a lover, but I sensed that it had been even longer for her. Her breathing deepened as she began to pant, her body vibrating with the low moans inside her throat. She was shaking slightly, and it wasn't long before thick, dark nipples were straining past her bra and poking through her white Tshirt. As I caressed her strong torso, I slowly tugged the shirt from out of her dampening jeans, clutching her sexy tummy in my fingers as my other hand drew the cotton upwards and over her head. She slipped out of her bra as I pulled her desk chair under me, holding her hips as I brought my face to her warm and taut stomach.

I love raining kisses on sexy tummies. My hands explored her warm chest, her strong back, her denim-covered legs and ass as I pressed my face into her. She undid the elastic that held my hair tight on my scalp. Her face yearned with desire. Her panting became louder when my fingers began to undo the snaps of her jeans while I looked up and into her eyes.

"I've wanted to do this for years," I said, slowly lowering her pants to her ankles. Her panties were plain, white, modest, and so very in character with this quiet, shy, reserved old friend of mine. On her, its plainness was perfect, like her un-made-up face, her Converse sneakers, her functionally simple bra, her basic Tshirt. Danielle was a woman without pretense, without ego, without statements to make or attitudes to project. She was simply herself, fully fundamental, completely free.

And so it was no surprise to me to discover, after I set her against the edge of her desk and pressed my face firmly to the dark mound under her panties, that she was completely unshorn, copious, and natural. I sucked in the air through my nostrils as my mouth opened against the cotton, and her feral, clean musk filled my lungs and made me heady in ecstacy.

Her scent was clean but deep, full and spicy, and somehow I knew that hers wouldn't be a polite, pink orchid but a textured compote of opened dates and split mulberries drizzled in dark, raw honey. The cushion under her panties told me that hers wouldn't be a bare peach but a wild, frenzied, lush forest keeping its tender treasures from easy view and access. I would have to earn my way to her secrets. I started to lower her plain panties.

She bent down to kiss me again. "What are you doing?" she asked in a fast whisper. I stopped.

I licked my lips and smiled. "I'm want to taste you, Danielle. Is that ok?" I kissed her thigh. I bit her playfully. Her eyes widened, her face immediately flushed red, she started panting more, and she breathlessly clued me in.

"No one's ever done that to me before."

Positively criminal. If Blake were there, all these years later, I would have smacked him upside the head. I settled in for a long ride.

"Are you ok?"

She nodded rapidly, her eyes as wide as plates, her face as red as candy. I licked my lips, closed my eyes, tilted my head, and brought the cotton to her calves. Looking into her face, I held each thigh in my hands as I parted her legs. She leaned back to the wall behind her desk and lifted her knees. The lush and feral darkness that she revealed to me left me staring for a full, cock-thickening moment, and then I pressed my mouth to her core.

I was surrounded in her heady scent, and my slowly exploring tongue searched through her tight and dripping curls. My face was immediately wet, and she began to shudder even before I found her clit. Pressing my tongue against her mound, I caressed her thighs as she arched further back and brought her feet to the desk. Her legs tightened around my head, holding me in place while my tongue discovered her long clitoral shaft. It fit easily between my compressed wet lips as I gently moved my head downwards and upwards, tilted, flicking my tongue at either side of it and occasionally taking it into my mouth for a tender suck.

I swabbed her dark pussy with the fullness of my tongue, feeling and tasting her contours, swallowing the wetness that seethed from her depths. Soon, her hands were through my hair, and I had a moistened fingertip gently probing around her backdoor while I flicked my tongue rapidly against her. Her panting remained loud and heavy as she squirmed and yelped and gasped. She cried out to God. She cooed. She screamed when she came, and her face was now as red as a beet as I slowed down and eventually pulled back, my face drenched.

Her small bed creaked terribly, hysterically, when I was inside her. She clutched me tight and held me with her wrestler's legs as I felt my balls slapping against her ass. She was so drenched, and so tight, that I stopped several times to make certain that the condom was still in place because she was feeling so right. My fists were above her shoulders and she was pressing her face upwards and into my chest when I burst, dropping all of my weight to her thighs as I drove my cock as deeply as I could. It was my turn to be panting.

After the night ended, I could still taste her even after washing. I could still feel her wiry and soaked pubic fur against my face as I walked home.

I felt like something had come full circle, like something that was intended had finally been completed. I could never explain the reasons for the sexual tension between us when we were kids, but it was there, and we both had remembered it. A decade and a lifetime later, both of us out and then back into school again, we found ourselves on the same bus and by the end of that week were finally doing what we had wanted, but never spoke of before. Danielle and I finally fucked, and it was good.

We got together two or three more times after classes wound down. We never really dated. Perhaps it was my weird headspace at the time, still fresh from my seven-year relationship with Diva having just ended, or perhaps it was Danielle's conversational timidity, or both, but we never really talked too deeply about what we were doing. I was already visiting Canada for camping retreats, teaching workshops, and hanging with travelling friends in a band. My life was shifting, and over time, I lost touch with Danielle.

Another ten years has since passed by. Blake's father did a few films, some stage, and several episodes of Star Trek. Blake did a few films and some stage acting, but apparently ended his career for whatever reason.

I don't remember having the opportunity to say goodbye to Danielle. She may have never known that I moved from the States. I still regret losing the chance to make some closure, especially since her friendship has an important place in my young adulthood. I hope life has treated her well.



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