Wanda Completed
   
     There was a sudden snow in early November;  it did not last
long, but long enough that Anne Shimura slipped and broke her leg. 
She was young and healed fast, but it still meant that she spent
some time out of school and about six weeks staying home at nights.
David volunteered to bring her homework assignments to her and
carry the completed ones back, though he didn't share any of her
classes.  With her parents continually chaperoning, they obviously
could not continue their physical explorations, but they could
still stay in contact in ways that didn't involve much contact.  So
Dave turned in other directions for the duration.                 
   
     David Whitley had known Wanda Skolnik for two years, though he
had never asked her out.  He wore down her resistance to dating
during a three-hour study session with her, fixing a tough research
problem.  She did want to get back into a social life, she liked
him, and she got a testimonial letter from Suzanne Elgin (amicably
parted now) that David was fair and aboveboard about making passes.
     That letter was not his idea, but it may have helped a lot. 
Suzanne and Wanda were good friends.     
     David dated Wanda on Friday and Saturday nights for a month
and he was careful to get, well, less physical than usual.  Just
kisses and a few touches, and any frustration he had he could
work out by hand after he got home.  He wanted to do a lot more
with her, but he could wait.  She was very attractive and sweet,
and he felt it would be a loss to the world if she were turned off
to men by his haste.     
     David was a perfect gentleman.  He was polite, solicitous, and
very careful about not going too fast.  At the end of that month,
on a Friday night, Wanda invited him into her living room with her
father asleep upstairs, and she felt the stirring inside her that
she had felt for Doug on the night of her birthday.   
     She felt ashamed at first, then decided that the stirring was
natural.  She just didn't have to do anything about it.  In that
month, David had never even kissed her.   
     She was nervous, and knew that she was.  To force herself to
relax a bit, she stood up from the couch and kicked her shoes off,
spreading her toes.  David also stood then, not quite touching her,
as he barely had all evening.  Wanda was not sure if that made
things better or worse.  She turned to face him, but looked at the
floor instead of his face. 
     They swayed closer as they stood, yearning toward each other. 
     "Wanda," David murmured achingly, too low for anyone else to
hear.  "Wanda, look at me." 
     She looked up, meeting his gaze with a quick, sliding glance
that never quite connected.   
     David sighed.  He couldn't touch her now.  He couldn't turn
her chin up and demand that she look him in the eyes.  Couldn't ask
her why the thought of his passion, and her own undeniable response
to it, made her still so suspicious and afraid.   
     "I think I'd better be going.  Walk me to the front door?"   
     Wanda hesitated.   
     She was stiff with anxiety by the time they reached the bottom
step, wondering if he would try to kiss her, wondering if she would
let him.   
     "I won't if you really don't want me to," David said.   
     She didn't look at him.  "Won't what?"   
     "Kiss you good-night. Although," he added casually, "I'd
advise you to pluck up your courage and get it over with."   
     She did look at him then, turning to glance over her shoulder.
"And why is that?"   
     "Because we both know it's going to happen eventually.  With
your father upstairs, I won't dare do anything more than kiss you. 
Besides, I can guarantee you'll like it."   
     "And what if I don't happen to want you to kiss me? Ever?"   
     "But you do." His voice changed to a gravelly, seductive
whisper that floated down over her shoulder to caress her ear. 
"Don't you, Wanda?"   
     She hesitated for a moment. "Yes," she admitted, more to
herself than to him.  "Yes, I do." 
     "Well--" he deliberately made his voice light, playing down
the emotion of the moment "--turn around then, so I can plant one
on you."   
     He waited for what seemed like forever for her to do as he
asked.  And then, suddenly, she was looking up at him, her eyes
glistening like jewels in the dim light.    
     She felt so small and vulnerable beside him, standing there in
her plain cotton dress, with her feet bare and soft tendrils of
sable hair trailing over one shoulder.  Her expression was guarded
and wary, more like that of a child waiting to be punished than a
woman waiting to be kissed. 
     "If you're going to do it, then do it," Wanda snapped.   
     He took a step toward her.   
     She flinched but held steady.   
     "Close your eyes, Wanda," he murmured huskily.   
     Her eyes remained stubbornly open.   
     "All right," he said, sighing. "Have it your way." And then,
very slowly, with his hands held deliberately at his sides, David
bent his head to kiss her.   
     His lips touched hers lightly, delicately, like a butterfly
landing on a flower, exerting no pressure, using no coercion or
constraint to keep her from backing away.  He could feel the
tautness in her, the tension, but she held very still, neither
advancing nor retreating from his careful caress.  He increased the
pressure of his mouth on hers, ever so slightly, ready to back off
at the first sign of withdrawal.   
     But she didn't move.  She hadn't thought a man's lips could be
so soft.  Nor his kiss so gentle.  But his mouth on hers was as
sweet and non-threatening as the kisses of a baby.  Her eyes
drifted closed and she relaxed a tiny, almost infinitesimal degree.
She leaned forward just slightly, her mouth exerting a delicate,
testing pressure against his.   
     Every nerve in David's big body tightened in response.  He
stuffed his hands into his pants pockets to keep from reaching for
her and took the kiss a shade deeper.   
     She felt his mouth open on hers, felt his lips brush back and
forth in a sliding caress, but there was still no demand.  No
pressure. No force.  Her lips began to heat and tingle.  Then they
softened and parted slightly, unconsciously inviting more intimate
contact.   
     David's hands curled into fists inside his pockets as he
accepted her invitation.  He opened his mouth a bit wider over
hers, letting his tongue glide over the seam of her lips, making
the kiss wetter.  Hotter.  Patiently teasing and tantalizing until
her own latent desires would push her to go further.  And driving
himself crazy in the process.   
     Kissing Wanda wasn't as good as he had anticipated.  It was
better.  Much, much better.  The taste of her was intoxicating. 
The feel of her mouth moving so shyly against his was maddening. 
The delicate pressure of her lips was more intense, more
pleasurable, than any of the deep tongue-kisses he's shared with
women before.   
     And he didn't know how much more he could take without losing
control.   
     He wanted to wrap his arms around her, pull her slender body
to his and crush her small, soft breasts against his chest.  He
wanted, desperately, to plunge his tongue between her lips and
ravage the hot, sweet silkiness of her mouth.  But he held himself
back, knowing he couldn't give in to his desires until he'd coaxed
her to give in to hers.   
     He wondered if a man could die of frustration.   
     And then her tongue snaked out softly, delicately, hesitantly,
and touched his.  Groaning, David followed it with his own as it
disappeared back between her lips, unable to deny himself just one
sweet taste of what she had offered.   
     And then he lifted his head and stepped back from her.   
     "Good night, Wanda."  His voice was gruff with wanting.  His
eyes were dilated with passion.  His manhood was rock hard and she
could almost see it throbbing.      
     The next night, Saturday, was much the same until the end,
except that she was a little less timid, a little more
self-assured.   
     As they left his car, she let him twine his fingers through
hers without a murmur of protest.  Without even a twinge of
uneasiness, really.  It felt right, having her hand in his.  Warm
and strong.  And safe.   
     She looked up at him out of the corner of her eye as they
strolled hand in hand down the pavement toward her house, wondering
what it would be like with him.   
     Would he make love tenderly, the way he had kissed her last
night?   Or would he turn forceful and demanding?  Would he wait
for her to respond?  Or rush her along before she was ready?  Would
he stop if she turned chicken and said no?   
     He was a big man.  Strong and powerful.  But he was also a
gentleman.  And a gentle man.  He wouldn't hurt her, no matter what
happened or how badly she behaved.  And she was attracted to him,
in spite of herself.  She might never have a better opportunity to
put her fears to rest.   
     She pushed the door open.  "Good night, Wanda," he said
softly.  He picked up her hand, holding it palm up in his, and
pressed his lips into it.  "Sleep tight."  He started to turn
toward the street.   
     "David?" she said, before she could stop herself.   
     He paused.  "Yes?"   
     She swallowed to ease the dryness in her throat.  She could
feel the key biting into the soft flesh of her palm, spurring her
on.     
     "Kiss me good-night?" she whispered.   
     Her softly spoken words slammed into David like a fist to the
solar plexus.  He went perfectly still, struggling to absorb their
exact meaning.   
     "Kiss me good-night?"   
     Her words undoubtedly meant just exactly what they implied. 
She wanted a good-night kiss from him.  No more.  No less.   
     Didn't she?  But she had never asked before.   
     He turned back to face her fully, determined to give her
exactly what she'd asked for and then let her take it from there. 
No pressure, he reminded himself.  No demands.  Let her set the
pace and lead the way.  He could do that, he told himself.  He had
to do that.  He took a step closer to her and bent his head, just
as he had the night before, keeping his hands at his sides and  
touching her with nothing but his mouth.   
     She was trembling.  Violently.   
     He raised his head.  "Wanda?"   
     "Kiss me," she demanded in an anguished whisper.  Her clenched
fists came up against his chest as she leaned into him.  "Please. 
Just kiss me."   
     He slid his arms around her and took her mouth with his.   
     She responded wildly, throwing her arms around his neck,
lifting up on tiptoe to press her lips against his like a woman
overcome with unrestrained, uncontrollable passion.  He yielded to
it for a moment, his arms pulling her tighter, his mouth opening
wider, his tongue seeking, allowing himself to be swept up in the
unexpected delight of her sensual demand.  And then he realized
that it wasn't passion that drove her but a sort of reckless,
desperate bravado, like that of a terrified little girl throwing
open the closet door to confront the monsters within.   
     Her body was taut and stiff in his arms, rather than pliant
with need and heat.  And the little sounds she was making in her
throat weren't whimpers of passion but of fear.   
     His own ardor cooled instantly, as if someone had upended a
bucket of ice water over him.  She was still afraid of her desires,
still unsure if she could ever trust any man again.   
     He slid his hands up her back to her head, cupping it, his
fingers sliding into the strands of the French braid she'd woven it
into.  He pulled her head a little away from his, stopping the
fevered assault on his mouth.   
     "Wanda," he said, his breath warm against her lips.  He could
feel hers, fast and hard against his mouth, as if she'd been
running a long way.  He could feel her pulse, too, pounding against
his thumbs where they touched her temples, and against the tips of
his little fingers where they rested just under her jaw as he
tilted her head back.  "Wanda.  Take it easy.  Slow down.  This
isn't a race.  It's a kiss,"  He touched his lips to one corner of
her mouth, and then the other.  "Just a kiss."   
     She gave a long, shuddering gasp, like a child at the end of
a crying jag, and went still in his arms, waiting.   
     "That's it," he murmured approvingly.  He began nuzzling her,
pressing soft, baby kisses to her cheeks and jaw and the closed
lids of her eyes, gentling her, soothing her, calming her, until
she relaxed against him.  "That's it," he crooned, and brushed his
lips over her mouth again. 
     She responded more naturally this time.  A bit hesitantly but
willingly.  Her lips parted, giving him access.  He took it,
delicately, cautiously, sliding his tongue over her lips, flicking
the tip between them, until she met it with her own.  He explored
her mouth, then, an invited guest rather than a conqueror, and she
made him welcome with a soft, breathy sigh.   
     She floated on the feeling he engendered it her.  He was
warmth.  And safety.  And a subtle, half-realized excitement
plucking at the edges of her consciousness.  She felt as if she
could go on kissing him like this forever, with his hands holding
her head and his tongue filling her mouth. 
     There was nothing scary about kissing David, she realized.  Or
wanting him.  Nothing dangerous.  Nothing painful.  It was an
amazing discovery for a girl her age to make.  She found herself
reveling in it.  Relishing it.  Wanting more.   
     David felt the change in her immediately, felt the softening
and the receptiveness.  He shifted his hold on her, sliding his
hands down the length of her spine, holding her to him as he took
a step back to lean against the doorjamb, half in, half out of the
open door of the living room.  The position brought her to rest
between his thighs, pressing her breasts against his chest and
giving his hands more freedom to roam the length of her body.  He
kept them above her tempting little bottom, contenting himself with
running them up and down her back, occasionally letting his palms
and fingertips glide down over the outside curve of her hips.   
     She had on a pair of soft khaki chinos and an even softer silk
shirt.  The fabric slid against her back under his caressing hands,
warming and exciting them both.  He could feel the narrow band of
her bra under his palms.  It was driving her crazy, wanting him to
follow it around to the front of her body and fill his hands with
her breasts.   
     But he didn't think she was ready for that.   
     Was she?  She wasn't sure.   
     She was pressed against him, warm and willing.  One hand was
in his hair, stroking it, over and over, as they kissed.  Her mouth
was moist and giving, open under his.   
     Maybe she was ready for the next step.   
     He slid his hands around to her sides, under her upraised
arms, and pressed his palms lightly against the sides of her
breasts.  David put his fingers then under the thin blouse that she
wore and went up to her bra-strap, sliding against the skin of her
back.       
     Wanda drew back her head and looked into his eyes for a moment
without saying anything, then returned to kissing and caressing
him.  After another minute she drew back and this time put her hand
to the warm hard tube that had been pressing against her.  Wanda
said, "I want to, to have you make love to me tonight, but I know
I shouldn't.  I do think I could trust you --"     
     "Wanda," he broke in, "I would not think less of you if we
did.  I know you, I've known you for a long time.  And I feel very
happy that you would want to, and to know that you find me that
attractive."     
     She held him tight and almost began to cry, but fought to stop
short of it.  "That makes me want you even more!  I wish you could
have been my first man, instead of that bastard Douglas Shepherd!" 
David agreed there with all his heart, but he decided that it might
be best not to say so.  He had to hush Wanda, to keep her father
from waking up to see what was making his daughter so upset.  That
old bear was not someone he wanted to make explanations to if he
didn't have to, especially when the man was half-awake.  He had met
David and liked him, but the situation was still precarious.  He
had disliked Doug from the beginning, which may say something.    
     "I want you so much," Wanda said.  "But maybe it's a good
thing that we can't.  Your car doesn't really have room, and my
father would start to wonder if the car left without my going up --
I'm sure he's dozed off again by now.  I would love to have you in
my bed, all night long, having you in me again and again, but
that's far too dangerous."     
     The car could work for a bedroom, he thought, but it would not
be comfortable -- or safe, parked on the street.  David could see
another way that they could make love, but he was not sure if he
should tell her. There was a chance that they would be caught at
it.  And Wanda was not very emotionally stable right now in any
case.  But he would love to get into her pants; having her wish out
loud that he had been her first lover had given him an immediate
and fierce erection.
     "There is another way," he said.     
     "What... Where...?"     
     "The couch over there is big enough for two."     
     She turned to look at it and was obviously weighing the risks
and rewards.  "Oh, I don't know if we dare to."     
     David kissed her on the back of the neck.  Wanda shivered at
the touch then, turned to him and nodded.     
     They held hands as they walked to the couch, then Wanda stood
while he reached behind her and up to unfasten the hooks of her
bra.  David brought his hands around, under her flowered blouse,
under her bra, as his tongue invaded her mouth again.  His thumbs
grazed her hard nipples and soon her knees weakened and they lay
down.     
     David lay across her, between her legs, and took down the
buttons of her blouse to open it wide while Wanda worked on his
shirt.  Her bra was pushed up and they lay, skin against skin,
touching to the waist.  Their mouths joined again for a while. 
Wanda was trying to hold back the noises that came naturally to her
in reaction to his caresses.     
     When David drew away once more, it was to raise her skirt and
expose her legs.  He went up them with his hands, stroking slowly,
until he reached the white cloth where they joined and he drew it
down.  Wanda gasped in anticipation.     
     Then his trousers went down, and his shorts, and Wanda reached
a hand to hold him and stroke and squeeze his erection while he put
a condom over it.     
     The light was dim enough that she doubted at first what she
was seeing, despite the additional evidence of her hand.   
     Now David lowered his body again, and she drew in a sharp
breath at the first contact with his penis.  He moved it up and
down to ease the entry for the first fraction of an inch.  But then
it was easy for the first two inches, though she was very tight. 
And then Wanda reached up and pulled him in all the way!   
     She gave a stifled cry then, because her muscles did not move
apart as quickly and as much as she expected.  This final
confirmation told her that he was indeed as large as he had seemed.

    David had heard it said that fear increases sexual desire. 
While they certainly had a fear of discovery, he was not certain
that such mattered here -- certainly she was just as hungry for him
on later occasions -- but Wanda may have had a more immediate
urgency because of the circumstances.  Then again, it may have been
that her passion, once awakened and then denied, was driving her
crazy.    
     For whatever reason, the desire in her wonderful young body
brought him close to orgasm over and over until they reached it
together, with the hem of her skirt stuffed in her mouth to muffle
Wanda's cries as David pounded deep into her and exploded.
     This was the last time that they used the couch in her living
room, but far from the last that they made love, now that her faith
in men (and in life) was restored.