First Times: Nine Tales of Innocence Lost (18 page)

I’d never flown before. As the plane leaned too far back and I felt the acceleration in my stomach, she took my trembling hand.
 

Her voice was soft and sweet as honey. “Hey,” she said. “It’s okay. We’re fine.”
 

I grabbed her hand with both of mine and squeezed and pressed my eyes shut for the whole ascent, until the plane finally leveled out.
 

“The first time is always scary, she murmured.”
 

The woman must have had an obscene tolerance for caffeine. An hour into the flight she was asleep, her head on my shoulder. I kept nodding off, and my head came to rest on hers. I wanted to cry, knowing it was just the cramped quarters that put us together this way and not real affection. I let myself indulge the feeling of her silken hair pressed against my cheek anyway. She didn’t wake up until it was time for the in-flight meal, a breakfast. Shifting to face forward, she sat up as we folded out trays down and ate from the little tray. The eggs were an abomination and the sausage was like rubber. Sheila poached a piece of sausage from my tray and I thought she meant to eat it herself until she held it before my lips. My heart pounding, I ate off her fork. I watched her throat bobbing as she downed a carton of milk and gently dabbed the corners of her mouth with a napkin.
 

When the food was away she turned to me.
 

“Breakfast makes me sleepy. I usually skip it.”
 

We had another nine hours on the plane, so she had time for her rest. Again she turned, twisted in the seat and curled against me and put her head on my shoulder. She reached over me and pulled the window shade down and went to sleep, breathing softly against my neck. I was so tense I could barely move, until finally the gentle motion of the airplane and the constant roar of the engines lulled me back to sleep.
 

We both woke a few more times during the trip, and chatted. There wasn’t much to talk about. As much as I idolized her, I didn’t want to talk shop. She took out a book and I put on my headphones. I couldn’t keep my eyes off her and I could feel her looking at me when I wasn’t looking at her, like she was trying to catch me. She smiled a secret smile and turned the pages of the bodice ripper she brought to read on the plane, and I couldn’t tell if she was really reading it or not.

After the flight and the grueling passage through customs, factoring in the time change it came out to almost twenty hours. It certainly felt like it. Sheila made all the arrangements in advance, booking a swarm of taxis to take us to the hotel. Of course, I shared with Sheila herself. It was close quarters and we both had to carry a bag on our laps, but she was more at ease than I’d ever seen her. Checking into the hotel consisted of the students milling about while the Sheila did the talking at the counter, chatting with the attendant in fluent, breezy Italian. Then she came over and handed out room assignments. Most of us were four to a room, two per bed, but as it worked out there was an odd number of female students and an odd number of female professors. My heart clenched like a fist in my chest when she looked at me and said,

“You’re with me.”
 

The hotel was beautiful, but the rooms were smaller than I expected. I dragged my things to the bed by the window and spread the curtains to look out. Rome was amazing, like no city I’d ever seen before. Everything was graceful and alive.
 

“We should get something to eat.”
 

I turned around to find Sheila in her underwear, humming to herself as she unpacked her things into the small dresser. While her outfit this morning was all about comfort and coziness on the plane, what she wore under it was pretty much the opposite of that. A lacy black thong so sheer it was almost transparent, deeply scooped in the front so it barely covered anything at all and made it clear that she’d shaved just before we left. The high waistband yanked the thong up so it disappeared between her perky, rounded cheeks. Her bra matched, so sheer I could see the outline of her wide nipples through it, and it was cut for show, not support, deeply cleaved in the middle. Then she stood up, and with only a whisper of a glance towards me, undid the clasp in the front and shrugged out of it. I looked away sharply, but not before I saw a full display of her heavy, gravity-defying breasts swaying as she moved. Then she was stepping out of her underwear.
 

I looked away, but I saw her reflection in the window as I quickly closed the curtains. For a brief moment she bent, back arched, as she pushed out of her shoes, then stood up. Everything about her was perfectly sculpted, supple and curvy and feminine but strong at the same time, her blocky, almost angular shoulders complimenting the sweeping curves of her tight waist, bubble butt and muscular thighs. She glanced over her shoulder.
 

“You alright?”
 

“F-fine,” I stammered.
 

“Oh come on, nothing you haven’t seen before. I’m taking a shower before we go out.”
 

“Go out?”
 

“Of course. Aren’t you hungry?”
 

“Oh. Right.”
 

 
“You should take one, too. You smell like airplane.”
 

By the time she came out, I was sitting on my bed wrapped in a towel, trying but failing to be so at ease and calm in my own skin. She was no more modest when she emerged from the shower, happily drying her hair with a towel while making absolutely no effort to cover myself. I struggled between looking openly and turning away, but there was no hiding from her. She was in the window, in the dark screen of the television set, her unbelievably beautiful body everywhere at once. So I looked over and took a good look. Her stomach was flat but soft at the same time, hinting at muscles when she moved, the most prominent being those little channels around her belt-line that runners get. Every muscle in her legs was sculpted out perfectly. Even her feet were pretty. I managed to force myself not to look as she moved, but stole glances between her legs anyway. When she bent to pull up a fresh pair of underwear her breasts swayed under her, big pink nipples tightening in the cool air of the hotel room. She didn’t bother with a bra and put on a light camisole top that showed a lot of cleavage and hung down over her tights, and finished it all with a pair of sandals.
 

“What are you waiting for? Shower up,” she said.
 

I squeaked in alarm and rushed into the bathroom and under the hot water, and leaned on the wall, trying to catch my breath. I couldn’t stop thinking about her body, her soft lips and warm smile, and I was thinking about her in ways that didn’t make any sense. I was thinking about her the way a boy might, imagining what it would feel like to hold those big breasts in my hands or slide my fingers between her legs along the smooth, delicate outer lips. Even her pussy was beautiful. Before I realized it I had my hand between my legs, rubbing at my clit. I twisted the knobs until the water went cold and forced everything else out of my mind. When I threw the curtain back I yelped and almost fell as I threw my arms everywhere to cover myself. Sheila was standing in front of the sink, brushing her teeth.
 

“What?” she said.
 

I inched past her, shivering, and ran out into the room. I dried off and dressed quickly.
 

She leaned out the door. “You’re wearing that?”
 

“What’s wrong with it?”
 

She shrugged.
 

Once I was dressed, we left the room. I kept rubbing my arms and looking at the floor. I was beet red and I knew it.
 

“Never had any sisters?”
 

I jumped. “Oh, no, I’m an only child.”
 

“Tragic. I didn’t know I’d make you uncomfortable. I’ll cover up next time.”
 

“That’s o-okay,” I said. “Don’t worry about it.”
 

She smiled and flicked her loose hair over her shoulder. When she cocked her hip and thrust out her chest, my heart sped up.
 

“Ready to hit the town?”
 

I nodded.
 

“Good. Come on.”
 

She grabbed my hand and led me out. I was starting to wonder where everyone else was. Probably spending their meal allowance on their own. Rome was a pretty safe city, and the others were assigned to groups. Sheila led me outside, got us a cab, and bantered with the driver in Italian too fast for me to follow. The driver looked back me and laughed. By the time he stopped, he was calling Sheila
bella, bella,
beautiful. He said something to me and she pushed me out of the cab and paid him before I had a chance to piece it all together. Taking my hand, she led me inside and again my ‘conversational italian’ was all but useless in keeping up with her. She spoke like a native.
 

“You’re really good,” I said, as she pulled out my chair.
 

“I spent summers in Italy when I was a child,” she said. “My grandmother was Italian. Immersion is the fastest way to learn.”

When the waitress came, Sheila ordered for me.
 

“What am I having?”
 

“Veal,” she said, absently.
 

Then the wine came. I wasn’t old enough to drink for another six months, at least in America. Sheila drank it like it was nothing, and I hesitated before tasting. Wine was a little strong for my tastes and I winced.
 

“What’s wrong?”
 

“I don’t drink,” I said. “I mean, I’m too young.”
 

“Not here, you’re not,” she grinned. “Taste the fruit of the vine, my dear. In vino, veritas.”
 

I got used to it. By the time the dinner came I was on my second glass and she made sure I had a third. I felt a little tipsy.
 

“Good,” she said. “I have you just where I want you. We’ll go back to the hotel, paint each other’s toenails and play truth or dare.”
 

I burst out laughing, too loud, only to yelp and jump when I felt a soft caress on my leg. Her bare toes on my skin. She was leaning on her folded hands, and her arms pressed her breasts together into perfect, creamy cleavage. Her lips were rich and full, and here eyes smoldered. A little quirk of her lips made my stomach flutter and my heart jackhammer in my chest. What was wrong with me? Why was I looking at her this way?
 

Slowly, she reached across the table and brushed a stray lock of hair out of my eyes. Her soft fingers traced down my cheek and returned to cup her own as she rested her face in her hands.
 

“Can I tell you a secret?” she said.
 

“I guess,” I said. My heart raced even faster.
 

Her foot stroked further up my leg, pushing up the hem of my loose khakis.
 

“You have to promise not to tell anybody.”
 

“I promise,” I said, with all the solemnity of a wine buzz.
 

“You’re a very pretty girl,” she said. “Young woman, I mean.”
 

“Th-thank you,” I stammered.
 

“Do you think I’m pretty?”
 

I gaped at her for a full minute.
 

“You’re so beautiful it hurts to look at you,” I whispered.
 

She laughed softly. “Thank you. When my husband left me I worried.”
 

“Why’d he leave you?” I said.
 

She took a swig of wine and swirled the rest in the glass. “In vino veritas,” she muttered. “You want the truth? I never wanted to get married. My mother expected me to marry and start popping out children.”
 

“Were you afraid you’d ruin your body?” I slurred. “You have a nice body.”
 

“No, it wasn’t that,” she sighed. “I’d like to be a mother. To care for someone, but marriage wasn’t for me. Not to a man, anyway. I prefer the company of women.”
 

“You’re a lesbian?” I blurted. Thank God we were in a place where no one spoke English.
 

She looked at me and her lips spread into a sloppy, achingly pretty grin. “What tipped you off?”
 

I swallowed, hard. “You think I’m pretty.”
 

Her other foot lifted up and caressed my other leg. “Very pretty. Beautiful, even. If you had a little more confidence and knew how to dress you could be a stunner. Do you have a boyfriend?”
 

I shook my head. “I’m not allowed. I mean I am, but I’m not. It’s complicated.”
 

“You’re a big girl. You should do what you want.”
 

“I guess,” I said softly. My last gulp of wine burned my throat.

“Do you have a girlfriend?”
 

I choked on the wine. “Um.”
 

She was still playing footsie with me. “Ever think about having one?”
 

“Maybe,” I said. My internal censor was drunk at her job. “I think about you a lot.”
 

“Liked what you saw? I caught you peeking.”
 

“Peeking?” I said, again too loudly. “You were buck-assed naked.”
 

She laughed, I mean threw her head back and laughed for thirty seconds. “Lets’ go back to the room. Cameriere! Vieni qui!”

After she paid the check and laid a generous tip on the table, she looped her arm through mine like we were on a date and we giggled out way to a cab. The driver got quite a show as Sheila fell all over me, sliding her arms around my waist, plunging her face in my hair to breathe deep. She barely remembered to tell the driver where to go.
 

When we got back to the room she came up behind me, slid her arms around me, and threw me onto the bed. She moved like a cat as she crawled up over the bed and pressed me down. Her hands slid up over my wrists and hands and she laced her fingers between mine and pressed my hands down.