Chapter 1: Love at First Sight

The Pixie’s name was Melissa or Mel for short. I learned that she’d always been small compared to everyone else in her life, even her parents. Her father – a six-footer – told me that as she grew up, they’d always thought she’d catch up to her cohorts with a growth spurt of some kind in her teens, but she never did. The Pixie’s mom stood about five-nine.

Mel stood exactly five feet tall and weighed about a hundred pounds, soaking wet. She looked trim, even shapely for her small size, with legs that turned an eye, coupled to well-proportioned hips and a cute little butt that’d catch your attention as she walked away from you – particularly if she was wearing tight cutoffs. She was perfectly proportioned – almost. Besides her petite size, she had a striking face: a perky nose, pleasant mouth, a fantastic smile, angular cheeks, and flirty eyes, and all framed by long blonde hair that she often pulled back into a ponytail.

One other fact was inescapable about her – she was stacked! She had a rack. She was built like a brick shithouse. She had knockers, bazongas, melons, balloons, and more. She had a set of boobs on her that defied the laws of gravity and made every male eye (and many females) turn in awe and wonder as she passed by. They weren’t grotesque or unnaturally bulbous; they were just remarkable – truly remarkable, especially for a young woman her size. Somehow, in seeing her you also knew they were ‘naturals,’ just the way Mel was overall.

In elementary school, because of her pint size, she’d been given the nickname ‘The Pixie’ and never lost it. She liked the implication of mischievous cuteness and magic that the nickname implied. The overall impression of Mel was that of a ‘sexpot’ – a small, hot girl that might do just about anything and probably had.

The Pixie developed an unusual personality. She became a rebel, carefully figuring out what was ‘normal’ and then seeing whether she could do anything but that.

I’m Doug Pearson and I’ve been married to the Pixie for eight years. Together we’ve had two daughters both of who show signs of ‘pixie hood’ in spite of my six-foot frame and more conservative personality. There’s much more to the story, however.

I met the Pixie about four years before we got married. Even though I was a junior at Ohio State and a fraternity man, I’d somehow remained pretty naïve about life and relationships. Slightly shy and a hopeless romantic at heart, I evaluated just about every female acquaintance against some high but hazy standards that I’d developed for the role of soul mate, but at that time no one had come even close.

My role model was not entirely based on my conservative mother. I valued certain traits some of which she didn’t have: being social, creative, mixing well with others, and more. I was sure my parents had their picture next to the words ‘staid’ and ‘conservative’ in the dictionary.

With some conceit, I thought of myself as a ‘catch’ when the right soul mate did come along. I was smart and studying business and management – a career track that almost guaranteed me a good income. Besides a sense of humor, I’d been told by some dates that I was handsome, and in fact I did have that square-jaw, dark eyed, clean-cut look about me. One date told me that I had bedroom eyes, but I never got her near a bedroom. Further, at the time, I was a fraternity man; a label that I thought imparted some mystical qualities of attractiveness to me when on campus. As I said, I was naïve about life at the time.

I met Mel for the first time the day that she arrived at OSU as a freshman. Along with the rest of the male population that saw her, my eyes popped out of my head the first time I saw her walk by. She was wearing a peasant scoop-neck top and a short skirt with spike heels.

I’d volunteered along with many other upper-classmen to help out at what was called freshmen orientation. We helped incoming freshmen get signed up for the courses they needed and wanted. She came to my information table. I can still remember the moment I first saw her, just as though I took a photograph of her that instant. She got my full attention.

Lots of impure thoughts raced through my mind and the words ‘Soul Mate’ flashed before my eyes in large neon letters. I fell in love with her in that instant. I’d been looking for my soul mate for at least six years (I was twenty-one at the time) and suddenly, in just that glance, I knew she was ‘The One’.

A friend of mine once convinced me that we each have an aura and that our auras meet and interact – sharing the totality of information about ourselves, well before our conscious selves ever say a word to the other person and possibly before they’re even in sight. This is why first impressions are often so accurate and so important.

I was dressed in my ‘Joe Cool’ college outfit: tight jeans, loafers with no socks, and a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up part way. My specialty that day was showing freshmen how to register online for the courses they wanted. I had a computer and two workstations at my booth that were connected to the university’s registration system. The Pixie came to my table first. We were both wearing nametags: mine said ‘Doug’ and hers said ‘Melissa’.

We talked and I think she felt some magical connection too. We even flirted a bit; you know using body language to signal you like someone. We leaned into each other’s comments and questions; soon we were very close. We touched a few times, as though to emphasize a point. Each time, I felt some electricity run through my body.

I devoted myself to answering her questions about the course registration process. I demonstrated how the university was now signing up students for classes. Many had done it before showing up on campus, but Mel hadn’t. I asked whether she had any more general questions about the many other aspects of campus life. She did and so we chatted for a long time, prolonging the time we were together.

Her questions were intelligent and a cut above the naiveté of many incoming freshmen. Before she left my area to check out the other tables she was supposed to visit, and with my knees knocking slightly, I asked her to come to a welcome party for new freshmen on Saturday night at my fraternity house. Mel accepted.

After Mel had prowled the rest of the tables at the Orientation Session, she came back to my table. I broke off from the guy I’d been talking to so I could devote undivided attention to the Pixie. She gave me her campus address and cellphone number, and we set a time for me to pick her up on Saturday. She asked if I would escort her out to her ‘ride’ and of course I jumped at the chance.

Mel’s ride turned out to be a little pink Vespa motor scooter – the kind that Barbie would have ridden around on. Very different. Very Pixie-ish. I’d never seen anything like it. She dug out a matching pink helmet out of the small rear luggage compartment and put it on as I watched, commenting about how unusual the scooter was and how lucky she’d be to be able to park just about any place on campus.

Mel grinned at me, “I do lots of things that are unusual – the more, the better. Maybe you’ll want to find out, and maybe you won’t.” Then, just before she left, she came up close to me and pulled my head down and kissed me on the cheek. “You’re cute,” she told me. “I think we’re going to have a lot of fun together.”

If I hadn’t of been smitten by her before, the kiss on the cheek cemented the emotion. The rest of the day I could think of little else but the Pixie. I’d been told I could be unemotional so it was most uncharacteristic of me to feel my stomach do flippity-flops over some girl I’d just met. Not only did I feel funny, but also I started having little fantasies about Mel – everything from wild sex to just sharing a simple meal with her.

I did a whole self-examination process, especially about whether I was merely attracted to her sexy persona – and her tits. I decided that there was more going on beneath the surface than just our looks. We had chemistry and vibes.

Time passed very slowly over the two days before Saturday. I went out of my way to often walk by her freshman dorm hoping to run into her again, but didn’t see her until it was time for our date. By that time my emotions had ranged from wild elation and certainty that I would sweep her off her feet and that she’d fall in love with me on Saturday, to near suicidal depression that she’d totally reject me and that I’d never see her again.

Mel turned out to be a savvy young woman that knew exactly what her attraction to males was all about. She also knew how to change the basis of the relationship away from sex and her gorgeous breasts into other, more fun or intellectual endeavors. She also had the magic capability to absorb huge quantities of beer without showing the slightest signs of inebriation or loss of mental faculties.

Thus, at my fraternity’s welcome party, mainly for freshmen women, Mel drank me under the table, mostly as we sat and had deep discussions about ourselves, careers, life, spirituality, relationship philosophy, and what made us feel happy. Mel’s views on practically every topic were well thought out, yet often unusual.

For instance, rather than taking courses to get some career certification, she wanted a mix of general science and business courses that would let her do about any kind of job. Thus, she was the only person on campus signed up for the ‘business science’ degree program. Further, she’d decided on a minor in art, making the whole package a very unusual combination.

In terms of religion, she belonged to no normal faith. Instead, she explained, she had read rather widely in the area of metaphysics and eastern religions. She even showed me a small tattoo on her wrist of the Chinese symbol for the Tao. “It reminds me to be in harmony with the world, yet to seek a full and rich life that makes me happy. I am a spiritual being having a human experience.”

As we got to know each other, I found that Mel had taken a special education program through middle and high school, resulting in her graduation over a year earlier than normal for her cohort. For the past year, she’d gone to Europe on her own to ‘see the world’. While there, she’d decided to go to Africa and help in some way regarding the persistent AIDS epidemic. She’d ended up working for three months of her trip as a volunteer in a woman’s clinic in Zimbabwe teaching sex education – mainly about disease and birth control. All I did of note the year before was earn some money bagging groceries at the nearby market.

Somehow, in spite of the beer, I managed to be the most brilliant I think I’d ever been. Suddenly, I found I actually had an intellect and could have deep discussions on profound subjects. The Pixie also seemed impressed, however, both impressions might have been influenced by the prolific amount of alcohol that the two of us consumed.

I fell deeper in love with her that night, however, she was cautious; she emphatically told me she planned to play the field while at college – ‘at least for a while’. That meant that she wanted to date other college men in addition to me. In spite of that partial rejection, she told me she ‘liked’ me and wanted to see me again. She even added the word ‘Please’. I felt those little ‘flippity flops’ and palpitations again, particularly when she accepted my invitation for another date.

I dreamed about the Pixie every night. I would say little prayers about her and our future together. I found myself promising to reform all of my bad habits if only she would fall madly in love with me. Everywhere I went on campus I watched for her, continually disappointed that our paths didn’t cross.

I got to first base with Mel a few nights after that welcome frat party when she deigned to go out with me on our second date and we spent a lot of time with our tongues down each other’s throats. I know both our temperatures were elevated by the time we called it quits that night. I could tell she liked me. I saw Mel a couple of other nights over the next week or so and we repeated our heavy make-out sessions.

Mel didn’t dress like the other co-eds on campus. The usual campus dress consisted of sweats; or jeans or cutoffs, a t-shirt or multi-layer look of some kind, a hoodie, and flip-flops until snowfall. Those pretending to be rebels dressed down in grunge. By contrast, Mel usually wore a skirt and fashionable top and high heels. If you weren’t watching, you could often hear her coming from the click-click-click sound her heels made as she neared. In contrast to a no-jewelry style on campus, Mel usually wore a single strand of pearls or some piece of elegant African art she’d obtained while on her trip. She liked flashy earrings.