It was too hot for clothes, that Saturday night. So we were without, the nine of us in that small, Rotterdam-Crooswijk “house-below-the-rent-limit” of 32 square meters, which we proudly called our apartment. Just married and trusted by the parents of our Art-academy boy- and girl-buddies. Weed went around, we drank from five beer glasses and our hands slid languidly between each other’s thighs. Too hot to fuck and too stoned. Except Wáwá.

Small, Chinese punk of just one meter fifty-two, teenage body with B cup in a white bra and white cotton ‘hollandia’ panties, with those vertical ridges. Her black bush vaguely shone through the front. No, no nudity for her and no weed either. Beer, yes, she drank beer with the liter and not a bit tipsy. And she always smiled with her head slightly tilted, giggling a little.

She did photography with us at the academy, Monique (Mo, that is) dit fashion and I, Paul, painting and sculpture. And our friends around us, year mates or something vague at the Economic High School, whose subject didn’t interest us. Wáwá was fascinated by our bodies when we played together in the night. She made beautiful black and white images of us in large format and sold them as art to horny men for a lot of money. The images were beautiful and we were unrecognizable.

But she continued to click and flash, always in her underwear, between our swarming bodies, her heavy, black batteries whirring and high beeping briefly each time, as if those too were cumming.

That Sunday afternoon, as everyone else had left, Wáwá was sitting chastely in her underwear next to me on the couch in a cross-legged position. Monique said she wanted to sketch her, like she sat there. “But au naturel” I said, mischievous as ever.

And then suddenly, she shakes with her shoulders, shedding fat tears. “Surely no one thinks I’m something sketchable, with my teenage body, boy boobs? I see you all going at each other hard and I know I’d be passed over being like this. I’m only going to cum so much when I develop those pictures...”

I hesitate whether I should now pull her onto my chest to comfort and seduce her, or doing just that is typically a man’s move, and therefore wrong.

Monique rescues the situation, “Silly, why do you think I want to sketch you?” They look each other in the eyes, “You are so special, a porcelain doll, but also a woman, when you let your temper go! May we do you both, sketched with women’s eyes and a men’s mind? Will you see how we look at you.”

I don’t wait, put a hand on her back and finger-open her bra. I marvel at her beautiful ski slopes, fuller and larger than I had estimated, and so I say. “May I?” and slide the back of both index fingers from her neck to her nipples. I stop there and they jump stiff. She smiles at me.

When Mo grabs her by the hands, she stands up and I pull down that hollandia flag. She has a typical chinese ass, flat on top with her back and bulbous-round on the bottom, as if her slit never stops...

In her jeans I had guessed that, but her mons veneris, bulbous and nicely covered in black with manicured curls is the magnificent beginning of her valley, starting high and forked by her clit hat. And her legs, slender, are longer than I expected.

“You’re beautiful, the way I imagine Tolkien’s elves to be, at least not like one of those much-too-big, blonde ‘kaninefaten’ (= native to Holland since the Romans) bodies you probably compare yourself to.”

What strikes me is, that she allows herself to be admired, and she spins around one more time before resuming her pose in a cross-legged position, this time with her back straight. Mo arrives with our sketchbooks and we discuss her pose. I give her a cushion to sit on. Belly forward, she pronounces her venus mound. Mo puts one hand on her thigh and the other on her neck, making her breasts protrude. Suddenly she is a seductive woman.

We get down to business and she tells of her frustrating encounters with boys and men. Always skipped at dances with “I’m not a pedophile” and more such comments have made her insecure. And then it doesn’t help that your parents called you 玩具娃娃 (Wánjù Wáwá), playdoll, that is.

We both turn over a sheet of our sketchpad and I let her lie in the armpit of arm- and back rest of the couch,, one leg off the seat and the other raised. “Wider, this will be the sketch of promise. No, even wider.” And as I sketch, my erection betrays how I appreciate her. And so I say. She giggles.

Later, the three of us sit naked on either side against her and look at the sketches. Although we both note very differently, the seductiveness and sex awareness drips off of them. My very close-up of between her thighs, a sheet full of only pleasure lips, open, with slender inner lips, crowned with a mischievously peeping clit and the higher-lying dark woodland. “That’s why you were stiff all the time, and still are!” she observes, encompassing my rod with her small hand.

“Watch out, it’s a llama, it’ll spit at you!” I warn her just in time and the white rays spray across the glass coffee table as she steers me. Sneaking a peek, I see her lower lips glistening.

A few days later she takes Mo aside after lunch for a question and so the three of us drive to our loft that evening. It’s still lukewarm inside and Mo and I immediately get out of our clothes, slide our clammy bodies against each other and kiss unseemly. Usually, after a whole day of abstinence, we take each other, but now it’s just caressing and stroking my penis. Turning around, we see a naked Wáwá smirking at us. I kiss her on her flat nose.

Under the nasi-rice, Mo begins “We sat for a while talking about Sunday and what didn’t happen then, despite the hot tension between us. What really bothers her, she told me this morning, she is still a virgin! She doesn’t dare go out, because if that turns into anything, she’ll be ashamed. At twenty, she can’t confess that anymore.” Wáwá blushes when I look at her. “And she asked me if I thought it was okay for you to do her...” And now I’m really blushing, caught off guard by the lustful thoughts of the last few days. There you are sitting caught with your glans above the tabletop.

I pull her to my knees and hold her head straight in front of me “Dear Wánjù Wáwá, I’m not going to fuck you like a playdoll for my pleasure, I’m going to love you, so that your first time is your best memory...” I kiss her on her flat nose and her lips. We duel each other’s -already hot from the peppers- tongues and kiss for a long time. “After last Sunday, I follow you with my eyes when you walk around the academy and think you beautiful naked, like now. Imagine myself with my forehead on your mons veneris, making you hot with my tongue and shiny wet. I didn’t dare go any further with my fantasy.” I stroke her pussy mat and finger the tip of her slit.

She looks at me happily surprised “You covet me? You get horny with me, just seeing me in my jeans, when I get coffee from Paulien at the counter?” she giggles as she realizes the impact. “And were you sitting rigid, like in nude model drawing?”

I nod afirmingly and the girls laugh at me.

Mo asks “Are we going to massage you first to ignite the fireworks behind your navel, or does he have to ram it right in?”

“I like to cuddle so much, but massage me first. I want to feel Paul’s mouth on my slit. That’s what you were dreaming about, right?” and she looks hornily into my eyes. In them I read that she is ready.

Mo laid a large gray bath towel on the table and Wáwá stretched her body, illuminated by the two orange flowerpots, lamps, which I had just paid for from the sale of an unashamed nude portrait. Now, fifty years later I still think of this moment when I see a picture of them.

“Turn on your stomach” I say and look focused into the pussy between her seductively wide spread legs. Her lips still closed. Later I will know how she is shaped when I have explored her with my mouth and opened them.

“Paul!” exhorts Mo me “ Your cock is betraying your thoughts. Start with her feet, then I’ll start here.” She warms oil in her hands and skillfully works all the tension out of her neck and shoulders. I, meanwhile, take her soles of her feet in hand and see from her reaction, that this is one of those tickly spots. From between her toes to just below her heel. She tries not to squirm. Mind note for later, with a feather...