Chapter 9

I tried to persuade Margarita that, since her birthday party was scheduled for the very next day, it would be premature for us to consider making love that night.

"But I have, already, Carol's gift for my birthday!" she protested. "You must see it!"

"Very well," I said, "show it to me."

"I will wear it for you -- like a modeling," she said.

What had she said it was? A nightgown? A gown "like a window," she had said. I called out to her, down the hallway. "Margarita! Wait until tomorrow to show me the gift from Carol and Earl... "

She didn't hear me, or she pretended not to hear me. In a very short time, she emerged from her bathroom down the hall, wearing a super-sheer white shortie nightgown which left absolutely nothing to the imagination. It was the most Margarita I had seen since that night in Juarez.

And the lighting, here, was much better!

Her incredible breasts, showing not the first whisper of sag, were on display through the almost-not-there whisp of material. Her dark skin created an erotic contrast to the wedding-gown whiteness of the transparent fabric.

I looked for the dark thatch at her center. Her pubis, like everything else, was as nearly naked as the tiny, sheer panties could make it.

But there was no dark thatch! The generous pubic hair that I so vividly recalled from that night in Juarez was completely gone! My God!

"Carol helped me," she said. "We shave it off!"

Holy Moses! Her childlike pudendum made her look even younger than her 18 years. What had Carol been thinking? If Carol had been trying to help Margarita to seduce me, I wasn't certain this was the right way to go about it.

Even so, there was a granite outcropping where my penis was supposed to be.

Margarita noticed. "I theenk you like the gown," she said, blushing and giggling as she said it.

"You've shaved your -- you've shaved."

"Eeet's for you, Je-re-mi-ah. Carol says to me, 'eet's going to look good enough to eat!'"

It definitely looked edible to me. But it was a shocking reminder of her tender age, and it was shocking in its own right, because Margarita's Mexican heritage meant that she was, most definitely, a dark-skinned, black-haired beauty. Her vividly remembered thick, black pubic hair had been, along with her large breasts, the only signals that God had given her to convey that she was old enough to be with a man.

Now, her hairless twat strongly contradicted that impression. It seemed almost childlike, although, God knows, it looked plump and welcoming, all the same.

What had Carol been thinking? Did she think I was a child-molester?

"You look like a little girl!" I said, thoughtlessly.

Margarita's face fell. I could have kicked myself for saying that to her. But, disappointed or not, her faith in her new friend, Carol Turner, was very strong. She reached down, pulled the top of the shortie gown over her head, and stood before me naked except for the flimsy, tiny panties, which, indeed, were very much like looking at her shaved pussy through a window.

Margarita proudly pointed her naked breasts at me. "A little girl?" she asked. "Am I a little girl?"

She didn't wait for an answer. She slipped off the scanty panty and stood before me, golden brown and as desirable as any naked woman, of whatever age, I had ever seen. "You must make love to me, Je-re-mi-ah," she said. "I have waited long enough!"

I stood there like a statue. Indeed, parts of me had already turned to stone. She dashed into my arms and deliberately pressed her lower body against my straining, Levi-encased penis. If her navel had been a pussy, there would have been penetration, then and there.

She tugged, inexpertly, on my belt buckle, seeking to remove all obstructions. Evidently, Carol's seduction lessons hadn't included basic male de-pantsing.

"Help me!" she demanded. I didn't help with the belt, but I did grasp both her bare shoulders, leaned down, and kissed her, aggressively, on the mouth. It was our first kiss and I had taken her by surprise.

Maybe she had expected me to turn and run away.

She wasn't able to do justice to the kiss, because she hadn't been prepared for it, but as soon as I released her shoulders, she went back to the belt buckle with a vengeance, and this time, she succeeded in loosening it and unsnapping the top button of my fly.

With my penis straining to be free, I finally started helping her -- fearful that she might catch me in the zipper if I didn't.

My Jockeys were another momentary hindrance. They weren't transparent like Margarita's panties had been, but it was pretty obvious that there was something in there that desperately wanted to get out.

She pulled the Jocks down -- rather roughly.

"Madre de Dios!" Margarita said, when Junior was fully exposed.

"What's the matter?" I said.

"Eeets -- too beeg!" she said mournfully, suddenly much less enthusiastic about her mission.

Well, a guy always kinda likes to hear that, but the fact is, it wasn't all that big. Remember how Earl teased me about how disappointed Carol would have been, if she and I ever actually got it on? That might have been hyperbole on Earl's part, but the fact is, he really is better-hung than I am.

But I'm normal -- maybe even a little above average. (Guys sneak looks at each other in the locker room, whenever they get a chance, trying to reassure themselves that Mother Nature hasn't treated them unfairly. I'm no exception. I knew I was no monster, but plenty big enough.)

Margarita, however, was not faking. There was genuine fear in her eyes, and I sensed a definite air of retreat that hadn't been any part of her aggressive behavior, up until that time.

"It's not too big, Margarita! You will see."

She still seemed damned unsure where, if anywhere, to take it from here, so all I could do was to hold her -- gently, this time, and give her some time to consider it.

My hardened organ was flat against her stomach, and almost up to her ribcage, as we stood there together, just inside the door of my bedroom. Margarita was completely naked, and I was naked below the waist. Of course, at this point, the business end of me was pretty much above my waist.

"Do you want to wait until another time?" I asked her.

Wow -- I was really hoping she wouldn't say she wanted to wait until another time! She had been right. I'd put this off long enough. At this point in the proceedings, I very much needed a place to put Junior -- preferably a warm, wet, freshly shaven place.

It was time for me to take the initiative. "Maybe you're right," I said. "For a grown-up woman, it would not be too big, but for just a young girl, perhaps..."

I almost panicked, waiting for her answer, because she didn't answer, right away. When she finally said something, her face was mashed up against my chest so closely that I couldn't make it out.

"What did you say, Margarita?" I asked, giving her breathing room at last.

"Will you go muy -- very -- slowly?" she asked, in a little-girl voice.

It was a study in contrasts: Little-girl voice, little-girl-like pussy, smooth and displaying not so much as a hint of distended inner labia.

But between the voice and those lips, there were her grown-up woman's breasts, begging to be kissed and sucked and squeezed. Unlike the rest of Margarita, those breasts weren't retreating at all!

"I will go so slowly," I told her, "that you will fall asleep, before I get there!"

She laughed nervously, but she had gathered her courage now, and she retreated to my bed -- the bed where, in my absence, she had touched herself, pretending that we were lying there together, making love.

I stripped off my shirt and joined her on the bed, lying beside her. She looked tiny and childlike there, and once again thoughts of that night in Juarez returned. But her breasts, again, reminded me that she was not tiny and childlike.

She was a woman.

I touched her smooth, beautiful pussy with my hand and found it exceedingly wet already with her secretions. Her fear had not prevented her body from preparing itself for me. Gently, I rubbed my fingertips along the tightness of her outer lips, and she jumped suddenly when they swept across her clitoris.

Bravely, she spread her legs open for me, inviting me to move between them and enter her.

I did move between them, noticing that, momentarily, she had again cringed in fear. But I wasn't preparing to enter her. I was only positioning myself above her so that we could, again, kiss one another and hold one another, bare body to bare body. This time, I didn't press my hardened organ against her, but held myself above her while gently and repeatedly kissing her lips and her neck.

She liked that. She seemed to like that a lot.

And I kissed her breasts, and found them sensitive and rewarding. I pressed my whole face there, between her breasts, and for the first time, forgot our age difference and my fears that she was too young for me. No, this was a woman! Her nipples were aroused and hard and impossibly long, and I licked and sucked on them with all the enthusiasm of a hungry infant.

Who was the grown-up now?

Margarita's body had become more relaxed. She was once again as committed to our joining together as she had been when we had begun this love-dance. If she feared that I was "too big," the fear had moderated, if it had not disappeared altogether.

I kissed her abdomen and marveled at the flat, tight muscles that I found there. She twisted and giggled when my lips touched her there. Evidently, she was ticklish.

She stopped giggling, though, when I pushed back both her thighs with my hands and buried my face in her crotch, nuzzling and licking her plump labia, forcing my tongue inside her, filling her with pleasure, causing her to cry out in what sounded like a mixture of fear and joy.

She tasted sweet and I loved the response I was getting. Her body language told me that what I was doing was unexpected, but welcome.

I wondered if a man had ever gone down on her before. She seemed to be astounded by the experience. But she was a quick learner! She moved with me, encouraging my mouth and tongue to make the most, and the most-constant possible, contact with her tender inner lips. Her swollen clit was so hard and prominent I could feel it battling back against my tongue.