Chapter 6

Their relationship, after that night, changed somewhat fundamentally. Oddly, both of them tried to avoid accepting the change. Ruth tried to ignore his feelings for her because that's what he thought she wanted him to do. Nadia recognized that she was now willing to entertain having a full and complete relationship with a boy ... man ... something that had only been academic in the past. To say that she was aware of how much she liked Ruth, is to say that an addict is aware of how much he'd like to get another fix.

She wrote her mother long letters, describing the way things had happened, her reasons for initially calling Ruth her boyfriend, and how her feelings for him had progressed. She didn't describe what had happened that night, or what her cheerleader friends had set her up to do, but she did describe the general sexual atmosphere in America, or at least in Victorville.

Her mother wrote her back even longer letters, telling her that Victorville was no different than any place on earth. For tens of thousands of years men had been attracted to women, and women to men. It was what they were born to do. Her mother had only an eighth grade education. It was Nadia who had tutored her, instead of the other way around. Her mother learned as much from Nadia's homework in Russia as Nadia did. And they had spent hours and hours talking about life. But her mother had never grasped the concept of what education could do for a Russian. She didn't know any educated people, with the exception of the inspectors who came to town occasionally. No one liked them, or wanted them around. To Nadia's mother, the goal was to find a good man, have many strong babies, and live life well, and as long as you could.

Basically, the pressure Nadia felt was only increased by her mother's recommendation to follow her heart, rather than her head.

She lasted a whole month, sitting beside him at supper, talking with him softly as they did homework, or played a board game or worked on one of the dozens of puzzles they had. It had snowed deep, and everyone spent evenings inside now. He was the perfect gentleman, which was probably more devastating to her control than anything else. He didn't push, like other boys tried to. He wasn't crude, like other boys were. His shy smiles melted her heart and practically required that, every night, she rub between her legs until the sweet release allowed her to sleep.

But of course the last thing she thought about before that sleep took her, was how much sweeter and better the release had been with his lips on her.

And, of course, there were two more outfits the girls had chosen for her, that she hadn't shown her boyfriend yet.

One of the outfits Ruth hadn't seen yet had been purchased with the recommendation that she make an ... alteration ... to her current appearance. Maria, in the dressing room at Walmart, had even showed her what that might look like by pulling up her skirt, and pulling down her panties. Tiffany's assurance that no man could resist her if she shaved down there, had been taken with a grain of salt, at the time.

But now she was much more interested in exploring this new idea. She had gotten the bra and panty set out several times, letting her fingers slide over the soft fabric, or pull and pluck at it. The material was a rich, dark maroon color, and felt as soft as the fur of a kitten. It was made of what she would have called yarn, though it was impossibly thin yarn, compared to what she had seen the old grandmothers working with in Russia. Plus it was woven loosely, which meant it would stretch easily. She tried the bra on once, and then performed antics in front of the mirror to see if it restrained her breasts as she jumped or danced. It did not. It framed them. It displayed them. But it did nothing to support them. And when she tried on the bottoms, she saw immediately what Tiffany had been talking about as numerous bright blond hairs found and protruded from the mesh-like fabric.

Of course this particular clothing wasn't really designed for support. It wasn't really even designed to be worn under clothing. Tiffany had called it a "sleep set" and said it was for teasing boyfriends. She had also said a bald pussy teased them to distraction.

She had shaved her legs and, since coming to America, under her arms. But she had never tried to shave between her legs.

It actually gave her the excuse she had been looking for. So one night, wearing the maroon sleep set, with shaving cream and razor in hand, she paid her boyfriend another visit.

She found him just like he had been the time before, with those tight, white underwear showing off his bulging manhood while he read a book. He looked over at her and smiled.

"I haven't seen that outfit before," he said.

"I didn't show it to you because there was a problem."

"And the problem was resolved?"

"No. I need help resolving it." She walked to the bed and, transferring everything to one hand, reached with the other to pluck at a few blond strands that she had carefully managed to get through the mesh in just the right place to do what she was doing. She held out the shaving cream and razor that were in her other hand.

"Oh man," said Ruth, staring at the errant blond pussy hairs. He licked his lips and Nadia felt warmth in her belly at the thought of that tongue flicking between other lips.

"Will you help me?" she asked.

"Um ... yes ... I will definitely help you," he said.

She tugged at the maroon cloth. "I must take this off for you to help me, yes?"

Ruth nodded. "Yes." Nadia loved the look in his eyes as he said that.

"Even the top?" she asked, teasing.

"We wouldn't want to get shaving cream on it," he said, his face straight.

"Of course not," she said.

She watched his face as she got naked, and the thrill in her belly zinged to her nipples, making her reach to squeeze them without realizing it. There was no place to sit except the bed, so she sat there while he got up and came around to kneel between her knees, which she found took no effort whatsoever to spread for him.

They were not prepared, of course. They had no water. They had no towel. They had no scissors to shorten her blond nether locks prior to applying the razor. That implement, in fact, had been used several times, and a new one would have been better.

But Ruth was performing a labor of love, so the amount of time it took him was of no consequence. He got a T shirt and put it under her, and another one to clean the razor on. If all he got on a swipe was four or five hairs, he didn't care. Luckily the shaving cream was a gel, which lubricated her skin well enough that he didn't burn it.

The problem was that it amounted to masturbating her for half an hour.

She sat up, leaning back on her arms, and watching as he carefully scraped the hair away. He found it naturally helpful to press and hold the top of her split to make the skin taut. That meant she felt the thrills of her bump being manipulated, even though he wasn't doing it on purpose, or at least for that reason. She tried to stay still, but eventually she couldn't, and finally, when a soft, almost languid orgasm soaked through her, she fell back flat on the bed, her breasts heaving.

"You need to stay still," Ruth scolded her.

"I cannot, with you doing that to me," she panted. "You are a very bad boyfriend right now."

"Do you want me to stop?"

She sat bolt upright, her eyes wide.