11 comments/ 59068 views/ 10 favorites Shy By: tarkatony I'm shy. I've been shy all my life, every one of my 28 years, terminally shy. Does it piss me off? Sure, at times, but what am I supposed to do? Read a book? Take courses? It doesn't work that way: knowledge isn't going to get me out of it. Nothing will. Or so I thought — before I met Beth. I saw her a few times in the cafeteria at work before I actually met her. Like every other girl in the place I didn't pay any attention to her, why would I? I knew I wasn't going to talk to her; knew that at the slightest provocation, even a slight movement in my direction, I'd bolt for my cubicle in the Accounts Department. But there was something different about her. For one, she was always alone, and for another, every time I noticed her she was looking at me. I didn't know what to make of it: no one ever looked at me. But this girl did. I tried to ignore her at first and I succeeded for awhile, but then I found myself searching for her, surreptitiously of course, when I walked from the cafeteria checkout to a table and every time I caught sight of her she was hunched over her tray following me with her eyes, always with the same look on her face. What that look meant I had no idea, but there was no doubt that she was blocking out everything around her and she was looking only at me. I didn't know her name, who she was or even what department she worked in. All I knew was what I could see. She was plump, with very heavy breasts and a plain but pretty face. That's it. Then I found out she was about 5'5" because she was standing at my bus stop after work one Friday night. She had a small red overnight bag in her hand which was on her lap when I walked past her on the bus. She got out at my stop. I know this because as I left from the middle door she left from the front door and I had to pass her for the five minute walk to my apartment. By definition, shy people tend not to be curious but it was all I could do not to look back to see where she was going. But later when I approached my apartment building I almost jumped out of my skin when I saw her reflection in the glass door. She was standing behind me, waiting as I fumbled with the key, and when I opened the door she passed right by me and walked to the centre of the small foyer where she turned and waited for me. "I want to talk to you," she said, "I'll follow you to your apartment." I was frozen to the floor, wanting to flee but I couldn't move my feet. "What number?" she asked, as she took my arm and forced me towards the elevators. "432," I mumbled, not smart enough to lie. We waited for the elevator in silence and she said nothing on the ride up, nor the walk to the door. Inside, she put her overnight bag on the floor by the door and went into the living room and sat on the couch. I was trapped; it was all I could do not to panic, to just start running. She looked at me sternly, it scared me. "May I have some tea?" "I don't have any." I never drink tea. "Wine?" Relieved, I moved to a cupboard, pulled out my only bottle of red which I quickly opened and poured into my only wine glass. My hand was shaking when I handed it to her but she might not have noticed because she was looking at me with the same look I had seen so many times in the cafeteria. I retreated to the entrance by the kitchen and stood awkwardly in silence. "I'd like it if you would have a glass with me, Peter." I turned and obediently did as requested and when I returned to the edge of the living room she directed me to sit down in the chair opposite her. I did and sipped nervously from the tumbler and waited, like I was waiting for a job interview or the test results for some dreadful disease. But she didn't say anything, not until I had almost finished my wine. "I brought some things in that bag," she pointed. "I'm going to stay the weekend with you." I looked at her for the first time, stunned by her words. "May I have some more wine?" I quickly left my chair, got the bottle from the kitchen and placed it on the edge of the coffee table in front of her. "Would you pour it for me? And have some more yourself." I did as directed, wondering what this was about — and when she would leave. I sat down and waited for an explanation. She must have seen my shaking hand this time because she said, "I don't want to upset you, Peter. I want to get to know you. That's why I've come here. How else can I get to know you? You're more comfortable here than anywhere else, so I thought this is the best place to do it." "But you can't stay here." "Why not?" "You can't." "I can and I will, I brought my things. I'll stay for the weekend." "There's no room." "There's lot of room, so it's settled. I'm staying," she stood up and walked across the room and picked up her bag. "I'm going to change. I'll be right back." My options tumbled out in a blur: I could call the police; I could physically push her out the door; I could leave myself; I could ... what? What could I do? I could do nothing. Could she just walk into my place and stay? Is that possible? What does she want? And that's what I asked her when she came back into the living. She stood in the middle of the room, "I want to get to know you, I've told you that." That just didn't make any sense but when I looked up at her to try to read her face, to try to understand what she really wanted, I almost ran for the door. She had on a very short blue skirt and a light yellow blouse through which I could easily see her huge red bra. "Do you like it?" She was smiling at me, turning a little to the left and right as fashion models do, then, before I could engage my legs to flee, she came over and kneeled beside my chair — no more than a foot from me. "I'll make a deal with you, Peter," I heard her, of course, but I couldn't look at her. "I'm going to stay the weekend with you. I'll go home Sunday night after dinner and, if you want, after that, you will never hear from me again. Ever. I promise. But I would really, really like it if you would give me a chance to get to know you and for you to get to know me. What have you got to lose? I'll do the cooking and I'll clean your house if you want, all you have to do is talk to me." She stood up. "I'll make supper." I get panic attacks, regularly. Not bad ones, just a shortness of breath and an urgent need to run. I was getting one now. But it passed quickly. I didn't want to flee. I wanted to stay and I knew, deep down, I wanted her to stay, too. I masturbate, regularly, and for the past few months every time I did I thought of her — she is the only girl who has ever looked at me. But that didn't mean I could move. I couldn't. I was terrified to get up; I was terrified to be near her and I guess she sensed that because she came back into the room and bent down and kissed me on the head. "I'm going to be good for you, Peter, really, really good for you," and she placed her hand on my cheek and gently pulled me into her breasts before walking back into the kitchen. And I went there too, 20 minutes later when she called me. The food was on the table — I don't know what it was, even though I was staring at it. I couldn't look at her. "Why," I said, "I don't understand why you're doing this." She squeezed my arm, "I was being honest with you, Peter, absolutely honest. I really want to get to know you and I really want you to get to know me. That's why I'm here." She hesitated for a moment, "But there's more." I risked a quick look at her before turning back to the plate. "I like you. I like the way you look, I like the way you move and I really like that you're so shy." She hesitated again. "Do you know why?" I didn't look at her, "No. That's what I've been saying." "Really shy people don't meet people. So if I make you get to know me I might have a chance with you. And I want that. I've asked about you, quietly, but lots of time. You're really really smart, really good at your job and you can be really successful. But you need someone to help you deal with your shyness. I can do that — I'm not shy at all." If she was waiting for a reaction I was too scared to give her one, so she continued. "In return, maybe I can get you to like me as much as I like you and if you do ... well, girls like me don't often get a chance to get guys like you." "What do you mean girls like you ..." "Look at me." I didn't, I just got as far as her chest before turning back to the plate. "I'm not very good looking, nowhere near as good looking as you and I'm just a clerk, not in management like you. Girls like me, plain and homely, we get passed up every time. I don't want to be passed up. Not by you. That's why I'm here. I know it's sort of wrong to do what I'm doing — forcing myself on you, but if I didn't you'd never even talk to me, would you?" I didn't say anything. "Look, I may be a little plain on the outside, but I'm really hot on the inside and I want you to see that in me." She squeezed my arm again. "I think we can be a great team, Peter and I'm going to do everything I can to try to make it happen." She stood up and kissed me on the head before sitting down again, "Now eat your veggies, they're good for you." I didn't think about her words, they didn't make any sense to me, but there was no doubt she meant them. Well, no, I did think about one word she used: hot, 'I'm really hot inside' — that gave me a hard-on. She was patient with me. She asked me questions about myself, waited patiently for my answer, often giving a little insight about herself and always making sure my tumbler was full. When the bottle was empty, she asked if I had another. When I said I didn't, she got up, went down the hall and came back with a bottle, which she handed me without comment. It was awkward at first, of course. I had never had a conversation with a woman but pretty soon I was enjoying it. We weren't really talking about me; we were talking about things and when, after we had finished the meal, she got up to go into the living room, I followed without thinking and we carried on in there, drinking wine and just talking. I wasn't dreading the moment. Earlier on I knew I would be sleeping on the couch, so late in the evening when she got up, put the two glasses on the counter and walked down the hallway to the bathroom, I took a pillow from my bed, my sleeping bag from the closet and a box of kleenex from the hall closet. I was a little drunk, sure but I was excited, too. I had actually pulled off a conversation with a girl ... and the girl seemed to like me. I sat down on the couch, opened the new box of tissue and waited for the bathroom to be free. I couldn't wait to get to bed. I have never been so horny. I had my underwear pushed down and my penis in my hand when the light flicked on in the kitchen and then she was there, black against the light. But not for long. When she leaned over to turn the living room lamp on I could see the full outline of her left breast and I almost spasmed into the kleenex resting on my belly. "What are you doing?" She seemed to be annoyed. "What?" I said, turning on my side, making sure I could press my hard-on into the couch if she came any closer. "Why aren't you sleeping in your bed? There's lots of room." When the light had come on I was afraid to look at her, but I did now and I think I gasped. She wore a white negligee. She looked like an angel. "No," I said, and I turned over, pressing my now almost spasming prick into the couch and squeezing my eyes shut against her image. I didn't sleep that night. Not once. I masturbated. The first time, before she made it back to bedroom, but the other four times I did it slowly, very slowly, thinking about her, in her white flimsy negligee, in her sexy red bra but mostly when I thought of her I was in her arms and she was caressing me. I was disappointed next morning when I saw her in the kitchen. She didn't have on the white negligee; she was wearing the same clothes she had worn to work yesterday. But she was disappointed, too, she made that perfectly clear, "I wanted to sleep with you last night," she handed me a cup of coffee. "We don't have to do anything, but we're going to sleep together tonight. I want you to know that now." Then she kissed me lightly on the cheek. "I said I want us to get to know each other and I meant it." I don't know why, probably because I had been fucking her in my thoughts for the past eight hours but just the sight of her this morning got me going again and I mumbled, "I want to get to know you, too." She had turned away from me and was reaching for her coffee on the counter when I said this and she spun around, stunned. "You do?" When I blushed, I could feel my whole body turn red but still I said, "You looked beautiful last night." She looked confused, I don't think she knew what I meant. "In your white nightie." She didn't hesitate. She turned and left. I thought I had insulted her, made her mad, I even had a flash of fear that she might leave. I didn't know what to do. I was going to go after her to apologize but, as usual, I couldn't move and then in a few minutes she was there, in front of me, in her white negligee and she was looking at me, in the way she looks at me but now she said, "God, Peter, I just want you to want me." I stood stupid, staring at her. I could see her big breasts were loose behind the thin white film. "I don't know what to do." "I don't either but we can work it out." She took my hand and led me down the hall to the bedroom. Shy fear. I knew everything there was to know about shy fear. This wasn't that, this was terror, gut-wrenching terror but her touch, her hand in mine and then her fingers undoing the buttons of my shirt — they felt so knowing, so confident, so reassuring that I accepted them, instinctively, as I might accept a helping hand from danger. And then there was that look. I don't know what it meant but it made me feel safe, it always made me feel safe. When her hands clasped the waistband of my underwear I stopped her and she didn't object, she climbed onto the bed and brought me with her and I was lying beside her, feeling the heat through the white film between us and she slowly pressed me to her, pulling my chest into hers, my face into her neck and she held me tight, like in my mind she had held me tight all night. And that's when it happened; a moment of utter clarity: for the first time in my life I realized I could be with somebody — I didn't need to be alone. The moan that escaped my lips seemed almost mournful and I think she thought so to because she pushed gently away and looked down at me while she slowly moved her hand along my stomach and when it crawled beneath my underwear and touched my erection I turned into her, pressing myself deep into her soft, hot flesh and I emptied myself on her hand as I surrendered myself to her body, pushing myself into it like it was a cocoon and I felt so safe, so secure that in time I gave in to my exhaustion and fell asleep. My face was pressed into her enormously soft breasts and she was lightly caressing my hair when I awoke. It surprised me how child-like I felt, it was as if this was a familiar place for me, a warm place where I felt absolutely safe. I must have stirred because she pulled away and looked at me, the same look, but now she smiled and gave me a light kiss on the lips and as she did, she slipped her fingers under my underwear again and gently took hold of my penis and she stroked it as she pressed her lips into mine until my groan. This time she didn't let me snuggle into her. Instead, she bounded off the bed and disappeared down the hall but was back within a minute, standing at the foot of the bed where she leaned over, quickly removed my underwear and began cleaning me with a wet warm face cloth. "You're beautiful, Peter," she was concentrating on her task, "you're absolutely beautiful," then she sat beside me and gently stroked me again, taking my balls in her hand and fondling them. In the afternoon she took me for a walk in the park and we stopped for groceries on the way home and some wine which we sipped while I watched her cook. "Do you masturbate, Peter?" She was busy chopping, "I do. I do all the time. I didn't, not really, not before I saw you, but ever since then ..." Now she looked back at me and smiled, "well." She turned and began chopping again but soon gave it up and turned back to me, leaning back against the counter. When we got home she had changed into her short skirt, sheer yellow blouse and red bra and she looked lovely. "Everything changed for me that first day I saw you. I just started to think about you all the time. I couldn't stop." She smiled, "And I don't want to stop. I love thinking about you — love how I feel when I think about you." She looked totally relaxed, she could have been talking about the weather. "What do you think, Peter?" "About what?" She folded her arms over her breasts, "I don't know about anything." "I don't know what to think." She smiled, "It's hard for you isn't it? A shy guy like you. But I hope as you get to know me you'll talk to me about the things you're thinking, I really want to know them, I really want to know how I can make you happy." That made me sad. I didn't know why at first but I thought about it all evening as she talked but I finally figured it out when we went to bed: she may want me but I couldn't see anything I had to give her. I saw her in the cafeteria on Monday, but only out of the corner of my eye. I didn't know what to do, what to say to her so I avoided her and ate out the rest of the week, hating myself that I was so weak and hating that I would be alone all weekend. But she was sitting on her red overnight bag beside my apartment door when I returned home on Friday night. She stood up when she saw me and picked up her bag. She wasn't smiling, she seemed nervous, "You didn't tell me not to come. I'll leave if you want me to, like I promised." She had me so confused I didn't know if I was glad to see her or not but I let her in and when I did she dropped her bag and headed directly for the cupboard, "Do you still have the wine I bought last weekend?" The weekend was a repeate of the previous weekend: she cooked, did most of the talking, a little cleaning, she took me for a walk, to a bookstore, the market and wine store. And she fondled me and cleaned me and fondled me again as I pressed into her soft, hot body. I walked her to the bus stop on Sunday night, just as I had the previous Sunday but this time, when I returned home I found a book on my bed, a how to guide: how to have meaningful sex. I didn't go to work on Monday. I couldn't face her. The book was quite clear about people like me: we are shameful, self-centred, selfish, inconsiderate ... and the list went on. I re-read the book I had been up all night reading; re-reading the sections about bringing pleasure to the other — and how to do it. Then I went online: I had a lot to learn. I stayed away from the cafeteria again all week, until Friday when I waited for her to finish her lunch and walk to the elevators. "Will you come this weekend," I whispered to her from behind her back. When she turned and smiled I turned away. She got on the bus before I did and I smiled at her as I passed her, the red bag on her lap and I walked behind her most of the way to my place, passing her only at the end so I could unlock the door. As usual, we didn't speak until we got in my apartment and even then it took awhile because as soon as the door shut I grabbed her, awkwardly because she sure didn't expect it, and I hugged her, pressing my body into hers as I pulled her body into mine and I felt my fear melt away in her heat. And she was pulling at me, too and pushing her face into my chest so it was a little difficult to push her away, but I did and still not saying anything, I took her hand and walked her to my bedroom where I fell on the bed with her in my arms. Shy The book had a long chapter on kissing, not only how to, but when to, why to and what it can mean. My plan was to start out slowly and build, like the book said, but she wouldn't let me. The moment I put my lips against hers she climbed on me forcing her leg between mine, wrapping her arms tightly around me and sucking on my lips with a hunger that shocked me; it wasn't so much the kissing that shocked me as her aggression. I planned to be in control, this was supposed to be about her, my plan was to repair the damage I had done in our previous sessions together — entirely self sessions, the book had told me. Tonight, my plan was to give her all the sexual pleasure. So I pushed her off me, onto her back. But that scared her, I could see it in her eyes so I leaned forward, kissed her gently and said, "I want to kiss you, Beth, OK?" "Oh, ya, Pete, sure," she said, pulling me into her. But I pushed her away again, "Just lie there for awhile, will you. I don't want you to kiss me, I want to kiss you. OK? You can kiss me later if you want." She straighten out on the bed, put her arms by her side — she seemed to be readying herself, "Sure, Pete, sorry." She looked like she was going to cry. So I did as the book directed, I lightly lay against her and softly kiss her, moving all around her mouth, which she opened, then I bit lightly on her lips, then pressed my tongue at the corners and then into her mouth. That brought a moan from her and she turned to move into me but I pushed at her hip and she lay down again and that's when I brought my hand up to her face, to gently caress her cheek and then I pulled away, rested my head on her chest and watched my hand explore her body. She has a big chest, a huge chest, like I've said. I expected it to be soft and fatty but it wasn't, under the bra it seemed more like muscle, firm, even hard. But her belly was certainly soft. She's a little plump, not too plump but plump and even through her blouse I could feel her stomach quivering as my hand went slowly downwards towards her belt. It was when I touched the belt that it happened. She had been moaning, a really lovely moan deep from within her throat, and it was getting louder when all of a sudden she rose up on her side, dropping my head from her chest and she grabbed my hand and forced it between her legs and bucked at it, really hard, almost frantically and her moans got even louder until they died in her throat and all I could hear was her deep breathing. She lay still for a moment, her head resting on the bed, her eyes closed. Then they opened, "Oh, Pete." She was about to pull into me but I didn't let her, instead I pushed at her hip again to get her on her back and then I leaned in, placing my hand on her breast and I kissed her. "I want to take your clothes off." She struggled to sit up. She had her fingers on her top button when she said, "Oh, sure, Pete ..." But I pushed her down again, "I," I emphasized 'I', "I want to take your clothes off," that's the way the book said to do it, and I did, slowly, button after button until her shirt was undone and I let her lean forward so I could take it off. I was at her belt now, undoing it, and then the button and the zipper and she lifted her bottom so I could slide her pants down, but they got caught on her ankles so I had to get out of the bed to pull them off. I looked down at her before I got back onto the bed. I noticed she was looking at me with that look of hers but I noticed something else, too. I noticed that she didn't look anything like the models in the Victoria's Secret catalogue I have in my drawer. Her underwear wasn't delicate and colourful and tiny and sexy. Hers looked like white armour, tight and tough and old and greying. It wasn't what I expected, it wasn't what I had dreamed about but I lay down beside and touched it anyway, like the book said. I leaned against her, kissing her like I did before and let my fingers travel lightly over her bra. But only for a minute because while I liked the kissing and I liked her little moans and I liked that her mouth was open and her tongue was touching mine, and that she was getting her spit on my lips, I didn't like the feel of her bra. It was like dragging my fingers over indoor-outdoor carpeting so with one hand I reached behind her to undo it. But I couldn't, I didn't know how it was fastened, and I guess she knew it because she sat up and put her hands behind her back but I stopped her, I wanted to do it, so I put both my arms around her and took hold of the strap but even then I couldn't figure it out, so I sat up and she leaned forward so I could see what I was doing, so I could see the long row of little clasps on the wide strap and I pushed the two sides together and the claps were free. When she lay down, I took the bra away and the first breasts I have ever seen lay magnificently on her stomach like flesh-coloured pillows, big and soft with big round red circles on the end and nipples that were long and stiff. They were amazing. I curled on the bed with my head on her soft stomach and I took a nipple in my mouth and I sucked and I don't think I've ever felt so safe. I don't know how long I sucked on it, I seemed to be on another planet, but maybe it was too long because after a while she changed breasts which made me think there might be a time limit on this so I was more careful now, I sucked only for a minute or so on this nipple and then I turned on her stomach and brought my hand to her panties. I had dreamed about this moment ... a lot, I had dreamed that I would trace my fingers all over the surface of the delicate panty, enticing her, feeling her squirm under my fingers, then I would let my fingers sneak under the sexy fabric to touch her. But I couldn't. When I tried, the elastic was so tough and tight against her leg it seemed to bite into it and I couldn't go under so I did what I did with her pants. I got up and stood at the foot of the bed and stripped them off and just like before, I noticed the look on her face, then I noticed the thick jungle of hair between her legs, a jungle far thicker than my own and that surprised me, but the hair under her arms had surprised me, too. "What's the matter?" Her look was gone, she looked really frightened now. "There's just so much hair," I said, without thinking. She quickly tucked her legs under her and sat up, "I can get rid of it, Pete." She looked almost terrified and I felt like it was me who scared her so I sat down beside her and eased her down as I lay against her and when I kissed her I let my fingers roam, knowing my destination and I was there in a few minutes, slipping through the dense patch of coarse brown hair into her wet and hot opening. She stiffened when I touched her, but just for a second, then she opened her legs and I found my bearings. The book told me where it was and what it would feel like and it told me to be very gently and to vary the caress, slow and fast but always gently and if done right the response would be quick. And it was — and painful, I thought she was going to crush me and blow out my ear drum, and I thought I would hurt her, as she violently fucked at my fingers but it was all over in a minute, everything but the kissing: she had me pinned to the bed and was brutalizing my mouth with her lips. It took all my strength to push her away. And then I almost ran from the room. She didn't come after me, instead, I heard the bath begin to fill so I had a beer and waited for it to stop and when it did I went down to the bedroom but the bathroom door was open and she sitting in the water, bent so low her breasts were submerged. She was crying. I don't know why I did it. I guess it was an impulse I just gave in to. I went into the bedroom, took off my clothes then walked into the bathroom and stepped into the tub, and sat down facing her. She was surprised, but she didn't look at me, so I took her face in my hands and I kissed her, tenderly. I didn't want her to cry. She was gentle with me now, she let me kiss her, let me touch and when I put my fingers between her legs I just brushed them lightly, reassuringly against her outer lips she smiled at me and I smiled at her. Something had happened between us, she knew it and I knew it. We had changed, both of us had changed, we were calmer now, more ready to take our time with each other, which we did, making supper together, eating and talking and later on the couch. She had on her white negligee and was lying with her head on my lap. I had pulled the negligee up to her chin so I could watch my fingers caress her breasts and belly and I could look at her thick brown bush which I now thought perfectly suited her. I was thinking about how great she'd look in some of the stuff out of my Victoria's Secret catelogue when she started in. She told me that even before she had met me she had done a lot of reading about shyness and she had done a lot more since. She turned on her side and strained to look up at me. There was things I could do to help me deal with my shyness, she said, exercises I could experiment with to see what worked best for me. She had a number of them and wanted me to try them. What she proposed was that she would give me one exercise a week to work on and we would discuss it on Fridays and would either keep on with it or try a new one, depending on how effective I thought it was. I have been shy all my life and have just accepted it as who I am. I didn't know I wanted to change but I couldn't see any harm in trying a few exercises, whatever they were, so I agreed and that's when she told me that she was going to try to change something about herself, too. She pinched the fat on her belly and said that she had lost six pounds in the past five weeks and she was going to try to lose another 15, so while I was working on my shyness she would be working on her fat. Frankly, I thought it was a good idea, she needed to lose a little weight and, clever man that I am, I gave her an incentive. "Do we have a Victoria's Secret store here?" I asked. She thought for a moment, "No, I don't think so. Why?" "Do we have any stores that sells that kind of stuff?" "Sure," she said, looking up at me again, curious. "Every mall has one." "I think you'd look beautiful in some of those things and I'm going to buy you some. Tomorrow." "Ah, no, Pete," she turned and pushed her face into my stomach so I could barely hear her, "I'm too fat for that stuff now. Maybe later, when I've lost some weight." But I had made up my mind, "We're going tomorrow, Beth." But it wasn't that easy. She would only agree to go into the store if I would agree to go in with her, to pick out what I liked. So, for me, the question boiled down to this: was my desire to see her in sexy underwear stronger than my fear of entering the store. I didn't have to think about it, I knew my fear would conquer lust. But in the end we decided to go and not because of the underwear: it was her idea — this was going to be the first exercise in dealing with my shyness. I wanted a drink before I went in and I suggested it but she wouldn't hear of it: "Do you want to reach for alcohol every time you have to do something you don't want to do?" I would have bailed out if she hadn't been holding my hand so tight and talking me through it. "This is a public store," she said, with a calming voice as we approached the place. "You have every right to go in there and you have every right to see me in the underwear you want." This wasn't the time to argue with her but I didn't see where I had any such right at all. "We'll try the bras first," she said, walking by the racks of colours and silks. "I know the panties will fit." I thought I'd be the only guy in the place and I was and I was hanging onto her hand like a child to his mother and she knew I was scared, she was holding me tight and talking in a calm, soothing voice, trying to make this as easy on me as she could. "There aren't many bras that fit me," she said, sorting through the racks. "I've had this problem most of my life, but they're nice, aren't they, the colours and the fabric. Which do you like, Pete, what colours?" I didn't say anything, I just stood there fighting my fear. But she bumped me with her hip and squeezing my hand hard, "Come on, Pete, they're just bras for goodness sake. What colour do you like?" I took a deep breath, "The yellow." But there was nothing there that would fit her so she pulled me over to the panties. "Yellow?" She said as she sorted through to her size. My mouth was so dry I didn't think I could talk, "And red and black ... and white." She looked up at me, surprised, "Really? They're pretty expensive." I nodded, they could have been a thousand bucks each and I would have paid for them, as I did these, with no eye contact with the attractive clerk. She had her arm around me when we left the store and she was pulling me into her, "You were great, Pete, it wasn't so bad, was it?" "I learned something," I said, feeling a relief flood through me. "Good, that's great, that's what these exercises are for. What?" "I learned that my lust is greater than my fear. I have a raging hard-on right now. And I need a drink. Shop if you want, but I'm going in here," I said, heading to the bar. But she came too, and sat close beside me in the booth. The place was all but empty and the waitress quickly served us and left. "Are you all right?" I took a deep drink of my beer, "Ya. I've got a Victoria's Secret catelogue at home, but the real thing is a whole lot hotter." "Are you hot?" "God, that stuff is unbelievable, I can't wait to see you in it?" Then she did something that absolutely shocked me, she was on my left side and she turned into me bringing her left hand down to my pants and before I understood what she was doing, she unzipped me and was digging in to get past my underwear. I grabbed her wrist, quickly looking around, "What are you doing?" "I don't want you to wait, Pete and no one's looking," and she pushed me back with her right arm and pumped me the few times it took and she caught me in a cocktail napkin and quickly zipped me up. "What's the big deal?" she said, as we rode the bus. "You needed it and no one was looking." Then she bumped into me playfully, "I'd expect you to do the same thing for me." I wasn't any where near as nervous when we walked into this store, at least until we walked through all the dresses and blouses and were in the underwear section. But there, we were at it again, her hand in mine, reassuringly squeezing me, and me with a dry mouth and a stiff erection, answering her questions. I saw her in the cafeteria on Monday, not out of the corner of my eye but because I searched for her. She didn't move as I headed towards her, and her look didn't change either, the same look she always had when she looked at me. I sat down across from her and began taking the plates off my tray as if I always sat with her for lunch. When I looked up, she said, "Oh, Jeez, Pete, thanks," and I thought she was going to cry. She kept after me with the shyness exercises and I kept doing them because a lot of them worked, particularly the first one we discussed when I first sat with her in the cafeteria. When I was growing up I used to play a lot of table tennis with my dad, a lot, we played all the time. Well, just off the cafeteria there's a big table tennis room where employees play at lunch time and after work. I have always wanted to suck up enough courage to go in there. I've always loved the game. At her prodding, today was the day. She almost pushed me through the door, then hung around to make sure I stayed. And I did, watching others play and then someone asked me for a game and with the thrill of the competition I forgot I was shy. I knew I was going to do it a month before I did. I don't know why I waited, caution, I guess, I wanted to see if there was anything about her I couldn't deal with. But there wasn't, I loved everything about her and she loved me because when I asked her to marry me she jumped into my arms and knocked me to the floor. She did all the planning, not that there was much: she arranged with the Justice of the Peace for the time and place and she arranged for the two witnesses. We went out to dinner after the ceremony, the four of us. Ann and Anita, I learned, were a couple and they were fun, flirting with each other as they ate and drank and celebrated with us. They were to stay with us on an airbed Beth had bought for the occasion. We all had lots to drink when we stumbled into my apartment but not quite enough, so I poured the drinks while everyone got comfortable, our two visitors on the couch with Beth on the floor where I soon joined her. It was Anita who brought it up. Beth had worn a blazer over a sheer blouse but the blazer was off now and you could easily see her large yellow bra. Anita made her comment directly to Ann, "God, I can see what you mean, they're fabulous." Ann laughed and smiled at Beth. "I can't tell you how I miss those guys." And I sat stunned as Beth smiled back, sticking out her chest and wiggling her breasts seductively. Then Ann added, "You're a lucky guy, Pete." I'd had a few drinks, we all had, so I thought I'd got it wrong but Anita offered perfect clarity when she said, holding her hands over her tiny breasts, "And to think these have to replace those." That's when I said, "What are we talking about here?" Ann started to answer but Beth stopped her, turning to me and saying, matter-of-factly, "Ann and I lived together for two years when we were going to college. Ann's a lesbian, I'm not but we did have a bit of a relationship for awhile." I don't know what shocked me more, "What do you mean a bit of a relationship and when did you go to college?" Who had I married, for God's sake? "Four years ago, I got two years in sociology before I dropped out because of money. And the relationship?" She shrugged, apparently thinking there was no issue here, "We were roommates, we just fooled around a bit." And the matter had been dealt with, or so Anita thought because she said, with a giggle, "Give us a peek, Beth." Beth turned to me, she was clearly excited, "Should I?" "Come on, Pete," Ann wasn't looking at me, she was pulling off her own sweater. Beth was beaming with excitement, I didn't know if was from flattery or the booze but she really wanted her shirt off and God knows the two girls wanted that, too and now, so did I. The whole thing, while shocking, was unbelievably erotic, I mean, two lesbians wanting your wife's tits? And then it just sort of happened. I didn't say anything, didn't know what to say and there was a lot of stuff in the air that I didn't want to stop so I just got up and sat in the chair and leaned forward with my elbows on my knees and that was signal enough. The two lesbians were almost fighting over who would undo her buttons. Ann was there first but Anita almost pulled her away and was at them and when she was finished Ann whipped off Beth's blouse with the flourish of a matador. I guess it was then that it struck me. Up until now, sex had been nervous and personal and serious to me, I didn't know any other way. Not now. These girls were having fun: they were hooting and hollering and the two lesbians were positively wrestling with each other to get at Beth's bra. And Beth? She was lying back on her arms eagerly waiting the winner. And then the frenzy started in earnest. Anita, always the fastest, had her clothes off first and she was pulling at Beth's pantyhose. Ann's ass, just two feet from my face, blocked my view but I'm sure she was struggling with Beth's skirt because seconds later it was off, too and that's when Beth stood up and took the few paces over to me, stopping in front of me dressed only in her powered blue panties, almost loose on her now that she had lost the ten pounds — she looked unbelievable sexy. "Take off your clothes, Pete. When they're finished, we'll have sex while they have sex. OK?" Shy I looked at the two lesbians who were sitting watching me, waiting with child-like eagerness. They were both impossibly thin, entirely hairless and, while Ann had small breasts with erect nipples, Anita seemed to have only nipples, as stiff as a baby finger and about as long. I leaned forward kissing my wife's belly, and as I got up to take my clothes off, she went back to them and there were four eager little hands on her before she sat down. And then they snuggled in, both with a nipple in their mouth and their hands squeezing her breasts, both pressed against her like two identical parenthesis and Beth's arms were under their necks and she was caressing their heads. It was beautiful and not just in an erotic way — they all seemed so blissfully content there was something beautifully innocent about it. For awhile. And then I saw Anita open her eyes and I watched them turn from dreamy pleasure, slowly, to animal lust. And then she sprang, the lithe, lean body, all sinews and ligaments, seemed to sail over Beth and Ann must have been waiting because she caught her on the fly and they rolled away from Beth and the two tiny bodies, stick figures — they looked like animated pipe cleaners coiled around each other — noisily sucking, oblivious of everything but each other. Beth had her panties off when I got down in front of her and her hands were reaching for me. When I shimmied between her legs and entered her, wet and welcoming, I think I finally understood her look. It was one of utter yearning, almost painful yearning. She wanted to give herself away. And she had chosen me. When I sank fully into her and she had her arms around me, I thought of that strange little girl with the big chest hunched over her tray in the cafeteria looking at me. Then I pressed her face into the side of my neck where she liked it, and I felt my body melt into hers.