In the taxi we established that Sa’afia had her mother staying at her house and no condoms. My place had condoms and no moms. We went to my place.
In the taxi Sa’afia accepted my hand under her shirt, but not under her bra, a signal that I hadn’t yet won the right to assume that we were going to have sex. Sa’afia was a good girl by the lights of the First Samoan Church of Los Angeles, when she wasn’t being goaded by her younger cousin into going out to get laid at a party.
So I consolidated what I’d won so far, with my hands on her warm, bare back while I kissed her. She sighed and kissed back. There was desire, and so we made ourselves busy.
All I had to do was not screw up, in a courtship game where I had to guess the rules as well as make sure I didn’t break them. But everything about this night, this taxi trip to my bed, was random. I’d met Sa’afia by accident by meeting Ana by accident; and on any other night Sa’afia might still have liked me, but she wouldn’t have got into a taxi with me. Sa’afia had told me about the pep talk Ana had given about girls going out to have fun. Even then, I wouldn’t have spent my evening trying to make sure Sa’afia had fun, if she hadn’t touched my mouth. We were random events.
Inside my door, we said almost nothing until the next morning, but it seemed that Sa’afia wanted to know that I desired her. That was easy. I took off her clothes very slowly, with a lot of kissing and adoring what I found, and once I’d removed everything but her bra and knickers she was prepared to be gathered in and lain on her back on my bed.
She was content to leave me dressed while I undressed her, and to accept and give me kisses when our mouths were close. But sex was something she went along with, not something she demanded or led. She wasn’t “submissive”, and I’d already found that it’s submissive women, in the bdsm sense, who tend to be readiest to specify what they want and to be most assertive during sex. It’s a generalisation, but most men and women who do both styles of sex will recognise it.
She had to be coaxed and kissed to get her bra off. It seemed odd to strike that shyness at this stage, and I wondered if some oaf had, some time in her life, made her self-conscious about her breasts. Her breasts were firmly heavy, one of the many kinds of perfect. Maybe she’d had more attention that she’d liked. I decided to say nothing, in the meantime.
But she didn’t hesitate to lift her ass so I could slide her tiny red knickers down and off. She was exuberantly wet when I stroked her, and vocal, though I don’t think her murmurs involved words, when I ran my tongue down her belly and stayed to tongue slowly along the plump purple folds of her cunt. Sa’afia closed soft, slightly cool thighs against my ears, and squirmed luxuriously.