In the Garden of Earthly Delights

In the Garden of Earthy Delights

         You see the girl in the picture - that’s us.  Well really, that’s Ginny.  I’m Chloe, Ginny’s right-brain.    My nemesis, Ginny’s left-brain, calls herself Prudence.  Boy does that name fit!  But then, twelve years of Catholic school, at Our Lady of the Perpetually Dismal, had to leave its mark. 

         I’m ashamed to admit this but, Ginny thinks that her outfit’s chic.  I know!  I suppose it wouldn’t be too abysmal with heels or jewelry, or something.  But the boots!  Oi vey!  They looked like something an SS officer might wear.

         It’s been hard.  I’ve been squashed down since kindergarten.  When we were kids, I had more impact.  My shining moment was when we dumped her new box of crayons – and we’re talking of the big, sixty-four count box of Crayolas – out and Flamingo-dance them into the wood floor.  While I thought the terrazzo-tile-effect was stunning, the parental units didn’t.  They neither appreciated the creativity nor the end result.  In fact, to put it simply, they were ‘not amused’.

         We started school soon after that, and any influence I had was quashed.  With the exception of a brief coupe, when Prudence was busy chanting ‘Hail Marys’ as we enter puberty, I was ignored.

         In hind sight, the salt and flour replica of female genitalia we did for our Science Fair project – while pretty accurate for a clueless thirteen-year-old – might not have been a good idea.  Sister Bernadette (who’d apparently mistaken our project as a model of volcanic formations in the Pacific) was getting into it.  Then Sister Mary Katherine whispered what it really represented. 

         Everything went pear-shaped after that.  Sister Mary Katherine – a  tattle-tale, if ever there was one – went for Mother Superior, the other girls clustered around our exhibit, giggling and Sister Bernadette went kind of purple and splotchy.  Then she fainted. 

         Father Michael, a Jesuit priest from the boys’ school, was there as a judge.  Luckily, he knew CPR, and went to Sister Bernadette’s rescue.  Still, she did have a kind of creepy, dreamy look in her eyes, when she came to again with handsome Father Mike leaning over her.  Even I considered plucking out my eyes after seeing that, but in the end I just put in a couple of ‘Hail Marys’ and hoped for the best.

         After the ambulance left, Father Michael went back at the boys’ school – sure to be the star of the dinner conversation that evening – leaving the entire school discussing our sin, we were dragged, bodily, to Mother’s office, where Sister Marie instructed us to kneel and prayer until further notice. 

         Mother Superior showed up after about an hour looking a little splotchy herself.  For a minute, I was afraid she might have a fit too. Instead, she launched into a tirade about Satan and Hell, and how Ginny was on a downward spiral to perdition.  We remained kneeling, nodding whenever Mother paused for a breath.  Mother droned on for more than an hour.  I kind of zoned out.  But I wasn’t the only one, so did Pru.

         Needless to say, we did not win, place or even show at the Science Fair.  Instead, we had a meeting with Mother Superior, Sister Bernadette, Sister Mary Katherine, Father Mike and his superior, the bishop, two psychologists, the ER doctor (although, I’ve never understood why he was there) AND the parental units.  We polished pews for the rest of that school year.  After that, Prudence kept a tight rein on us.  For a while, I was afraid we might really become a nun. 

         After the Science Fair debacle, I had a lot of time on my hands – plenty of time to think.  And that’s when it hit me.  We needed something interesting to occupy our down time.  Now, aside from the pathetic ‘talk’ we had in gym about ‘the birds and the bees’ – I swear, it’s the 21st century and that’s how Sister Brenda referred to it – we didn’t get much information about sex:  except, of course, that it was wrong.

         Luckily, the other girls were more ‘with it’, and very talkative.  Even Pru couldn’t keep us from overhearing ‘things’. Good thing for us, I have a very strong libido and a vivid imagination.  Ginny isn’t an only child.  She has a younger brother.  So we’d been exposed (no pun intended) to a naked boy.  True, he was an infant; but still, I was able to imagine the further regions of an actual man – although our Ken doll confused me for a while. 

         Old Pru did her best to keep Ginny busy.  I’ll give her that.  But Pru’s mistake was trying to keep her busy with quadratic equations.  I mean, really, which would you rather think about?  Luckily, Ginny had never been very good in math, and Prudence’s attempt to keep her mind occupied with ‘X+Y=?’ was too little, too late.  I’d already peppered her thoughts with ‘♂+♀=Fireworks!’

         The real problem was we didn’t meet many guys.  They had their own school next to ours, but those Jesuits kept a closer watch on their boys than Pru watched Ginny.  I mean, they made the nuns seem like ‘soiled doves’.  (I know, it’s a cheesy phrase – but really, don’t you love the image?)

         Then we got lucky – I mean ‘I’ got lucky.  Ginny got a job waitressing.  Prudence been pushed us so hard, we managed to graduate a semester early.  However, the parental units weren’t about to let us go away to college early.  So, after a week of hanging around the house, getting ragged on no matter what we did, we went out and found a job waitressing. 

         Now, this job wasn’t at just any restaurant.  Mama Leone’s was an old, family-owned city landmark.  The owners regularly brought over relatives from the old country to work.  (Of course, when I say ‘relatives’, I mean guys.)

         And these guys were ‘A’ #1 prime specimens.  Most of them only spoke Italian, so they worked as water boys until they learned enough English to get by.  Meanwhile, they crooned in Italian at all the girls; and we all loved it.

         Then Paulo arrived.  Not only did he speak English, but he made the rest of the boys look like trolls.  Ginny took one look at this guy and went all gooey.  Prudence read Ginny’s mind and started saying round-the-clock rosaries.  So, all I had to do was sit sat back and let nature take its course.  Well, that and plan my epic letter to Penthouse.

         We liked working at the restaurant.  After twelve years at school or at home, it was interesting to see all kinds of people.  It was an education – one that made us look forward to college in the fall.  Prudence was having less impact on Ginny.  She, too, was enjoying talking to different people and breaking out of the rut that had been our life.

         I should probably tell you we were looking better.  Mama Leone’s waitresses wore black skirts, long-sleeved, white, button-front blouses and red vests.  The vest was a bit tight on us; giving us a tiny waist and pushing our breasts up, and we pulled our hair back in a pony tail.  I have to say, we looked cute.  And Paulo was hypnotized by that switching pony tail every time we walked past him.

         I knew Paulo had his eyes on us, but I was glad he was taking his time.  Ginny would have panicked if he’d pounced.  And that would give Prudence just the wedge she needed. After we’d worked at the restaurant for a couple of months, and Ginny hadn’t done anything Pru could find fault with, even she started to relax. 

         Paulo worked the same schedule as we did.  He hovered nearby to help with trays, flashed us with his toothy smile and always called us Virginia; but he still didn’t ask us out.  Gradually, I realized Prudence found this insulting.  I didn’t think about it often or too long, so Ginny didn’t catch on; but it seemed that stuffy old Pru had decided he was a hottie too.

         She’d get no argument from me.  I’m telling you, Paulo is a god; curly, blue-black hair, clear skin and huge brown eyes.  Seriously, his eyes are like big, milk chocolate pools.  Who wouldn’t fall in love with him?

         We were due to leave for school soon.  Granted, the college was only a little over an hour away.  Still, he was cutting things very close.  Finally, as we were leaving work one Saturday, Paulo asked if we’d go to mass with him the next morning and of course we said yes. We went home – Ginny and Pru ecstatic, me relieved, and Paulo grinning! 

         Even the parental units couldn’t find fault with going to church with a boy.  Although, Dad did give him a beady eye as they shook hands.  Father Mike said mass that morning and I swear he winked at us as we left the church. 

         We brought Paulo home for Sunday dinner, and surprisingly, Mom and Dad settled down and just accepted the reality – their baby girl was ‘dating’.  God bless Paulo, he sat and watched some stupid golf match with Dad, nodding and smiling at what I can only assume he thought were appropriate intervals.  Meantime, we helped Mom with the dishes and tried to stay calm. It was a kind of surreal moment, but things must have gone all right, because when Paulo asked Dad if he could see us again, Dad answered ‘Yes.’.

         I think I was the only one not surprised that they both had Tuesday off.  Jeez, sometimes I wonder about the others!  Paulo called us Tuesday morning and asked if we’d like to go on a picnic that afternoon.  Is this guy smooth, or what?  Who’d object to a picnic?  Not Mom or Dad.  Not even Prudence could find fault in that.  All I did was stay low and quiet. 

         Pru was so relieved by the ‘picnic date’, she let me plan our outfit:  a sleeveless button blouse, a bra with a front-hook, lacy panties and elastic-waist gym shorts.  But, I didn’t believe it when I actually managed  it.  We were ready when Paulo pulled up in his uncle’s car.  He had a picnic basket and a couple blankets in the back seat, and a smile on his face. 

         Paulo must have asked around, because he turned off the main road, and drove into a deserted park.  We were soon parked in a secluded spot near a lake.  He spread the blanket out under a maple tree, helped us sit down before he dropped down beside us.

         It was a perfect afternoon.  Glasses of Chianti, prosciutto wrapped melon and little knots of dough baked with cracked peppercorns led to easy conversation.  Ginny (and more importantly, Pru) was comfortable.  Paulo talked about the town where he was from and we talked about why we wanted to be a teacher.

         We ate, drank, and talked.  What had started out as a warm fuzzy feeling, grew to a kind of sweet, dreamy heat.    I also noticed that our boobs felt too big for our bra and our nipples tingled.  OMG!  Don’t think about it – just go with it; and keep Prudence clueless for as long as possible.

         Paulo leaned in for a kiss.  Our first kiss!  He brushed his lips softly against ours and then sucked our bottom lip for a moment.  It was amazing!  And then, Ginny kissed him back.  This was a tenuous few seconds for me.  How was Prudence going to take this?  But instead of starting with the ‘Hail Marys’, she was singing ‘59th Street Bridge’.

         Next thing I knew, we were in Paulo’s arms and we were kissing each other.  But after only a few minutes, he pulled back, grazed our cheek with his knuckles and said, “Virginia, let’s stop for a moment.  I know you haven’t dated much.”

         We giggled, answering, “I’ve never dated, but I eighteen – I’m not a child.”

         “I’m not calling you a child.  I just want you to know that I’m not possessive or worry about my masculinity.  I like you, and want to see you again – whether we go home now, go for a walk or keep kissing.”

         We answered by pulling him closer and kissing him again.  He buried his face in our neck and hair, and cooed to us in Italian.  Pru giggled and I just tumbled into those chocolate eyes.  Life was good!

         I’m not sure what happened next.  Time kind of stopped.  I remember looking up past his eyes, at the sunlight dappling through the maple leaves; and thinking how good he smelled.  We felt flushed, butterfly fluttering prickled deep inside us and it was hard to breathe. 

         We sighed and once again Paulo pulled back, looked into our eyes and said, “Maybe we should stop and go for that walk.”

         “No,” we all murmured, “I don’t want to stop; but I don’t want to  . . .”  We blushed scarlet as he smiled and nodded he understood.

         We went back to kissing for a while, before he fumbled with the top button on our blouse.  Trailing soft, sweet kisses down our neck, he undid another button, saw the front hook on the bra and moved in.  The tender kisses changed into hot, burning ones.  In one smooth move, Paulo unfastened the bra, peeled it back and moved on down with fluttering kisses.  And then he licked a nipple.  That felt good!

         None of us protested – not even Pru.  Instead, we raked our fingers through those blue-black curls and pull him closer.  As he flicked his tongue from one nipple to the other, he moved our hand to his raging erection.  We didn’t pull away.  With a new found boldness, we pressed it gently.  I thought we felt good – then Paulo let out a groan that shot a whole new level of pleasure through us.

         If this was bad, then hello hell - seriously, this was worth it.  Then, that very naughty boy kissed his way down to the top of our shorts.  Just sneaking his finger under the elastic and pulling it a half an inch made our toes curl.  Meanwhile, we were doing our own fumbling; first, with the button and then with the zipper of his jeans. 

         Released from the confines of his pants, his magnificent appendage leaped out through his tighty-whities and stood before us in all its glory!  His resulting moans sent even more shivers surging through us.  With gentle, tentative touches, we explored this instrument of evil.  It was so warm and firm, with a heart-shaped tip covered in velvet-soft skin; and every time we touched it, he quivered.

         We began stroking it, softly at first – but we soon learned from his groans to use long, firm strokes.  Between moans, he kissed his way back to our face.  Only this time he was using his tongue.  OMG!  Could this get any better?

         Paulo slipped one hand under the elastic of our panties.  Ordinarily, Pru would have sent out telepathic messages to the police, the fire department and the Pope.  But she was still singing – only now it was “Theme to Love Story’. 

         We opened our mouth more and let our tongue explore his mouth, too.  He tasted as good as he smelled. 

Paulo pulled away, and we thought we’d done something wrong, but he smiled, saying, “Cara, please, hold up or  . . .”          We colored, embarrassed by what he was saying, and released him.  “No, sweetheart, don’t stopped, just slow down.”  Kissing us deeply again, he whispered, “I don’t want things to finish too quickly.”

         Then he slipped his hand beneath our panties, and rubbed us gently.  I thought kissing was good.  He kept rubbing us, as he wriggled a finger further and further down.  We groaned, and to our delight, he twitched and grew in our hand.  That, in turn, made us even more determined for him to keep touching. 

         He glided his fingers along, maintaining pressure and massaging us with the heel of his hand.  Our heart hammered in our chest.  Everything felt so exquisite, but when he slid his hand down even lower, I did wonder if we weren’t being too easy.  He murmured softly, into our ear, “Don’t be afraid, I’m not going to—”

         We stared up into those eyes, and cut him off with a kiss, whispering, “I’m not afraid.”

         He let out a soft laugh.  “Such defiance – determination.”

         “You’re making fun of—”

         “No,” he said, kissing our neck and exploring us, “I’m not.  It was just the resolve on your face.”

         We answered by picking up the pace of our stroking.

         “Oh, Cara . . .,” he sighed, as he thrust his hips. 

         His kisses grew hotter, his massaging more centralized and he toyed with our little nub until we thought we’d scream.  His breath came in short pants between kisses, and his pelvic thrusts seemed more desperate.

We were having trouble breathing ourselves, and it felt as though some coil was tightening in our belly. 

         Our lips were locked together, our mutual touches synchronized and we were thrusting our hips up, putting more pressure on Paulo’s hand.  The tension was incredible!  The air electric!  The sweet agony our caresses gave us, both, had become the most important thing in the universe. 

         Then Paulo’s free hand groped on the blanket, and he covered our hand with a napkin, just as his eyes glazed over, he groaned and he climaxed.  We felt him throbbing and spurting in our hand, a final rush of power and pleasure gushed over us, before . . .

         Sweet Jesus!  That internal spring – so tightly wound – suddenly snapped!  Enjoyment morphed into an intense pleasure.  Our entire body went rigid and tingled.  Then a warm blanket of satisfaction coursed through us. 

         Paulo’s kisses turned to sweet, soothing, reassurances.  We pretended not to notice as he cleaned us up, choosing instead to look up at heaven and thank God for his wisdom.



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