Chapter 6: Chapter 6 – Hugh chopped down the cherry tree

It wasn't exactly difficult to find pictures of naked girls on the internet showing a whole lot more than Natalie just did, but the difference it made seeing it in person was night and day. Not only that, but she was showing herself to me. Me. Deliberately. Even though she clearly had her own reasons, I could pretend it was all just for me.

She glared at me.

What?

I realized that my lips had curled into an involuntary grin, and, honestly, I understood her irritation. It must have seemed like I was making fun of her.

"I'm sorry," I said.

I seemed to say that to her a lot.

"If you're sorry, then why are you still grinning?"

I tried to wipe the expression off my face but I couldn't. I was just too happy. I told her that.

Her expression softened. "You liked it that much?"

"Yes! A thousand times yes!"

"Why?"

I shrugged.

"No, really," she said. "I need to know."

"I'd rather not."

"Why? Because it's embarrassing?" she asked pointedly.

"Because I'm afraid that if I tell you what I feel or why or say anything about this, you'll think I'm a horrible person and disgusting and you'll kick me out of your apartment and we'll never see each other again."

Even that had been a lot more than I'd wanted to share, but I felt I owed it to her given how clearly embarrassed she was with her exposure. My words must have struck a chord with her, though, because her countenance totally changed.

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"I get your fear. I really, really do. I share it. But what's better," she said, "us being superficially friendly but neither of us knowing anything truly real about the other or being honest and having the chance for us to actually mean something to each other?"

Honestly, there wasn't a person on the planet I felt like knew who I was in any meaningful way, and I did want that. It was scary though.

"Fine," I said. "But if you start looking at me like I'm dog poop on the bottom of your shoe, I'm going to tell you that I told you so."

As far as threats went, that one was pretty suboptimal, and, knowing that, I rushed to continue before she could say anything. "I don't know why I feel the way that I do, but I guess I can tell you what I feel."

I paused for a moment to gather my thoughts. "I've never actually played strip poker, but I imagine it going something like this. My opponent, a girl obviously, isn't as smart as me and doesn't really know the game. She loses hand after hand. First her shoes and socks. Then her shorts. She stands and shyly unbuttons them. I can tell she's trying to be brave, to act all cool, but her face is beet red. She slips them off, revealing her white panties, and sits back down. Then her shirt. She's furiously blushing as she reveals her bra, and I think she's going to quit right then. Instead, she shuffles the cards, her breasts bouncing as just the bra isn't enough to contain them. After losing the next hand, she stands again, clearly about to remove her bra, and I'm wondering why she's doing this. She's obviously near about dying of embarrassment. Her face could light a candle it is so hot, and she's literally trembling. Her bra, now unlatched, slips down, and my eyes are drawn to her hard nipples. It is not cold in the room. She sees me looking and her hands dart up to cover herself. She stops, though, before she actually conceals anything and instead just stands there. My eyes drink her in. All the bare skin covered only by a small pair of white panties, panties that have a growing wet spot on the front. Then I understand why she's still playing. She's scared and embarrassed, but she's also excited. Adrenaline is coursing through her veins. And she's aroused, and when she figures out that I know just how excited she is, it makes her even more embarrassed which somehow makes her even more aroused. She moans. And that combination of vulnerability and embarrassment and arousal is, for me, the absolute definition of sexy."

I shifted, my pants uncomfortable, as I stared straight at the floor. "Should I leave, now?"

Natalie didn't answer, and, eventually, I had to look up. When I did, I found that her face was flushed, and her breathing was heavier than I would have expected it to be.

"I like the idea of someone finding my body, finding me, as sexy as you just described," she said.

When she didn't continue, I said, "Okay."

"Do you think I'm a deviant for wanting that?"

"Of course not!"

"A pervert? Weird? Do you suddenly want nothing to do with me?"

"No," I said. "And I get the point you're making. And I agree. You have every right to get turned on by whatever floats your boat, and I have that same right. It just ... doesn't feel that way, you know?"

Natalie did the last thing in the world that I would have expected her to do. She got up off her bed, walked the few steps to the couch, sat next to me, and put her arm around me. "For the record, what you just told me was one of the hottest things I've ever heard, and, honestly, after you opened up to me like that, I feel a lot better about what's going to happen in the near future."

My mom has hugged me many times. Women who were part of my extended family at reunions and such, too. I even remember going to a church service with a friend and finding that it wasn't weird for random strangers to pull me into a hug. None of that felt like this, though.

The potential of world ending peril aside, I was very interested to find out what would happen next.

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