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Subject: {LeAnna} God's Girl [bibl]
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Please do NOT email me at this addrses.  This is a temporary address until
I can get back into my own email account.  Email me at
leanna1@hotmail.com.

Copyright 1998 by LeAnna.  No part of this document may be reproduced in
any way without the author's explicit permission.  Please email comments
to leanna1@hotmail.com <- i'm always taking comments!  Forgive the delay
in stories.  I've had one computer problem after another, but with any
luck, there should be two stories by tomarrow out on the bitsteam and yet
another one on the way.  Enjoy.

LeAnna's Musings: http://www.geocities.com/Athens/Academy/2194/

[God's Girl]

"Holy shit.  Look at that girl." Gabe swore.  "I still jizz my
pants every time I see her!" 

I glanced up at him, a smile helplessly creeping across my face, but
said nothing.  I looked down at my food, examining a french fry
for a moment before dipping it in ketchup and popping it into my mouth.

Nick also glanced up to where Gabe was staring and whistled
admiringly.  He poked his elbow into my ribs, and I looked up at him a
questioning glance.  He grinned lewdly at me, and gestured toward her.  I
turned in my seat to look, then smiled at the sight.

She was a living angel.  She had long blonde hair that fell in a
graceful cascade to her delicate waist. Her features seemed as if they'd
been carefully picked out by God -- pert nose, lips that weren't too
small yet large enough to envelop you into their warmth -- and large,
guarded eyes.  Her eyes were a light shade of blue -- having a veneer
of happiness, but when you looked deep into her eyes, you could see
her pale, grey sorrow.

Her dress was maddeningly casual -- faded blue jeans with a rip here 
and there, worn with a white undershirt.  The clothes she wore gave the
barest, most fleeting hint of her figure.  She always wore a cross on her
body, in one form or another.  Bracelets, chokers, anklets.  She'd joked
to me that she'd get a tattoo of the cross that Christ had been nailed
onto.

"Tell me..." Nick leered at me.  "Just *tell* me you wouldn't like to do
Andrea."  He took a gulp of his Coke.  "If I got to share a room with her,
I would die of happiness."

I cracked a secretive smile and looked up at him.  "I
imagine that I'd see her bare-assed naked often."

"Shit, yeah.  I'd stare at her titties so hard that I'd give
myself a brain aneurysm."

I laughed raucously and slapped him on the back.  "But oh, what a
way to go, eh?"

"Sure as hell would be."  He downed the rest of the Coke noisily.

Another friend came to sit at our table, his tray filled to the brim 
with greasy cafeteria food.  "Who you looking at?"

"Ah, only an angel, Wally.  Only an angel," Nick sighed wistfully.
Wally looked back over his shoulder in curiosity, and then he laughed.
"Forget it. She belongs to God!"  He dove into his food, noisily chomping
and gulping.

Well, she certainly belonged to someone.

I can still remember the first time we talked.  We'd grown up in the 
same town, gone to the same schools.  She'd always intimidated me -- she
carried a strange, distant aura that somehow held me at bay.  

Until one night, just after graduation.  We were at the same
coffeeshop, listening to a local blues band play some tunes.  I came late.
The only seat left was a vacancy near Andrea -- though she was beautiful,
like I said, she held a distant air.  It wasn't on purpose that she gave
people this impression, but as a result, she was a lonely angel.

Well, I'd had a few too many bowls to smoke, and I was dizzy and
lightheaded, so she didn't intimidate me that night.  I marched through 
the sweaty throng of bodies to clumsily rest my baked ass next to her.
She sat on the end of the sofa, laid back, almost relaxed, her
brow furrowed and her teeth sunk into her luscious lower lip, nibbling for
a moment before parting to let in the end of a cigar.

I took a seat next to her, relieved from the spinning of the room.  
"Didn't know you smoked."

My sentence shook her out of her private world, her private
thoughts.  "I don't."

I dug into my pockets.  "I do.  Do you mind?"

She laughed and looked at me for the first time since I'd sat
down next to her.  I was drawn into her eyes, her eyes that seemed to
swirl around with beautiful blue depths.  Maybe that was just the
marijuana, but I've always been captivated by her eyes.

I pulled out a pack of reds, and stuck the end into my mouth, clumsily
looking for a lighter.  She then did something I never expected her to do.
She reached over, took my cigarette from my mouth, her fingers
brushing against my lips, and put it in the right way, filter side in.

"Have a light?"  My hands were cold.

She shook her head, and leaned forward, pressing the end of her cigar
against my cigarette.  I could barely inhale.

"Seen you around a bit," I muttered.

-- GodhowI'dlovetotakethatbeautiful --

"Yup.  I think you were in my Sunday school classes, weren't you?"

-- Faceofyoursandjustkissituntil --

"Yeah.  I dropped out of church because I didn't like Mrs. Norton."

-- Youbegmetotakeyou --

"Nobody really did, did they?"  Laugh.

-- Gasping,sweating,begging --

I snapped out of my trance, taking a deep hit off of my cigarette, 
letting the smoke clear my senses.  "So why are you sitting here in this  
coffeeshop?"

Her face turned dark, and I immediately regretted saying it -- regretted
making that holy smile disappear.  "Oh, just stuff." ...

... "Man, I'd love to stuff my ..." Nick's voice was loud and
obnoxious in my ear, jerking me back to reality.  I punched him in the
shoulder, hissing for him to be quiet.  Didn't want her to hear...

Anyhow, that night, we formed a friendship.  I think I might have
been the first real friend Andrea had.  She found deep solace in her
religion, for a reason that I would find out later.

We were both enrolled in our city's college -- it was a college
town, and just about everybody who came out of our high school went to
that university.  As luck would turn out, we were at the same dorm (live at
home?  With my parents?  Nah!), and so we spent many evenings studying
together.  When we were finished, or bored of, studying, we would sit up
late, drinking coffee and philosophizing.

One night, I was gazing at my grades in dismay.  "I can't afford
to fail this class!"

She glanced up.  "What?"

"History of Computers.  It runs close to what, $5,000 per course
here?"

"About that."

I sighed and shook my head.  "Look at you -- you're so hardworking
that you'll breeze right through college.  Your parents sure won't have
to pay for any classes twice."

She was silent for a moment, her eyebrows furrowed.  "My parents
disowned me."

"What?  When?"

"A while back."

I shook my head in amazement.  "Why did they disown you?  And how
are you paying for college?"

"Scholarships."

"All of it?"

"Yup.  Do you have any extra notebooks?  I ran out..."

That was the end of the discussion.

She was incredibly smart, I'll tell you.  My burning desire for her 
never abated, but it was accompanied with a deep respect for her
intellect.  Her mind was quick and inquisitive.  While deeply religious,
she never dismissed the scientific -- she even took a class in
anthropology, a move that would have made her fundamentalist parents
nearly keel over, had they not already disowned her.  It went to show that
she was openminded.

And she caught on to things so quickly that it was amazing.  If
she tried just an inkling, she could put my computer skills to shame.  
As it were, she could do a slight of programming, and that slight was
self-learned and amazingly bug-free.  She'd taken three years of math in
eighth grade and was in calculus in her freshman year of high school.
And she could write with amazing fluidity.  She had published short
stories and poetry, and was even a bit well-known in literary circles.

Which is why I never understood the sad aura floating
about her constantly -- a muted light in her eyes, a certain quivering
corner of her lip.  One day, out of nowhere, I blurted out:

"Why did your parents disown you?  You seem so... perfect."

She looked back at me, surprised, the aura growing deeper and
darker.  Instead of brushing off the question, like she had the
previous times that I'd asked, she glanced at the floor. "I disappointed
them."

It took me months to discover that one reason, a major reason, was
the lone source of her isolation, of her sadness.  The source of the sad
blue eyes that could reveal her soul if she gave you half a chance to
look.  I never knew that reason until much later.  Even when I didn't know
why she was intensely depressed, I found her a great friend, a source of
comfort and solace.  And she found a best friend in me.

Halfway through the year, we switched roomates so that we could room
together, much to the fascination of my other friends.  Her roomate was a
boisterous drunk of a lass, always finding one reason or another to dump
poor Andrea out into the cold -- that "one reason or another" often being
a guy.  She was often sleeping on my floor, refusing my offers of my bed,
and after a semester, her back was firmly and painfully straight from all
the evenings that she'd snoozed in discomfort.

She was beautiful in the mornings. She was beautiful in the
evenings.  She was beautiful the night that she opened her eyes suddenly
to catch me gazing at her sleeping form. She was beautiful when she slowly
inched toward my face, tentatively, apprehensively.  And she was
positively angelic when her lips hovered a mere inch from mine.  And I saw
heaven when her soft lips brushed me.  Moist and tender and achingly
sweet.

That's about how far we got that night.  She was a good little
girl.  Nothing happened for a few days.  We lived in a tense world,
stumbling over each other and 'accidentally' bumping into each other.  But
... that all changed.

I was lying on my bed, reading a magazine, headphones on my ears. 
Andrea was bustling around, picking up her clothes, straightening out the
fridge -- whatever odds and ends she could find to do.  I closed my eyes,
still holding the magazine above me, and started to doze.  All of a
sudden, there was a loud bang as Andrea tripped over a tall stack of
books, and she fell the way that a raindrop falls from Heaven, her body
crashing onto me.  Her breast snugly nestled in my hand. 

Time froze.  Her nipple hardened.  We stared at each other,
wide-eyed.  I gulped.  She blushed.

I squeezed my palm around her breast.

She gasped.  Her breath was hot on my cheek.

Her breast, the breast that I'd fantasized about, that same
breast, the breast that I'd needed since I was a child, that very same
breast that I'd desperately ached to take into my mouth and suckle.  My
hopes, my dreams, my world, cupped at last in my hand.

She relaxed against me and her lips blazed a trail to mine.  She 
straddled my upper leg, and my body temperature immediatly rose another
ten degrees when I felt the apex of her legs settle on my thigh.  I
squeezed her breast again, and let my fingertips travel from the edge of
her breast, down, down, s-l-o-w-l-y, to her nipple.  I rolled her nipple
around in my hand. Her lips, firm and passionate, wrestled with my own.
My tongue reached out experimentally to hers, and she took it between her
lips, suckling it, reaching her own tongue to meet it.  My hand, the hand
that wasn't on her breast, moved down, squeezing her tiny, firm
waist.  

I dared keep moving, in one way content and another way
dissatisfied with what I already had.  My eyes were wide with anticipation
and my belly shaky with an emotion between fear and nervousness.  I was
so caught up in the moment that I barely remembered to breathe.  I relaxed
for a moment, and promised to myself that I would be good to her.  It was
the least that she deserved.

She lifted herself, adjusting her body so she kneeled over me.

"My God."

The whisper was wrenched from Andrea's mouth in a throaty tone,
her crystal blue eyes wide with pleasure.  Her breath was hot on my lips.

"I've been loving you since we were children..." I whispered to
her, my hand creeping lower, lower, gripping her ass.

"I... I've wanted you like this.  Ever since Sunday school.  Ever
since I was too young to understand."

I paused.  "Really?"

She nodded, her cheeks flushed.  "Yes."
I let my hand travel over her thigh to her belly, feeling the
perfect flatness that natural metabolism had attained.  I inched down to
her mons pubis.

"Is this okay, Andrea?"  I asked in hushed tones.  She reddened even more
and nodded, her lips greeting mine again, her kiss more insistent this time,
more needy.  I slipped my hand between her thighs, and she shivered when I
touched her, there.  And there.  And there.  She was hot and trembling.

She gasped.

I tickled her lightly for a moment, teasing her, and then moved my 
fingers to her button and zipper, popping them loose in a shaking second.

She hummed with pleasure.

I slid my fingers into the band of her white cotton panties, and her 
skin jumped.  I worked them through the bush of wiry pubic hair, playing
with her hairs, tugging at them, twirling them around my fingers.

She moaned.

I let my index finger slip downward to her clit, which was hard and 
bulging on her skin.  Andrea rested her head in the hollow of my
shoulder, her body hot and trembling.

And she moaned.

I massaged her clit, up and down, rolling it around on my finger.  
I let it travel further, and it met a wet, slippery slit.  There was a
small squishing sound as I swirled my finger around in her lubrication,
allowing the very tip of my finger to dip inside her.  Andrea's fingers
tightened on my shoulders, and her lips started to caress my neck, her
breath heavy and gasping in my ear.

Her breath quickened.

I worked it in and out of her slit, letting the fingertip into her
while the length of my finger rubbed against her rigid nub.

She bit her bottom lip, unable to conceal her squeals.

I kept going at a slow, leisurely pace, my excitement quickened by her
trembling arousal.  In, out, in, out.

"Oh! Oh, my God!"

She trembled on me, her hole clenching and squeezing around my fingertip.
I didn't let up, but went just a bit faster, wiggling my fingertip into her
just a bit more, pressing my finger against her slit just a smidgen harder.

"OOOH!"

She bit into my neck, her cries muffled as she jerked on my hand, bucking
her hips every which way.

"MMMPH!  Mmmm..."

Her cries quieted.  Her hips slowed.  Her teeth let go of my neck, and 
she lifted up her head, squeezing her eyes shut as she continued to ride
my finger.  Finally, she collapsed, panting into my ear.  I pulled my hand
out of her panties and put my arms around her,  holding her close to me.
I tilted her chin toward me and she turned her glance up, gazing into my
eyes.  Her eyes were sad again.  

I kissed her on the forehead.  I realized, quite suddenly, what
her sad aura was all about.

I whispered, "My little angel. You need to realize that the only
person you answer to is yourself.  No, not even your parents, not
anymore ... not if it drowns out who you really are.  You are a beautiful
person.  Don't let them kill you with your guilt."

She looked deep into my eyes, and whispered, "It can't be a sin 
if it feels so right, can it?"

After gazing at me for what seemed like eternity, she smiled.  

That was last night.  A beautiful, angelic night.

I snapped out of my memories to find Nick looking at me strangely.  I
smiled at him, and stood up, taking my tray with me.  I set down the tray,
and took a seat next to her.  She lifted her head from the novel she was
reading and grinned at me.  I leaned over to kiss her.

Stunned silence from my buddies.

As she closed her eyes and nuzzled my lips, her hand grazed the tip 
of my breast, brushing my hard nipple.  I shivered.

"We should get back to our room, Jessica," she whispered into my ear,
"there's something waiting for you."  

So we left the guys, wide-eyed and incredulous, in the cafeteria.
Andrea and I had better things to do.

--

Email comments to the author at leanna1@hotmail.com.  Homepage is located
at http://www.geocities.com/Athens/Academy/2194/



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