Fragile, Like A Baby In Your Arms, Be Gentle With Me, I'd Never Willingly Do You Harm

RATED M FOR MATURE THEMES AND ADULT SITUATIONS
It’s a little known secret that sometimes when I post certain people object to me identifying them by name in my stories. Some even go so far as to try to get me to edit my own writing to save them embarrassment. Most of the time I do not listen. However, in the particular case of this post censor myself is exactly what I did. I did it for two reasons. One, as it was originally written, this post verged on being the stuff of romance novels (heaving bosoms and manhood unsheathing aplenty). And, two, the other participant in the story asked me to tone it down as not to offend her husband. And since I love the other participant to pieces I have respected her wishes. What follows is the PG version of what was originally an R rated post.

Okay, maybe PG-13…

Today I was treated to the movie Elektra and I wasn’t disappointed. If you’re looking for a no-frills movie that is entertaining but doesn’t involve a lot of trying to piece together what’s going on then I highly recommend this film. I liked it so much I may see it again. I think what I liked the most about the film was how much the character of Abby Miller, Elektra’s protégé, reminded me of my friend, Breanne. She has the same feistiness and the same gung-ho attitude that make is such a joy to be her friend. In fact, watching the film made me think a lot of one particular instance where her somewhat assertive personality made an indelible impression on my life.

I had been hesitant to write this chapter in my life because it strays a little toward the personal side and it really scares me to put myself so out there, but in honor of the spirit that made such an encounter possible, I have decided to heave caution to the heavens and allow the story to live free. Enjoy.

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"My hay fever is kicking my ass right now. Either that or I have a cold," Breanne said, as she let untied her ponytail. Her chestnut brown tresses spilled out over her shoulders like a cape. Though her face looked a tad flushed from the two hour hike we had just taken, she still managed a smile that belied the fatigue we were both feeling. She sniffled, letting me know that her sudden proclamation was, indeed, a reality and not a threat.

"Better stay away from me then. God knows what I've already caught from you, Breannie," I joked, unrolling my sleeping bag in the inside of our two-man tent.

The date was April 22nd, 1995, and she and I had undertaken, on a complete lark, to hike from her parent's home in Macon towards Atlanta, using the most roundabout route I have ever seen. Her parents had left for the weekend, thinking that the two of us would just kick back at the house. Since I was a visitor and remarked how wonderful the house was on my last visit out east, they had assumed my current visit would resemble the last visit. They had imagined she and I would just hit the town, eat out, come back, and just relax at home where various relatives would come by and check on the two of us.

Breanne had other plans.

So we had left the afternoon before, small tent and full backpack in tow, along the highways of the Georgia countryside. She had said that her uncle had taken her along the same route three years prior and said she had such a blast that she was itching to take me along the same journey. So far, it was living up to expectations, as we had talked up a storm by the time we reached our stop for the second night. And, subconsciously, I think I was falling more in "like" with her as each hour passed.

There we were, at a rest stop near the highway, preparing to bed down for the night. The privacy of the location and the situation was not lost on us. Nothing eventful had happened the previous night, but I think the tension was somewhat palpatable this night. Like I said, I love Breannie to pieces, and back then I think she shared my feeling wholeheartedly.

"Oh, please, darling. Everyone knows you want what I've got," she laughed as she too unrolled her sleeping bag. The evening air was warm and the buzz and clatter of the highway was just a distant nuisance. I gave her a look to determine the seriousness of her comment, but she just returned a vacant smile. I just laughed it off as well and began taking off my shoes and socks.

"Why do you that?"

"Do what?"

"Take off your socks. Doesn't your toes get all musty in the sleepy bag?" She shuddered. "I can't stand the icky feeling you get when your feet touch damp sleeping bag."

"It's not so bad. I do it all the time. When I was Boy Scouts I was stuck in my socks for extended periods of time that I always rushed to take them off once we got to camp."

She ran her fingers in her hair as she kneeled upon her sleeping bag. Her oceanic blue-green eyes I saw affixed to her shoes as she was careful to remove just her shoes and not her socks. For some reason Miss Breanne Hollins was blessed with the type of eyes that glittered no matter the light you saw them in. Even something as mundane as her watching her shoes as she removed them was enough to make her look very, very cute.

"Not me, these puppies stay on the whole night," she said, indicating with her glance, the white ankle highs that currently adored her feet.

I shot her a mischievous grin. That's when I started to crawl on my hands and knees towards her. She didn't catch what I was up to at first, but by the time my hands were eight inches from the first sock, she pulled it away with great haste.

"I know what you're thinking, you sneaky demon, and you can just stop thinking what you're thinking."

But I still advanced on her position, this time with exagerrated intensity.

She tucked her legs behind her and scooted her back to the edge of tent. Then she placed her hands out in front of her in an attempt to protect herself.

"Stay away!" she screamed.

"Give me your socks. Give me your socks," I said, in my best imitation of a sock-stealing zombie. "The socks, the socks, I need the socks."

She started to laugh pretty hard as my hands were now jabbing through her defenses to get at the precious commodity nestled on her feet. Each time my hands grazed a piece of cotton, I let out this luscious sigh as if my hands had nestled on certain other naughty bits. This only served to make her giggle more.

"Stop that, darling. I'm working pretty hard here. You're ruining my concentration."

"I can't help myself. I need the socks. I gotsta have it."

"Over my lifeless body, darling."

That's when I mock-tackled her. Instead of trying to push my hands through her flailing arms I pretty much threw my entire body against her small frame. As my body bounced into her body our combined weight forced both of us to topple over. I ended up on Breanne with her pinned beneath me. It startled the both of us as I had just intended to use my torso to shield me from her arms which had started to whack me mercilessly.

There we lay, my arms quickly moving by my side, again, to avoid touching any naughty bits. Her arms, by comparison, were lifeless by her side, trying not to push me off or anything. We were cheek to cheek, or should I say my face was pressed up against possibly the softest skin I have ever felt. Electricity, chills, the heat of passion--whatever you want to call it--ran through my entire body as I readied myself to extricate myself from my compromised position. As I attempted to push myself off of her, suddenly her hands came to life with amazing alacrity.

"Stay awhile. Don't you like it down here?" she asked as she pulled my face closer to her. Then she kissed me. It wasn't particularly foreceful or graceful--nothing I'd imagine my first kiss with her to be--but, nonetheless it was nice. I felt every inch of her lips on my lips just as I felt every inch of her body on my body. I had wanted to kiss her the minute I saw her in person, the minute she lit up her smile at me at the airport with her parents. But the age thing and the worry she didn't feel the same for me always prevented me from acting on anything close to courage. Now that I was kissing her a wave of comfort splashed over me. This was how it was supposed to be, I thought as the kiss lingered. This is how she and I were meant to be.

Then, just as quickly as it had began, the kiss ended. I pulled my head back to look into her eyes. She batted her eyelashes at me.

"Was it good for you?"

"Definitely."

"Still want to take off my socks?"

"Does that mean we'd have to stop kissing?" I asked, inching my face closer to her again.

"I'm afraid so, darling. Can't have the socks and the kiss both."

I pursed my lips in thought, feigning a raging debate inside my hate as to which option pleased me more. This non-plussed her to no end and she shoved me off of her with great effort.

"That's it. Get off of me," she told me as she stood up on her knees inside the tent. She scooted to the other side of the tent and pouted.

"Come on, Breannie. I was just kidding," I said, trying to make my way to her again.

"Stay where you are. You've hurt my feelings and I don't think I want to kiss you anymore."

"Come on..."

"Nope. In fact, I think I'm going to take off my own socks, thank you very much, and make you watch just to torture you. That'll teach you to spurn me."

And that's what she did, she began slowling sliding down her right sock off her ankles. She did it so deliberately slow that it took her a minute to get the whole monstrosity off. Then she took twice as long to remove the left one. Finally, at the end of it all, she sat barefooted in front of me. Now I have never had a particular foot fetish, but seeing the pleasant sight of more flesh--especially after being turned on by the great kiss--made the experience than it had a right to be.

"What are you looking at, silly?"

"Nothing," I said, trying to shrug it off.

"You're looking at my bare feet, aren't you? You sick demon child," she stated. She started to shake her head in disbelief. Then she paused suddenly. That's when she got the devilish grin in her face.

She started upzipping the denim shorts she was wearing.

"What are you doing, Breannie?" I asked in disbelief, drawing out my question with every ounce of skepticism at the sight before me.

"Nothing. Getting ready to sleep. I've decided to sleep au naturel tonight."

"Um, you can't do that."

"I can do whatever I want," she continued, as she finished removing the shorts off of her ankles. So now she was sitting on top of my sleeping bag in just a tee and her skivies. Try as hard as I could, I could not avert my eyes from the plain white cloth separating me from very, very naughty bits.

Then she slipped off the tee.

And suddenly before I knew it she was sitting there in just her underwear. She was grinning as she saw the palpatable discomfort in my countenance.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing, nothing at all."

"You're sweating. You're sweating a lot."

"I can't help it. This doesn't seem quite real. And thinking that this may be real is scaring the shit out of me."

She guffawed, which was then interrupted by a very loud sneeze, which only made her laugh even more. The gentle curves of her body seemed to relax exponentially. She laid down on my sleeping bag as if she were sunning herself on the beach, her bare belly enticing me like a beacon of smooth and lovely skin.

"Come here," she called to me like a cat to its master. And like a cat it took me a moment to realize what she was saying was exactly what she wanted. I took my place and laid next to her on the bag.

"I don't think it's a big secret that I like you, darling. But being here like this makes me kind of shy now."

"Do you want to put your clothes back on?"

"No, not yet. Unless, of course, you want me to."

"No, not yet," I said, as I reclined back my head at the top of the sleeping bag. We were both now just staring up at the top of the tent. We sat watching the top of the tent for what seemed like ten minutes before she finally spoke.

"To hell with it," and she quickly stood up. I sat up to see what she was going to do next. She teased her hair a bit and stood biting the edge of her lip. She stood like that, with me transfixed on her figure, for the briefest of moments. Then she reached behind her bra and unhooked it, letting the bra fall to the ground.

"Fragile, like a baby in your arms,
Be gentle with me..." she started to sing as she stepped closer to me, "I'd never willingly do you harm."

That was the first and last time I saw Breanne completely and innocent.