Cassandra by Christian Black
Before the first time I laid eyes on Cassandra, I had believed that love at first sight was a cliché not found outside of sappy light rock radio or those trashy paperbacks my grandmother read. But one look at this girl and I was hers; heart, mind, soul and body.
I was eighteen. I had just graduated high school the week before and was determined to thoroughly enjoy my last summer of freedom. This meant partying, hanging out, and hopefully getting laid. At the time I was, technically, a virgin. For the previous year and a half I had exclusively dated a girl named Melissa, who was unfortunately rather uptight and frigid. We had engaged in “everything but,” which meant eighteen months of ball-busting foreplay. Occasionally I’d get a hand job, but for the most part it was just making out and fondling. To give her credit, she did give me head once, on my birthday, but would not allow me to come in her mouth. She did, however, let me go down on her quite often. I enjoyed this, but it obviously wasn’t too fulfilling.
I had broken up with Melissa just a few weeks before, on the day after senior prom. That was the night, she had been promising for months, when we would finally make love. I actually had a condom on, and was struggling to squeeze into her tight little vagina, when Melissa broke down in tears and said that she didn’t want to go to hell for pre-marital sex.
I know I sound like a jerk for breaking up with a girl just because she wouldn’t fuck me, but the sex was only part of the problem. We hadn’t really got along for several months, and remained “together” only out of a sense of obligation. Neither of us shed too many tears when I told her it was over.
The day I met Cassandra, I was a pool party at my friend Greg Larson’s house. Greg’s parents were loaded and, even better, were in Europe for the month. Greg threw weekly bashes which took full advantage of the Olympic-sized swimming pool in his backyard and of the equally impressive bar they kept. Young kids, summer heat, swim suits and alcohol. You do the math.
There were many very attractive girls there that day, and Greg kept pointing out girls who weren’t attached. We were lounging on pool chairs, sipping margaritas, when I saw her.
She emerged from the pool, water pouring off her body. The water was cold, bracing, and her one-piece swimsuit clung sheerly to her body. Her nipples stood out like twin exclamation marks. She was slender with short, jet black hair and brilliant, emerald-green eyes. She caught my attention, to say the least, but I didn’t feel the zing of love at first sight until she raised her arms to pull the wet hair out of her face. Under her arms were light, but unmistakable, wisps of blonde hair.
I’d been majorly turned on by armpit hair on women ever since masturbating to my parent’s copy of “The Joy of Sex” when I was fourteen. Unfortunately, all the girls at my school shaved. I had suggested to Melissa once that she try going hairy, and she had just looked at me as if I’d asked her to join a religious cult.
Cassandra was the first girl I’d seen in real life who didn’t shave under there and it made my mouth water. Her underarm hair was so light in contrast to the black hair on her head. Obviously, she dyed her hair black. Wondering why she did this was but one of the thousands of intriguing questions going through my head at once as I watched her towel herself off.
“Who the hell is that?” I gasped.
“Who?” Greg said.
“The girl that just got out of the pool.”
“Her?” he said, puzzled. Cassandra was completely not his type. Greg favored girls like his current girlfriend, Cindi: blondes with big tits. “Um, she’s a friend of Cindi’s. Just moved here. Her name’s Cassandra Jones.”
“Cassandra Jones,” I repeated, enjoying the exotic way the name tasted in my mouth.
“Yeah. A white girl named Cassandra Jones. Go figure.”
Greg looked over and saw that I couldn’t take my eyes off her.
“Well, you always did go for the weird arty chicks,” he laughed. “Do you want to meet her?”
“Hell yes.”
“Wait here. I’ll hook it up.”
Greg went over and talked to Cassandra, who was toweling off, talking to Cindi. Greg invited both girls up to his room to smoke a joint with us.
I was afraid at first that I’d be tongue-tied and speechless, as I usually am around a girl I’m really attracted to. But the pot relaxed everyone and Cassandra was open and friendly, anyway. She was talkative and funny, and I got the sense that she might have been into me. I found out that she had just moved here with her mother, following her parent’s divorce, and that she was planning on going to the local community college (just as I was) in the fall.
Then we all started talking about music. This was 1989, you understand. Greg and Cindi were big on Van Halen, Bon Jovi, Guns and Roses, that sort of thing. Cassandra, I soon found, shared my dislike for dumb metal. We started naming bands like The Cure and The Smiths. When she said she was into The Pixies and this new group called Jane’s Addiction, I knew I had found my soul mate.
We hit it off so well, so quickly, that Greg suggested that Cassandra I come camping with him and Cindi that night. They knew a place out in the woods that was quiet and secluded. It would be just the four of us. Cassandra was enthusiastic about the idea and I, of course, could not say no.
Strange to say, but it wasn’t until we were on our way out of town that it dawned on me that I might have sex with Cassandra. I was driving, and Greg and Cindi were making out heavily in the back seat, when Cassandra took my hand and leaned on my shoulder. It was only then that I realized the tantalizing possibilities of what the night may hold. I had just met the girl, and for some reason I thought that I’d share a tent with Greg while the girls bunked up together. I was a little naive, to say the least.
We set up camp, built a fire, started in on a case of beer and, of course, more weed. Everyone was feeling high and merry, laughing and even singing. I sat close to Cassandra on a log, glancing over at her every few seconds because I couldn’t stand not to. She was even more beautiful by firelight. She was wearing a loose-fitting peasant-type dress, which had a very low-cut tank top. No bra. Plus, she kept raising her arms to play with her hair, exposing those light blonde curls under her arms. Seeing them made me wonder if her pubic hair would be that soft and light and of course thoughts like that didn’t allow much room for much else.
Before too long, Greg and Cindi disappeared into a tent together and we could hear the sounds of their lovemaking. Cassandra and I, more than half-drunk, laughed at the rapturous cries they were making. But I knew that if she was half as turned on as I was, it was only a matter of time before we retired into the other tent.
She looked up at me and I looked at her, the reflection of the orange firelight flickering in her green eyes. I kissed her, full on the mouth.
ZING! Wow, if there’s anything in the world more powerful than the first kiss, I don’t want to know about it. We kissed hungrily and I reached one hand into her top to touch her breast. She grabbed my hand and squeezed it tight against her. I could feel her heart beating.