I always told her the truth that I thought her the most beautiful woman in the world. Most times that got me a cuddle against her firm breasts, a closeup smell of her perfume and lipstick and a kiss on my forehead.
Those were the moments I cherished most in my life. They were possibly one reason I gradually fell in love with her. But there were other reasons.
At this point it might help the describe myself to you as I was at the time of my story, as it should add some fun to any scenes you might care to imagine.
Many of my friends thought me a throwback from the Mediterranean, because my skin was darker than theirs, despite my mother having the pale sallow skin of the indigenous English.
By biggest embarrassment came initially in the school showers and later in the gym, when everyone saw the skin of my circumcised penis and testicles was considerably darker then that of my body.
Of course the jibes and jokes were remorseless, but the oddest thing was the number of guys who came up to me to look at my dark prick and tell me how the girls would love that in them.
But at the time I just I couldn’t see it, and tried to hide myself whenever possible.
But my main characteristic was,(and still is) I’m a hairy man, black curly hair on my head, constant Bluebeard chin and curly hair growing thickly over my chest, back, arms and legs. A gene inherited from my father’s side of the family.
Whenever I wore sleeveless `T` shirts, girls I knew came up to me and twirled or pulled at the hair sticking out from my shoulders chest and back.
Some loved it, some found it repulsive. Not too surprising in a world where men are preferred with their bodies shaved clean, like porn stars.
So I looked more like a Sicilian pimp than the diligent, but shy, English photography student (and virgin) I was.
However the was one girl, Simone Andretti, AKA ‘Simmi’, who was always hanging around me. Seems It was obvious to everyone (except me) that she was hot for me.
While the other girls were tugging my body hair she was the only one caressing my arms, as if she loved the touch of my wiry hair.
Simone, half English, half Italian, was a tall, elegant girl with curly black hair like mine. She liked to wear her hair big, exploding outwards onto her shoulders.
And she was tall, if anything a smidgen taller than me.
Her height, svelte figure and intense beauty she inherited from her mother, Selena Andretti, whom she always called Mama.
I’d met Mama a couple of times when I called for Simone.
Selena was a true beauty, quite breathtaking, one of those magnificent women that hush a room when she enters, everyone turning just to glimpse her grace and radiance.
While Simone had undoubtedly inherited the awesome gift of beauty from her Mama, she lacked the finesse, charm and heart-melting femininity that differentiates a beautiful looking woman from a truly beautiful person.
Like her Mama, Simone could hush a room with her looks, vivacious smile and flashing eyes when she entered.
But should any sexual predator move in on her, instead of finding grace and gentleness, they faced the bared fangs of a young she wolf.