It was that same height, same big hair, tough self-confidence and disarming aggression that intimidated many of the guys on the course.
Indeed, most people kept their distance from her because Simmi had a bite. And when she was going to bite she would snarl and curse her victims in crude Italian.
Yet she never bit me – nor snarled.
Some said she was a psycho bitch, but I really loved being in her company. She purred at me. Indeed, she was always warm, patient and caring.
On the other hand, she could be a delight to be with.
During various course photographic projects we tended to drift together, and had often taken portraits of one-another.
The camera loved Simone.
A couple of times we had dated, but she had always been keener on our friendship than me. Although I liked her very much and did enjoy her company, I found her a bit too touchy-feely.
But I must confess I did enjoy just looking at her, the symmetry of her face, her firm body and wonderful breasts.
We had never got as far as intercourse. I had always suspected sex was on offer – if only I had had the courage to make the first move.
Simmi came around to our house a couple of times and had even met Mum. Once, while looking at photographic magazines in my bedroom she had come on to me very strongly. If Mum hadn’t have interrupted she would probably have taken me by force!
Despite my Latin appearance I actually liked how I looked.
I smiled a lot, loved joking around and girls told me I was attractive – but in a dangerous sort of way? Whatever that meant?
Truth is, I was a pussy cat that only looked like a tiger.
And at just over 6′ tall with a powerful body, most guys didn’t push the animal wisecracks too far.
Anyway, enough about me and back to the story.
I had always been a curious young man.
Whenever Mum was out I would check through all the draws and cupboards in the house. It took a long time as I took great care to put everything back exactly as it was.
My prying was never discovered. To aid me I often took digital photos of drawer or cupboard contents and used them to double check everything was put back correctly.
Eventually I came to know where all the secrets were hidden.
My favourite place to pry was the dressing table in my mother’s bedroom. In the drawers, boxes and bottles there were so many fascinating and forbidden things to touch and smell.
I loved inhaling her perfume and the smell of face powder. I got particularly aroused exploring her lipsticks, twisting them open and delighting in their gloss and colours. It was almost irresistible not to lick and taste the lipsticks, but doing so would have certainly led to my discovery.
As was the temptation to rub her skin creme on my penis.
Sometimes I could get off just by sniffing her hairbrush or sucking strands of her raven hair.
But best of all was her intimate underwear draw.
It was literally a treasure chest of erotic things to fondle, sniff for her body odour or stroke against my lips and cheeks.
Among the erotic contents were packs of expensive nylons, black lace suspender belts and a shoe box containing two pairs of gorgeous ‘fuck-me’ stiletto heels.