The Girl That Was Too

This girl was all too to my liking.

She was too skinny, her lips were too thin, and her jokes too cruel.

Nevertheless, I felt strangely attracted. I saw her at the party; our eyes met across the room. She gave me a piercing look that made my heart freeze. I tried to ignore her. After all, I had never met her before. Yet somehow I found myself drawn to her and her company. Her loud voice sounded icy, even harsh. What a horrible person, I thought. But then I started to listen to what she was saying.

When a clever man was lecturing the company about a new star that was about to appear in the sky, she listened to him with her eyes wide open, only to add a remark that hit the nail on the head. Then she would turn to a literary critic and give him a tirade about modern poetry, destroying it for failing to convey a clear message and for its wordplay that stripped it of all meaning, leaving only sounds. She could be a great interlocutor for anyone and seemed to be able to cover any subject.

I have always had a soft spot for smart girls. You can have a great time with them and never get bored. I joined her group and when the subject turned to classical music, which was certainly my cup of tea, I gave my opinion on some specific problems of musical form. In my zeal, I was very specific and very technical and I lost my audience. Everyone left me, except her.

"At least you weren't afraid of the dominant," I said gloomily.

"I am not afraid of being dominant," she said, pretending to have misunderstood my remark about a particular chord. She handed me a glass of sparkling wine and added, "I'm not afraid of the sub-dominant either."

I laughed nervously. She noticed the shine on my chest and said, "Let's find some ice cream. What flavour do you like?"

"Just vanilla," I replied. She looked at me, thinking of all the possible meanings of that expression, and nodded in acceptance.

As the party came to an end, we walked out together. She offered to walk me back to my place and I immediately accepted. We walked up the street, talking and joking, and the conversation was full of innuendo. At the hotel door she asked if I would agree to spend the night with her. By then I was so attracted to her that I could not resist.

The door closed behind us. We immediately began to kiss passionately. Her ice-cold blue eyes began to sparkle with joy. She looked at me with hunger and that gave me a surge of pleasure. Her hands became bolder and bolder. She began to kiss my cleavage, but when she tried to remove my black dress, I stopped her. She looked at me in surprise.

"I love the feel of the fabric on my nipples," I explained. It gives me a lot of pleasure.

"Like this?" she asked, placing her fingers on my aroused nipples and touching them in a way that was almost too pleasurable to stand. After a few moments, too few, she led me into the room and made me sit on the armchair. I spread my legs apart and invited her to come between them. She knelt in front of me and kissed me through my underwear.

"Get rid of it."

She smiled and seemed to misunderstand me again. She quickly took off her dress and underwear. It was not a striptease, but her soft movements made me very excited. Yes, she was too thin, but her breasts were too perfect not to be jealous. She kept her jewellery on, which was too sexy.

She took off my panties and put her fingers all over me. Her touch was incredible, she got the right pressure, the right spot and the right speed from the first touch. It was as if she had hypnotised me, asked me to reveal all my desires and then proceeded to fulfil them. Her too-tiny lips were soft and caring, her too-slim body was warm, and her seemingly clumsy, too-short fingers brought me to multiple orgasms. She was too ideal.

When I was completely exhausted and unable to withstand any more, she would smile at me and cuddle me gently as I began to regain my strength. After a few deep breaths, I began to pleasure her, kissing, touching and caressing that amazing body. She was a great receiver as well as a giver, accepting everything I did to her with sighs and moans, and when I reached for those too-perfect breasts, she cried with joy. I did my best to give her at least half the pleasure she gave me, but the task was all too easy. She enjoyed my tongue and fingers and climaxed beautifully. It was pure pleasure to watch her cum, to listen to her songs of fulfilment, to smell the scent of her body.

We were at rest, in each other's arms. I saw the patch of morning light on the wall. I went into it and took off my dress, exposing my breasts for the first time that night. She came to me and touched them in awe.

"Next time you will see them from the beginning," I promised.

She kissed me on the forehead, touched my face and said:

"We will never meet again."

It was too cruel. I was speechless. Why, I thought, we are adults. She does not want to get involved, she does not want to have an affair, but why, oh why, does she not want to see me again?

She put on her underwear and dress, looked at herself in the mirror, made some adjustments and left the room without a word.

I did not want to run after her, I had to accept the situation. I took a long, warm shower and left the room. There was no payment to be made and I refused breakfast. I walked out of the hotel into the cold morning, unable to walk. I took a taxi and went home. The impertinent driver insinuated that I was coming home from work. I could not blame him, he was picking up the smartly dressed girl who was leaving the hotel in the morning, obviously sleep-deprived... The world was giving me a clear sign that it was over.

The days passed, but I could not stop thinking about that too-girl and that night. I decided to meet her again. I went to vernissages, book promotions, fancy parties, concerts and lectures in my town. I never met her, so I started travelling to other places. In time, I became a self-confident woman with a keen interest in the progress of astrophysics, a refined taste in art and an honest disgust with modern poetry.

Four years passed. One day I was attending a lecture by Sir Roger Penrose. I walked into the lecture hall and immediately saw her. My too-girl. She was too blonde, too quiet, too beautiful. Dressed so modestly, she looked like she belonged there, listening to the greatest mathematician of our time. Bingo, I thought.

"Is this chair free?" I asked, pointing to the seat next to her.

"Yes, of course," she replied indifferently. I was a little surprised. Deciding not to take offence, I asked her about the nova star that had appeared four years ago and commented on the party.

"I'm sorry, have we met before?"

I looked at her. She did not turn her eyes, just looked at me in surprise, trying to work out who I was. There was no actress on earth good enough to act that convincingly. Well...

I sat down next to her and the lecture began. Sir Roger was talking about his concept of the beginning of the Universe. He thought that the Universe didn't start with the Big Bang, but came from the previous one, and would go on to create the next one.

"It's all mathematics," I whispered to my neighbour. "You can create anything on paper, can't you, but is it all real?"

"Wait a minute," she replied, "I'm sure he has something."

Indeed, Sir Roger told us that if he was right, there should be a mark in the cosmic microwave background in the form of circles of a certain size. Then he said:

"I rang my friend who does CMB research and asked him if he could find these circles for me. He replied that he had already found them, but had no idea what they were."

I was so excited that I squeezed my neighbour's hand. Before I could pull my hand away, she squeezed mine back. I told you so,' she whispered enthusiastically. We looked into each other's eyes and smiled.

We left the hall together. We talked about what we had heard. Then we talked about everything and nothing and went to dinner together. She could talk about any subject, she was witty and funny and her jokes were too cruel, but I laughed out loud at them. She offered to walk me back to my place and I accepted. I still could not believe that she did not remember me, but I enjoyed the moment. We turned the same corner and ended up in front of the same hotel. She asked me to stay. I felt like I was in a film and we were doing take 2. She was acting from a script and I decided to do the same.

As soon as the door slammed behind us, we started kissing. I took off my top and showed her my breasts. I tried for the last time:

"I promised you that."

"Yes, I saw that promise in your eyes all evening!"

Was she amnesiac? Or had I accidentally found her too perfect, too identical twin? Or a doppelganger? I could not figure it out, but I decided not to worry about it.

This time everything was improvised in a completely new way. We were pleasuring each other at the same time, she was humping my leg while she was fingering me. We orgasmed together and it was all too good... I even had a laughing orgasm, to which she reacted in the most charming way. In the morning there was a spot of light on the wall. I walked into the light, looked at her and said:

"Next time..." fearing an answer too cruel to bear.

"We will never meet again..."

I left the hotel early that morning. I had on my sports shoes and decided to walk all the way home. I did not button my coat, hoping that the morning breeze would cool my burning body and calm my mind.