Diana's Awakening

by WaywardOne

Chapter 1. Lust At First Sight

It was summer and in the low 90's outside. The evening just beginning to cool down after a long hot day and it was the first time I saw Diana. It was at the ice cream shop. I'd walked down one evening with my daughter and the girl was sitting at the table next to mine. She was with another girl, maybe a year older, and two boys. From their appearance, apparently neither of the boys were her brothers, and from her lack of interest, I assumed that they were not boyfriends either. I guessed that one of the boys might have been her friend's brother or boyfriend.

But it was Diana that interested me, not that I knew her name then. She was what could only be called beautiful, the kind of beauty that one turns to or stops to watch, the kind of beauty that is only natural to the young. She was blonde, her hair long and slightly curly, bright golden strands bleached by the sun. She was slender, and from what smooth flesh was exposed, seemed to have a nice even tan. She was short but with a beautifully proportioned body for her age, and signs of newly-forming breasts forming the slim rise to her cotton shirt. She was probably a few inches under five feet, and if I had to guess, probably not much more than eighty pounds.

As I sat there eating my ice-cream I thought that she couldn't have been much older than twelve. There was a natural and youthful grace about her, but it was her face that struck me the deepest; her finely sculpted features, almost pixy-like, would have done justice to Tinkerbell. I glanced over at her again and again, absorbing the aura that she seemed to exude. There was a liveliness, a vitality, a quick grin, a playfulness that made me want to know her better. She was dressed in shorts, a lightweight checkered jacket, with the arms untidily pushed upward, almost defying the heat.

That was the first time, and every day for the rest of that week I scrutinized the ice-cream store on my way home from the university, hoping to see her again, but each time I was unsuccessful. The next time was about a week later. My daughter and I had just joined the local swim club and I'd taken my daughter for her swimming lesson. I sat back in a chaise lounge watching the pool, absorbed by the lean bodies of the young girl swimmers, dressed only in their brightly colored swimsuits, as they practiced diving, swimming and generally enjoying themselves.

That is when I saw her again, but she wasn't swimming. This time, in the heat of the afternoon, she was playing tennis with a girlfriend, dressed in her lightweight jacket and shorts, her golden blond hair mussed up and sweaty. She moved agilely, returning serves with ease, even though she was still quite short and had to travel long distances to cover the court. Compared to her friend she was outstanding, her movements far swifter and reflecting her much greater agility. Half hidden by the hedge, I sat back in the chaise-lounge, waiting for brief glimpses of my blonde vision as she jumped and ran around, darting back and forth. Finally, the match ceased and the girls settled down to a game of ping-pong. Again, my young blonde ruled the day, returning hit after hit with seemingly little effort. Then as my daughter's swimming lesson finished, I jumped in with her, making her practice by swimming the short length of the pool. It was traumatic and after a few minutes she had to break for a pit-stop.

Finally, her swimming lesson over for the day, we left by going the long way around the pool. I hoped to see the girl up close one more time that day. She was still playing, still moving quickly, almost with the same high energy level she'd demonstrated earlier on the tennis court.

Another day or two passed, and every minute at the pool I watched, hoped, and prayed that she would arrive, but without success. Then the third day, as I sat back on the chaise-lounge, she sauntered up to a chair on the other side of the pool, dropped her bag and removed her lightweight jacket, revealing a danceskin top covering her beautifully slender young body. She kicked off her shoes, picked up her swimsuit and headed off to the changing room.

For a moment I thought about following her, perhaps hiding behind something, maybe even sneaking ahead of her into the girl's locker room, wondering whether I'd get a glimpse of her naked body, perhaps even see .... I waited too long, she came back, sauntered over to the chair and dropped her shorts and jacket into her bag and then walked casually to the diving board. Her swimsuit was one piece and blue with large cutouts in the body, and exposed almost as much as it covered.

In that brief walk to the diving board I absorbed her, her legs were lean and slender, more tan at the ankles and legs. At the diving board she stopped for a moment, as if focusing her attention, concentrating her energy, then, a few quick steps, and an cat-like spring high into the air, a somersault, and she sliced into the water with barely a splash. Then again and again she dived, some dives very familiar to her, others not as well-practised, and just a little bit awkward. It was as if my eyes were riveted to this startling girl, absorbing her every move, until my daughter's lesson finished and she startled me by silently coming up to the chair and dripping on me. I got into the pool with her and again we practiced her short-laps, back and forth across the pool.

Finally, our practice session was over and we got out of the pool and towelled off. As we left, we went the long way, close to the diving boards. Just a feet away, I watched the girl climb out of the pool, saw her slender lithe body, the bronzed-brown arms, nipples clearly visible through her nearly-transparent suit. Then she took a few steps and leaped upwards, doing a double somersault and then rocketing down into the water. For a moment we stopped to watch her as she emerged, swam to the side and climbed out, then another dive. My daughter said something but I didn't hear what. It was as if the world was closed, my attention focused on this beautiful young girl. Unable to find the courage to stay longer, I ambled out of the pool area, taking just one longing look back at the diving board. I didn't see her and I guessed that she was still in the water.

Another day or two passed before I saw her again. Each time I walked to and from work I looked for her, eager and hopeful of seeing her in the ice cream shop though I knew that the chance of seeing her there again at the precise time I walked by was very unlikely. When I saw her the next time it was totally unexpected. It was 5.30 PM and I was walking home from the university. I would pick up my daughter and with luck I would see the girl again at the pool. As I neared my house I saw a person walking down the street, coming towards me. At first I thought it was a young woman, then a girl, then as she came closer I realized who it was. Still dressed in shorts and a long-sleeved blouse, I tried to focus all my thoughts, to capture a lasting image as she passed beside me.

Too brief, not much more than a glimpse, not enough to be lasting, but in the few seconds that she was only a foot or two away, I saw that she was a very beautiful girl. I should have turned to watch her as she continued on her way, perhaps she'd turn as well to look back at me, surely she'd sensed the same magnetism that I felt. But then, why would a beautiful girl, probably not much more than twelve years old, be interested in a grown man in his early forties. But at least I knew that sometimes she came my way, perhaps she lived close to my house, perhaps within a few blocks, perhaps I'd see her more often, perhaps.... But why hadn't I seen her before.

The next day I saw her again at the pool, sitting on the rear deck of the pool house by herself. She looked lonely, as if waiting for someone and I supposed that she was waiting for a lift home. Perhaps that was why she'd walked the previous day, her lift hadn't arrived for some reason and she'd been forced to walk home. She was still dressed in a lightweight jacket. In the barest instant that I saw her, I thought her eyes met mine, then quickly look away. Was it my imagination, that a look of recognition flashed across that beautiful young face, the merest glimmer of a smile.

The days passed slowly after that, for nearly a full week I didn't see her, every day I looked for her where ever I went. Often at the pool I'd see a blonde girl who seemed to be about her size. I'd watch her continually from my chaise lounge unsure that it was "my girl". As I left, or walked around the pool, I'd come closer only to find out that it was someone else. I was disappointed then, but also glad because these other girls always seemed to have lots of friends around them. Each day brought new hopes and further agony. Each night I dreamed (fantasized) about the girl, pretending that we'd become intimate friends, pretending conversations, imagining playful tickles and cuddling with her.

Then on a Tuesday afternoon I went home early to do some painting on the garage. By about 2.00 PM I was working on the front, closest to the street, when I looked over at the other side of the street for no reason at all. There she was. She looked in my direction, but she was too far away for me to tell if her eyes had met mine, too far to tell if she'd smiled, just far enough to see the glistening golden blond head turn away as she continued on her way up the street. I watched her, breathing out slowly with a sigh. What would I have given then for her affection, even just to speak to her. I was dirty and covered with a film of white paint-dust, dressed only in an old pair of grey- green shorts. Then she turned, and for another fraction of second, she looked back at me again as she continued walking. And then she was out of sight. The time was just after 2.00 PM and it was obvious that she was on her way to the swim club, carrying her bag over her shoulder, still dressed in her lightweight jacket and shorts.

Chapter 2. Introductions.

Wednesday, 2.00 PM, and every few seconds I glanced around, searching the street for a sign of the girl. This time I was painting, rather than sanding. I was hopeful, no, desperate would be a better word for what I was feeling. She's late, she's not coming, she went by earlier, she's gotten a ride to the pool, she's.... I went back to work, still glancing back at the street, no sign of the girl.

Then I saw her, this time she was on my side of the street, which was unusual since there is no footpath. I turned to watch her go past, praying for a sign of recognition. Then she was opposite me, only twenty five feet away. There seemed to be a tiny smile form, she shook her head abruptly as her eyes met mine. She began to turn away again as if to cross the street and I raised my eyebrows in a pleading, desperation and breathed outward heavily, a long noticeable sigh of longing. Almost to late the girl stops, the smile widened and flashed across her face. In that instant, unable to stop myself, I waved. She didn't return my salute to her beauty but she smiled still more, then began to turn away again. I watched her as she crossed the street, my eyes drawn irresistibly to the girl's small firm buttocks, imagining them so smooth and soft under her shorts, sighing with regret, so close, so untouchable.

In the middle of the road she looked back over her shoulder and saw me still watching her. This time she returned my wave of recognition, went a few more paces then stopped, turned around and smiled as she looked directly at me. She came closer, until she was only a few feet away. She was still smiling, her perfect teeth unbelievably white. "Hi", I mumbled incoherently, trying to swallow, trying to breath as I looked down at her from the ladder.

"Hi," she grinned playfully, her eyes flashing as they looked into mine. "Awfully hot for painting, isn't it?" she observed. Her voice was high pitched, the nervous tremor as present in her as it was in me.

"You're not wrong about that," I said stupidly, "I'd much rather be at the pool."

"Yeah, I'm headed that way now," the girl smiled.

"So I see. So I see." I observed, frantically trying to think of something else to say to her. I wiped my forehead with the back of my hand, smearing white paint across my head.

"Hey, look out, you're painting yourself," she giggled, her blue eyes flashing with the life and vitality of uninhibited youth, her long, golden braids hair glistening in the hot afternoon sun.