Sliding into Home Plate

Sliding into Home Plate
Inspired by Robert Motherwell

Within a hollowed out stone formation two young lovers clinked glasses together. The Desert Hyena’s personal hideout had multiple floors filled with the spoils of many adventures, and served still as his primary residence. Even though he had lived at Capsule during school term after becoming Bulma’s boyfriend, Yamcha still spent many weekends at his retreat training. However, this time he had Bulma to keep him company, and marvel at the edginess to his world.

Bulma leaned forwards so Yamcha could wipe crumbs off her lips with his linen napkin. Facing each other across a small table, they shared a nervous giggle. In strategic points around the main lower floor, Yamcha had lit candles and kerosene lamps. Illuminated in their warm glow, Yamcha and Bulma alternated quiet conversation between bites of chicken parmesan and buttery rolls.

“That was awesome,” Bulma sighed in pleasure, sitting back in her chair. She undid the buttons on her blue green cardigan to reveal a bit of cleavage.

All around them Bulma glimpsed paintings and the plush couches near his television. He had good taste in the finer things, even if they were obtained through questionable means. In some ways, he reminded her of Goku, isolated from much human contact for years. However, he did observe proper table manners and what to say and what not to say, most of the time. Except when he nervously blurted out something that seemed rude and she just happened to correct him. Although the relationship took much more work then she’d thought, it was worth it. Yamcha was sweet, attentive and lavished her with gifts.

“Well when you live alone, you learn to cook the best,” Yamcha shrugged. His dark eyes sparkled with pride to see her so happy and satisfied. Both knew she was hardly skilled with anything gastronomic. Bulma dragged her chair around the table so she sat at an angle rather than across from Yamcha. After all, she enjoyed how handsomely he filled out that yellow suit jacket and matching pants, he wore tonight.

“Puar and me always knew those cooking videos would come in handy,” he commented, reaching over to rest his hand on top of hers. He was relieved that he sweated far less when wrapping her fingers in his own and giving it a squeeze. Bulma’s blue eyes sparkled with delight, returning the pressure.

“Your hands are nice and warm,” she commented back, noting the contrast in his tanned rough skin compared to her own. He lightly caressed her palms and fingers as he had seen in the many romance movies he often watched in between his ‘investigations’ of local travelers. Still a slight tremor shortly jolted him. Bulma smiled sweetly, knowing how hard he was trying to overcome his fear. All for her.

“Dessert?” Puar squeaked, interrupting the moment. Both glanced up to see the furry shape shifter hovering with a tray balanced on his paws. He was in a very jovial mood judging from the knowing smile on his face and the quick response to their emptied plates or glasses.

“Maybe a little,” Bulma patted her stomach.

“I er, remembered you liked chocolate fudge on your sundae,” Yamcha murmured, reaching up with his free hand to grasp one of the treats from the silver tray. She reached for her spoon, and then traced it along the brim to gather a bit of the sauce with melting cream. He watched her tongue dart out to snare the mound of cream mingling with molten hot sauce. Something inside him stirred and he coughed.

“I can think of something else that would go just as well with fudge,” Bulma winked.

“Which is?” Yamcha asked, noticing the gleam in her eye. She poked a spoonful of her ice cream into his mouth and silenced his next question.

“Well, I’ve only seen the bedroom once? I was wondering if…” she trailed off. Yamcha coughed and swallowed hard, then hit his chest. Worried, Bulma slugged him on the back to dislodge the mouthful that had gone down the wrong pipe.

“I… I’m okay, just found out that breathing ice cream doesn’t work too well!” he joked. Bulma shoved a glass of water into his hand and leaned close, fussing.

“I’m sorry, you okay?” she asked, rubbing his forehead. He swallowed draughts of water, and then cleared his throat.

“Yes, fine, good,” he inhaled deeply. “The bedroom… I think I can… arrange that…”

She noted how hard he bit down on his inner lip and the bunching of muscles in his arm when he pushed himself away from the table. Slowly he rose, reaching out his hand to her. Bulma tentatively placed hers in it before she enjoyed him tugging her to her feet. He reached for her opposite hand, positioning Bulma so they faced one another. She felt the quaking in his hands and the gleam in his dark eyes, almost like an animal spooked but struggling for the nerve to please its master.

“Yamcha, you don’t um… have to, if you… um need to clean up the bedroom first,” Bulma replied softly, reaching up to stroke his cheek. To her delight, he leaned into her palm rather than flinch.

“No, I’m good, really. I need to amend the grand tour,” he smiled bravely, swallowing hard. Then he released one hand and pointed to the two glasses of wine that were barely sipped from. “More wine?”

“Yes I’d love that,” Bulma eagerly nodded. She hoped it might help him unwind a bit, but not too much. After all, she wanted him coherent, not sedate. Yamcha reached for her glass, passing it to her before grasping up his own. Still holding hands, he led her towards the stairs.

“Don’t worry; I’ll clean up down here. You two go on ahead,” Puar interrupted again, floating in from the kitchen.

“Thanks that’d be great,” Yamcha quickly nodded.

“Don’t forget the bottle,” Bulma giggled releasing his hand and grabbing it. She sipped her glass then waited for his reaction. Yamcha tipped back a bit more, and then grabbed the wine bottle.

Nervously Yamcha led the way to the bedroom. Here he was, allowing himself to touch a woman and he was scared to death. It had only been a few months before when he had touched Bulma without any adverse harm. Now here they were in the middle of nowhere, in his bandit’s lair, alone.
****
He struggled to recall the memory of that first contact which counted as a kiss. Unexpected. The Red Ribbon army had stolen all of Bulma’s balls save the one that Goku carried. Through the wildness and waste of ice, Yamcha and Puar had tailed the team even risking life and limb while freezing to death. Finally, on that beach he felt he could play the big hero and impress the girl. Even though he told himself, he was only interested in her balls.

Then the foolish girl had gone gaga and he’d frozen. Only to have that General Blue smash him in the face. Granted Yamcha thought he was handsome, but he was ugly on the inside. Then all he recalled was Puar throwing himself onto Yamcha’s stunned face while he tasted iron. Yamcha had always desired women as well, yet been terrified to touch them. While he sought the company of men, and enjoyed his times, he also longed for a woman’s touch without fear. Just what was the root of it mystified him. He often fantasized about women as much as men, but he had never had the nerve to set eyes on one his age and older.
Then he’d been forced to enter the cell with the others, and face the woman. Those blue eyes made him melt inside while looking at her body made him shiver with such delight and fear. Still he realized it wasn’t fear so much as fear of rejection. The overwhelming fear that he would be a failure in his innocence. That alone was enough to cripple his resolve and reduce him to a stammering pile of mush. Yet as he spent more and more time around Bulma in their forced together state, he stopped hyperventilating. He was in a room with a woman and still alive. Soon he was sitting opposite from her as she spoke and plotted to get out of the cell and was still alive. However, the taunting and teasing from the old Turtle hermit and the pig that’d tormented Puar were not helping. He couldn’t feel his legs with that blue stare dreamily walking over him.

When Oolong had finally turned into a key, she’d unlocked the door. Puar was still stunned from the shock of trying to protect Yamcha and having been slapped rudely aside to concentrate enough to shape shift. Fortunately, he was slowly gaining his concentration back though in small pieces. Together the fellow prisoners raced down the corridor, rumbling and thundering with the sounds of combat. Bulma was just ahead of him her long legs racing forwards with oolong nearby and Master Roshi ogling Bulma’s backside. Yamcha had lagged behind; realizing the rear view of her was not quite as intimidating as he acquainted himself with the sway of her hips and round buttocks in those jeans. It dawned on him she wasn’t wearing any underwear and that melted his resolve again, sending him into heart pounding fear.

Goku was somewhere he could sense it, from the staccato din of guns from nearby, transmitted through the solid rock of the tunnel walls through which they ran. Each corridor branched out to either a dead end or means of egress. Bulma’s sense of logic had guided them along the right path so far, for she had worked out the layout from memory by counting the number of steps on the way in. Yamcha had been as stunned, as Puar was that he couldn’t be of much use.

Through his boots pounding into the ground, he felt more vibration quaking than usual. The din of a loud roaring grew steadily in volume and he felt the ground itself quaking. Bulma stumbled and tripped, while Master Roshi moved to grasp her.
“Let me GO!” she snapped, slapping him silly.

“What was that?” Oolong cried out, bouncing on the walls.

“Everyone watch out!” Yamcha shouted, his sensitive ears twitching as everyone screamed. The entire tunnel rattled and hummed with the oncoming shock of what sounded like an explosion mating with a freight train. Puar and Oolong deflected from the curved walls repeatedly like popcorn in a hot pan. Turtle and Master Roshi slammed into one far wall while Bulma tripped backwards. Yamcha tripped over her ankle as he struggled to catch her. Without a second thought, he had sought to grab her.

Then Bulma crashed flat on her back. Yamcha yelped as he pitched forwards, unable to catch himself. Thrusting his right arm to break his fall he was relieved when it slammed hard into the hard floor to the left of Bulma’s shoulder. Unfortunately, the rest of him toppled headlong onto something soft and curvy.

At first, he thought he had killed or crushed her. His head collided with something, and his mouth buried into something soft and wet. Instinctively he had turned his neck to the side, seeing the look of terror on her face before it blurred. Something squirmed under him, and he felt someone pushing with a hand against his chest while he struggled to push himself off. A bolt of fear raged through him, realizing he was half sprawled across Bulma pinning her half under his body.

He could not see much but he certainly felt warm breath surging into his half open lips. Tangled as they were he was not sure how to get up off of her without being any more awkward then he already felt. Then he jerked his head up, hot blood racing into his cheeks while he levered his torso up with the hand braced to catch him. Nervous laughter bubbled out of his throat and he saw the look of shock on Bulma’s face. All he could do was turn his head to the side and wait for a sharp slap as if she’d given Master Roshi.

"Wha... what was that," Yamcha gasped.

“I don’t know,” Bulma chuckled.

The desert bandit's brain cells only just registering what happened. His lips… had touched hers. He had… kissed a girl… without meaning to. At that moment all he could do was laugh nervously.

“You’re sure well defined. You must work out every day with a body like this,” Bulma grinned, enjoying how deliciously close they were pressed. Glancing back down at her Yamcha’s eyes grew huge with panic.

“I… I’m so sorry,” he stammered out. “I didn’t hurt you… I didn’t mean to fall on you…”

“N… no I’m okay…” came Bulma’s panting voice. Yamcha turned his head, surprised she hadn’t slapped him and saw a lovely pink blush come over her. Here he was, pressed tightly to her and he was not only still alive, but breathing. Never had he been so close to a girl.

“I… you sure you’re not hurt, Bulma…” Yamcha stammered, knowing he should try getting up. However, he was paralyzed by fear so he could do little more than hold one side of his body off her. Fortunately, her legs were spread out on either side of his, her knees cradling his hips.

“I… I’m fine… though you could have picked a different place… to land," she giggled awkwardly. “And do I look like I mind, hmm?”

“Uh well…” stammered the desert bandit, sweat beading on his forehead.

“You’ve got the cutest brown eyes you know,” she blinked up at him, giving a coy smile.
That undid him completely and Yamcha felt all strength departing from his muscles. Especially when Bulma’s arms lifted up to fold behind his neck. Incapable of speech Yamcha desperately shoved up with his right hand and left to push him off her before he slipped and hurt her. She was not a tiny woman but he was much larger than she was.

“I have to… ahh… ah… get off…” Yamcha babbled incoherently.

“Then why didn’t you say so?” Bulma winked, loving how strong and solid he felt on top of her. She had never been so close to such a strong boy before and she planned to enjoy each moment. Just what was the poor person so scared of. She noticed he was shy before, but it pained her to think that he was scared of her.

“Ohh no, I can’t move I can’t…” he trembled, his hand suddenly numb. Then he collapsed, resting more of his weight on her and Bulma gasped with pleasure though he was heavy.

“Relax, buddy I’m not going to hurt you. Why are you so tense! I’m not hurt, and I’m not angry, see?” Bulma wondered, rubbing the back of his neck she hoped in a soothing manner.

His eyes squeezed shut and he quivered spasmodically with such a fierce blush to his face he resembled a ripe tomato. She started to worry when his skin felt cold and clammy and she was sure he would faint. Though she knew it was naughty to take advantage of the poor boy’s shyness she couldn’t help how adorable and endearing it was. Glancing out of the corner of her eye, she saw Master Roshi tangled with Turtle in a heap, and Puar and Oolong out cold to the world. They were groaning and rubbed their heads, stilling a bit so she knew they were all right.

“You poor thing, I really am NOT mad, see?” Bulma soothed, breathing into his sweaty face. Surely one kiss wouldn’t hurt. Just one small kiss because she hardly knew when she’d next get him this close. Unable to stop herself Bulma lifted her lips and brushed them against Yamcha’s. He flinched in her arms, trembling even more. Deliciously his body jerked against hers, something hard brushing against her jeans. Lifting her legs, she wrapped them around his waist to stop him from bolting in fear. Her mouth covered his, tongue sliding teasingly along his lips.

The flats of Yamcha’s hands pressed hard against the pavement, pushing him up. Bulma’s legs twined around his waist, locking her body to his as he tried to sit up. Numb he couldn’t stop the pressure of those lips locked to his and he thought he would die. Then as the moment passed and the soft movement of her mouth from side to side continued, he realized he was still very much alive. Sighing he allowed that persistent tongue entry, and froze with shock once more. It felt… good… surprisingly good!

*Her lips are so soft, and man what a rush this is!* Yamcha thought.

Strength returned and the warrior pushed himself up, with Bulma tightly wound around him. Kneeling he braced himself with one hand and tentatively wrapped the other around her body. His heart pounded with the surge of her hot sweet breath into his mouth. That same warmth swept through his entire body like a heat wave, leaving him giddy and extremely happy. Shyly he tried to do what she was doing, but it was getting difficult to breathe. His numb tongue caressed hers tentatively, and then danced slowly alongside hers. Then a hot puff of air surged past his gums with a low moan. Sensing she must need to breathe as much as he does, Yamcha reluctantly unlocked his lips from hers.

“Damn,” Bulma swore with a deep inhalation.

Steadying her with his other arms around her, he gently shook her. “Bulma…are you… okay?”

“Okay, hell no I’m not. Wow… that was some kissing, buddy,” she giggled.

“I can’t believe… a girl kissed me… and I’m… I’m… okay,” he panted in disbelief.

“Are you for real? Seriously? That was the first time you kissed a girl?” Bulma teased him.

“Wait a minute… the others…” Yamcha panted, glancing wildly around them. He still held Bulma on his lap, not noticing her there because he still felt his legs were numb.

“Kissy kissy!” Master Roshi’s voice taunted and both Yamcha and Bulma’s heads snapped simultaneously to its source. A bit of drool dripped down Master Roshi’s slightly perverted grin. Oolong also had a half-goofy look on his face similar to the one Bulma recalled when he’d stolen her underpants. Next to him, Puar’s dark eyes twinkled with mirth and a smile turned up his lips as well.

“Don’t stop on our account, you two,” Oolong said, disappointed they’d stopped. “This is better than public access!”

“You are so DEAD!” Bulma suddenly screamed at them, stiffening on Yamcha’s lap. Her eyes sparkled with blue fire and her teeth bared sharp like a wild beast’s.

“Now calm down Bulma… we were just le… making sure you were all right… we though he was giving you mouth to mouth!” Oolong protested. Twisting free of Yamcha’s arms Bulma almost launched herself after the retreating hermit and pig. Turtle pressed his flippers over his eyes before shrinking into his shell.

“Bulma… calm down!” Yamcha panicked, rushing after her before she could strangle either equal opportunity pervert. His arms wrapped around her from behind, holding her back from her intended victims.

“That… that perverted pig and that old geezer, you’ll be sorry you peeping toms! Have you no shame, ruining a girls’ first kiss, how DARE you!” she shrilled.

“Never mind the Red Ribbon army, we’re dead now!” Oolong threw his arms over his face. Master Roshi dabbed at his nose that was starting to drip blood.

“Hold onto her sonny, that’s it!” Master Roshi couldn’t help laughing. Instantly Yamcha and Bulma leapt back from one another, pinning their arms awkwardly behind their backs.

“We don’t have time for this! We need to get out of here!” Puar squeaked, darting between Bulma and Master Roshi before she could think straight.

Disappointed Yamcha felt Bulma’s attention shift to another matter. “Oh my gosh poor Goku… and the Dragon Balls! They have my balls!” she yelped.

“That sounds incredibly sick but strangely arousing,” Master Roshi whispered sidelong to Oolong.

“I know, tell me about it,” Oolong whispered back.

“Don’t just stand there, let’s GO find him!” Bulma barked, ordering them about. Everyone snapped to attention, rushing after her as she raced down the corridor. As they escaped, Puar drifted beside Yamcha with a smirk on his face.

“So you DO like girls after all, do you Yamcha?” Puar squeaked.

“I… don’t know what you’re talking about Puar!” Yamcha blurted out.

“Sure, you were only giving her mouth to mouth, right,” Puar teased.

“Shut up! I was not, I was… never mind!” Yamcha stammered, embarrassment sinking in.

“Way to go,” Master Roshi winked at him, slapping him on the back.
***
Now here they were, sitting shyly on a large queen sized bed. Bulma patted the spot next to her, while holding up her flute of champagne. Yamcha nervously strode over, carrying his own drink and the bottle of wine they had opened before. On the first floor the remains of a meal were being cleaned up by Puar, who had urged them to leave it all to him.

“So, are you going to come over here and sit next to me, big boy?” Bulma cooed.

“S…sure, I was just um… bringing the wine,” Yamcha blurted out. His insides tangling up. Did she have to wear that blue gown that was cut just above her chest?

“Well that’s so thoughtful of you! But wouldn’t you be more comfortable over her next to me?” she winked. Groaning Yamcha strode over on shaky legs and plopped down next to her. He felt so unsure of himself and Bulma’s moves were making him even tenser.

That first kiss had been one of many, to his delight. Yet Bulma had shyly suggested she wanted to go further. Her descriptions of baseball were intriguing to him, and he had quickly launched into a topic of how he used to play in little league before he ran away from school.

Back before… IT happened. An d everything went to hell and more. Half insane and not himself he’d wandered for a long time till encountering Puar and finding himself in the desert.

“Well you and I have only been to first and second base you know,” she repeated.

“I… about that Bulma… how did you know I played baseball?” he asked, then kicked himself. She already knew, you idiot!

“You told me silly. But I wasn’t talking about playing baseball I was using it as a metaphor you goof!” Bulma teased him.

“It’s not nice to tease,” Yamcha suddenly answered turning his face aside. “I’m not as smart as you, but I’m not stupid.”

“Yamcha sweetie, I’m sorry,” Bulma apologized, seeing the hurt on his face. If there was one thing she hated it was spoiling a moment.

Mumbling under his breath Yamcha sipped at his wine. Only Bulma’s soft hand on his cheek caressing it snapped him out of his funk. He felt a soft kiss and a whisper of, “Sorry, honey… please don’t be mad?”

“Okay… but still,” Yamcha relented, unable to resist turning into mush when he felt her fingers caressing his chest through his shirt.

“You look so handsome in these clothes you know,” she whispered. “I’m so happy you wore them…”

“I did it for you, Bulma,” he answered, glancing over at her. He couldn’t tear his eyes off the soft blue of her hair, nor resist reaching over to caress it. Sipping her wine she then set it aside. She reached for his glass too, and set it next to hers.

“Not that you don’t look so gloriously sexy in those bandit clothes you stud you,” she answered, cupping his cheeks with her hands. Nervously he licked his lips, especially when she scooted closer to their hips touched.

“Th… thank you,” he stammered, freezing up. Bulma slid her hand behind his neck, slowly kneading the muscles.

“You’re all tense. Why don’t you lie down on your stomach? And let me help, mm?” she asked.

“But I thought you… wanted…” he got out.

“Not just yet. You’ve got to relax buddy. And me, girl genius that I am have the perfect answer,” Bulma cracked her knuckles. With a sigh of disappointment and relief Yamcha kicked off his shoes. She helped him slide out of his jacket, and then urged him to lie on his belly. To his surprise he felt her tugging his shirt up out of his pants.
“What are you doing…” he got out.

“Just relax. I’m going to give you a backrub. That always helps me relax. Plus I want to look at your muscles,” she urged.

He rolled over so she could unbutton the shirt. Teasingly she leaned over and brushed his lip with a kiss. Her nimble fingers seized the halves of his garment and slipped each button through its hole. Yamcha relaxed at the touch of her lips, twining his arms around her to caress her back. His mouth merged with hers, and she leaned heavily against him. He landed on the bed, with Bulma lying atop him, loving the familiarity of the kiss. It was something he knew well. Together they untucked his shirt from the pants and peeled it off to drop on the floor. Bulma guided his hands to shrug of her sweater, revealing her creamy white shoulders.

“Now, lie down,” Bulma gasped, surfacing from the kiss.

“Okay,” Yamcha relented, reluctantly releasing her. He could not refuse her request, and hoped that whatever she would do would help him quell his nervousness. Weight shifted and he heard Bulma’s footsteps beside his bed and the sound of something being opened.

“All this lovely oil you borrowed. I think it wouldn’t hurt to put it to use,” Bulma answered. Then he felt the bed once more shift with her gentle weight. He grunted with surprise to feel her thighs straddling his waist, and her bottom sitting on his backside.

“Wha…” he opened his mouth.

“Relax. I have to sit here to massage you, silly,” Bulma scolded, pushing him down with a hand between his shoulder blades. Under her hands his muscles twitched like those of a scared horse. He loved the feel of those light hands stroking a path down his spine. Slowly the knots were kneaded out with a steady pressure one moment and further untied with feather stroking patterns. Soon Yamcha moaned with pleasure, resting his chin on his folded arms.

“Mmm Bulma, that feels so good. I didn’t realize how talented those fingers were,” he said, then stopped himself. “Well I didn’t mean…”

“Yamcha calm down, you’re doing fine,” Bulma shushed him, pressing her thumbs into two knots at the apexes of his shoulder blades. He yelped and then groaned at the sudden release of pressure.

“Uhhhhh,” he groaned.

Bulma bent down and pressed her chest to him. He tensed at the soft contact of her lips kissing a path down his spine. Her hands moved after each wet contact, stopping only at the waist of his pants. Then she slid fingers between his underwear and skin, making him shiver. Again her fingers dug into the new crop of knots, molding and kneading them out.

“There, how was that?” she asked. The feeling of her hands was gone, depriving Yamcha of their contact and warmth. Indeed he felt nothing but cool air on his back and felt sadness at the loss of her weight.

“Why did you stop?” Yamcha asked. He flipped over to sit down, a frown covering his young face. Then his dark eyes widened in shock at the sight of Bulma.

“M… mmm your mounds... ammm ammma… o my…” he mouthed. Blue hair curled down over her now bare shoulders, and barely covered the two hemispheres of her now bare breasts.

“Yamcha… are you okay?” she asked. The sultry look faded and was replaced with one of genuine concern.

“M… ma… m… oh man,” he groaned, glancing quickly away.

“I’m sorry…” Bulma apologized, cursing herself for being so bold. “Please… turn around and look at me it’s okay!”

“I … I can’t,” Yamcha hissed through clenched teeth, turning away and standing up straight. Hands balled into fists at his sides. His muscular shoulders quivered.

“You can Yamcha. There’s nothing to be scared of! I’m looking at you without a shirt so why is it so different?”

“Because… because I saw you… before… like this,” Yamcha admitted, his heart pounding.

“When?” Bulma blinked up in confusion. She held her arms crossed to hide her breasts, suddenly feeling awkward. Slowly she stood up, moving to hug him from behind.

“I knew you’d be angry,” Yamcha whispered. “I… I’ve seen it all Bulma… but I was ashamed to tell you.”

“You’ve seen me naked?” she wondered. “When was that?”

“When I tried to steal the dragon balls, okay?” Yamcha blurted out, squirming in her arms. He broke free then spun around on her. Instead of anger he saw only amusement and her folded arms hiding her breasts. Still she wore a half slip and her stockings, the garter belt visible under the sheer silk.

“Are you scared to see me naked because you feel guilty?” Bulma asked shyly, keeping her hands where they were so Yamcha could look at her. He sighed, relieved and ashamed to see the look of understanding there.

“Yes. No I mean…” he babbled before throwing up his hands. “I don’t know why! You make me crazy sometimes Bulma! I don’t know how to be around you! How can you possibly want a boyfriend who can’t even…?”

“Yamcha, it’s all right! I’m GLAD you saw me naked, okay?” Bulma exclaimed.

“What?” Yamcha asked, blinking in shock at what she said.

“If you were able to see me then what is so hard about now? I mean I’m glad it was you. Because now you don’t have to feel guilty!”

“But you always get pissed when Master Roshi…” he stammered.

“That’s different,” Bulma cut him off, crossing the distance between them and pressing fingers to his lips. She slid her arms around his torso, tightly pressing her breasts to his bare chest.

“Different how?” he panted, not wanting to let her go. She clung to him tightly, pressing her curves to his angles and muscles.

“Because you’re my boyfriend and they aren’t. You’re supposed to see me naked silly!” she giggled.

“I know that Bulma I just… I’m not good at this!” Yamcha snorted. Bulma buried her cheek in his chest, kissing his strong pecks.

“You trained how to be a martial artist right?” she asked.

“Yes but what has that got to do with…” the desert bandit demanded impatiently.

“You can consider this training too!” Bulma said. “Now take me in your arms this minute or I’ll be very disappointed!”

“Ohh okay,” Yamcha relented, hugging her tightly. Bulma sighed loudly, enjoying the feel of his arms holding her so securely. Yamcha rested his chin on the top of her head, delighting in the simple hug. It dawned on him they were both topless and he wasn’t ashamed. Those breasts felt so soft and inviting there he never wanted to let go.

“Yamcha, you can kiss me, you know?” she urged.

He leaned down to do so, cupping her chin to angle her head to his. Their lips merged and he relaxed with practiced ease into it. For a time they kissed, mapping each other’s mouth’s out in the growing darkness of night. Bulma pressed her pelvis into his, slowly raising her let to slide up the outside of his. Yamcha grew bolder, sliding his hands down to cup her backside as she was lightly and teasingly pinching his. Then he felt Bulma hanging heavily around his neck and raising her other leg up. He reached down to help her, lifting her under the knees. Her legs wrapped around his waist, bringing her lower body close to his. Shyly he felt his manhood twitching and realized she was pressing herself against it.

“Bulma… I ah… I want… more but I…“ he stammered.

“I love how strong you feel,” she purred, rocking into his erection. Yamcha shivered, gasping at her tongue thrusting past his lips and plundering his mouth. He seized control of the kiss, dancing his tongue past hers and holding her securely against him. Something inside compelled him to carry her to the bed and gently lay her down so they would be more comfortable. Though he loved holding her and it was no straight at all, he knew she would want it this way.

Bulma tugged at his pants, struggling to unbuckle them. Yamcha’s fingers assisted, almost getting in the way. Together they snaked the belt out and worked on his fly, slowly unzipping it as they panted hoarsely. Then Bulma tugged downwards and he shimmied out of them. Now only in his tight briefs he knelt next to her on the bed.

“Touch me Yamcha, go ahead,” she urged. Grabbing one hand she placed it squarely on her breast. Yamcha shivered, touching soft weight and curling his fingers around it. They felt unlike anything he had imagined warm and yielding. Something hard poked his palm and Bulma moved his hand in a circular motion. Taking the other hand she placed it on the opposite breast.

Yamcha slipped his palms under them, lifting them up and rolling them in his hands. She tossed her head back, placing her hands on his shoulders and caressing them firmly. Then she pushed forwards, straddling his lap and still grabbing his wrists to keep them in place on her chest. Guessing she liked what he was doing he continue to explore.

“You like that?” he asked breathlessly.

“Uh huh, it feels so good,” she encouraged, rocking her hips down on him. Yamcha trembled, falling back with Bulma straddling him. She bent down and kissed him, plundering his mouth once more. He returned the kiss, drinking heavily and squeezing her breasts more firmly. A slight yelp escaped her and she whispered her encouragement into his ear.

Soon they were under the sheets, for Bulma shivered so much he realized she need more than his body heat. Her legs intertwined with his and he felt her working off her stockings. In response to her whispered instructions he undid the garters and slid them off. Then he felt a patch of soft hair brushing his thigh and stiffened. Women had hair down there, he wondered? Of course, his numb rain reminded him. For he had seen it all with a flick of the wrist.

Her hands wandered down and cupped the bulge. He flinched then leaned into her hand when he felt it squeezing just as he was doing to her breasts. Then her head dipped under the sheets and he saw the lump of her body sliding down as he was forced to lie on his back. Slowly his underwear was inched down and he felt the sheets over his whole body. With a giggle she surfaced, smiling at him through the dim gleam of moonlight. Again Bulma’s hand grabbed his shaky fingers and pulled them under to the juncture of her legs. He was surprised to feel something moist leaking onto his fingers. Raising one leg she then yanked his hand and closed her thighs around it.

“What are you…” he gasped.

“Put your fingers inside me,” she whispered. He flushed hot, realizing her hands were curling around his shaft and exploring it. Bulma’s eyes widened. She giggled and blushed. Yamcha’s eyes were far more sensitive in the dark and he could tell the faint pink there on his cheeks was another embarassed flushed.

“My, you’re… big…” she giggled nervously.

“Uh… huh… and you’re… deep,” he rasped. “This feel so… I didn’t know you could get wet there…”

“Are you scared?” she asked.

“I… a bit…” he admitted. “But you… you’re scared too?”

“Yes, but I want it,” she urged. “Lay down…”

“You ah… ah… want me to…” Yamcha swallowed hard. “This… this is home plate? But Bulma…”

“Please,” she pleaded her voice suddenly soft and sad. “I’ll lie on my back if it will be easier,” she added. Releasing him she lay flat, spreading her arms out on either side.
Yamcha sat up, sheets falling off his muscular shoulders. He reached down to caress her breasts, then trace over her belly and hips. Now her whole body was revealed to him, gleaming pearly ghostly white in the moonlight. She glanced up at him with pleading trusting eyes, her lip trembling.

“I… I… damn you're so beautiful, I can't stand it,” he stammered, shifting to lie on his side. She spread her legs, revealing in the dimness the folds of her vagina and he stared in wonder.

“Don’t you want me?” Bulma wheedled, twirling a curl of her hair around her finger and batting her eyelashes at him.

“Yes… I do,” Yamcha found himself growling. Fear evaporated at that moment and he heard a low howl distantly echoing. Bulma shivered, wrapping her arms around herself in fear.

“Don’t be scared Bulma, I won’t let them hurt you,” Yamcha soothed, kneeling between her knees. Bulma reached up to him, insistently and he felt the twitch of his penis in response. Like a magnet it was drawn towards the moist folds of her vagina as she spread her legs wide. Again the desert sounds broke through the silence, and Bulma reached up to latch onto hi s arms with string fingernails digging into his back.

She leaned her hips up while Yamcha grasped his length, guiding it towards where he knew it would naturally go. As his sensitive tip touched the wet folds he yelped at how hot it was. Bulma let out a soft cry and lifted her legs. Yamcha braced one hand by her shoulder and tentatively pressed his erect penis at the opening. To his surprise he felt a ring of muscle gliding around and heard Bulma’s soft cry.

Clumsily he lost his nerve and his balance for a moment at the tension building in him. He felt a surge of fear and wonder, as his shaft sunk into moist resistance and stopped. He caught himself, sweat dripping on to her as Bulma suddenly screamed.

“Bulma… damn…” he yelped, pulling out of her. “Did I hurt you…?”

“No… please don’t stop… please don’t leave,” Bulma pleaded, wrapping her legs around his waist. Yamcha saw the fear on her face, and the insistent dig of her nails into his shoulders tugging him down. Swallowing hard again Yamcha lowered himself in, plunging his penis into the slick channel of her vagina. Bulma bit her lip, whimpering.

“Bulma, oh Bulma... I can't hold it back,” he whispered, panting at the intense heat containing him.

“Please Yamcha, don’t… be afraid,” Bulma whispered, hearing the pain in his voice and the fear that he was hurting her. “I’ll be fine, just… go deeper…”

“Ah… all right,” he nodded, hearing the trust in her voice. Sharply he inhaled, and then plunged inside. Bulma bit down on her tongue to stifle the scream, instead biting her hand that she suddenly raised from her shoulder. Yamcha gasped, staying as still as he dared.

“Ohhh baby,” he groaned, suddenly pulling out as she gripped him tightly from inside. The shift of her hips up pulled him back in, and then he struggled to move out because he saw the tears rolling down her cheeks.

“Yamcha, it’s so… so…” she murmured. “It doesn’t hurt so much now. Just… kiss me… and hold onto my hips… move… with me…”

“If that’s what you want, love,” he found himself saying aloud. Bulma nodded, and then guided him down into her. Yamcha slowly moved in and out, and then took the pace that Bulma set with her own rising and bucking hips.

“Roll over,” Bulma yelped. Twining her legs around him she shifted her body to the side. Yamcha kept himself inside her as he flipped over and Bulma was sitting astride him. He felt relief as she relaxed and then bobbed up and down. Her breasts bounced and she tossed her head back.

“Much better,” Bulma purred, bracing her hands on his chest.

“Mmm, you’re telling me babe,” Yamcha purred, liking the view much better from below. No longer wincing in pain Bulma rolled her hips and he thrust up willingly. Like waves on the beached they moved, his penis pounding up into her and feeling the ripples of her orgasm clenching him. Her loud cry sang in his ears and boiled his blood. All too sudden something exploded at the base of his spine and he stabbed up with a howl. They shivered together and then she collapsed on him.

Wearily Bulma kissed his lips, and stretched atop him. Yamcha sighed with pleasure, reaching up to draw the covers around them both. They curled up and rested under the moonlight. The last thing Bulma thought was how much she loved it when he had called her ‘babe’. With such a note of confidence it made her shiver and melt inside.