A story of a boy, a girl, and her long nails


This is a true story. Looking back, I doubt it sometimes, myself. But
it happened. I should know. I have a scar.

We never officially met until the summer after my junior year of
college, but for me, we went back almost ten years. I distinctly
remembering seeing her at my seventh grade bake sales, which were every
Tuesday in the library. I was a kid, awkward and horny. She was a class
mother. She was tall, about 5’10”, with long features. Her neck craned
gracefully over her buxom chest; her thighs always stretched below her
skirts, showing a little too much leg for a woman who must have been in her
late thirties. I also distinctly remembered her thin arms which she used
when she talked. And then, her hands. She always wore jewelry on her
slender fingers leading up to her beautiful nails. Her nail bed must have
been 1/2″, and she always kept her nails at least another 1/2″ past the tip
of her fingers. She obviously cared for her nails, because every time I
saw her, she was doing something different. Usually, she wore a french
manicure, although she would vary her tips, something rounded, something
angular. Every so often she wore a burgundy color. And once, right around
Christmas, she simply wore pure snow white.

I always looked forward to those bake sales. Whatever she was selling,
I was buying. I still get excited thinking about her she would have to
scoop change off the table, or how she would use her talons to gently life
a brownie off a paper plate. The brownies were the best because she would
usually get a few crumb stuck to her nails, which she would lick off. Nail
by nail, she would open her mouth, stick out her tounge, and lick. I had
to have been her best customer, and she knew it. We began exchange smiles
after a few weeks, and I eventually accepted that she knew I had a crush on
her. However, I assumed that she didn’t know about my fascination with her
nails. Until she caught me looking.

It was the end of the year. I was staring, infatuated, at her mouth as
she was removing the last, stubborn bit of a Rice-Krispy treat from her
long nail on her middle finger. She had a slight grin on her face, and was
taking a little longer than normal. I must have been sporting a rather
obvious adolescent erection, and I couldn’t help myself but to look her in
the eyes. And I swear, she winked at me. I wasn’t positive, hell, I
couldn’t ask. But for years, that wink stayed with me as the centerpiece
of my most frequent fantasies.

I saw her rarely after that year. I had learned her name, Eve, and I
knew that she had several children at my school, although none in my grade.
During high school, I would occasionally see her picking up her kids, with
her long nails gently curved over the steering wheel of her Jaguar. I saw
her once at a video store and once at a book store, but I knew that I
couldn’t approach her. She was married, for God’s sake, and she had
children who were younger than me. But I promised myself that, when I was
older, if I ever had the chance even just to talk to her, I would go for
it. What would I have to lose?

Which brings me back to the summer after my Junior year. I had been
called to jury duty, which seemed like a drag. However, like many of you,
I saw the bright side in these kinds of situations: I might just see some
nice nails. I arrived early and took a seat in a rather drab room, waiting
for instruction when Eve showed up. She was a little older now, but hadn’t
lost any of her looks or class. And she had gained about 1/4″ on her
nails. They were more beautiful than ever. She was wearing a nice,
standard, french manicure, and I was going wild. It was the situation I
always dreamed of. I was now twenty-one and more confident. I knew that
this was going to be my last, best chance to talk to her. She took a seat
and pulled out a book. As she read, she placed her right hand on the page,
spreading her fingers for anyone to see. She held the cover with her left
hand, with her thumb sticking straight into the air. Long nails of any
kind excite me, but, personally, I always go absolutely with when I see the
inside of the nail. And there was her long thumbnail pointing to the
ceiling, waving back and forth. However, I didn’t have the guts to talk to
her. What would I say? “Hey, uh, Eve. You probably don’t remember me but
I was a horny seventh grader who bought like, fifty fudge squares from you
in the late 80s. How about you forget your husband and screw around with
me in my car?”

We were soon called to our first trials. The way jury duty works it
that everyone is separated into groups and you go before a judge to be
considered for a trial. Each group was about thirty people and each jury
was twelve, so over half the people would be rejected for a particular
case. That morning I vowed that I wouldn’t get stuck on any trial, but I
had a new purpose in life. I would get stuck on a trial with Eve.

She wasn’t in my first group. It was some drug case and I made sure
that I wasn’t going to be selected. When the judge and lawyers asked me
how I felt about legalization of drugs, I lied. I’ve never done drugs, nor
have I ever had any respect for anyone who has, but I told them that, yes,
drugs should be legalized and that I sincerely felt that drug prosecutions
were a was of time and taxpayer money. That was all it took. Thank you
for your time sir, but the county will not need your service in this case.
Please go back downstairs and reenter the juror pool.

I knew she was going to be there when I got back. Actually, I can’t
remember seeing her there, but I felt that the next time I knew I would be
lucky. When they called out her name, I actually stood up, willing that I
would also be called. And I was. I reported to the courtroom.

She was there when I arrived. I could have sat next to her, but I
hesitated. Now, I didn’t just want to say hi or exchange smiles. I wanted
to be on a jury with her, and I didn’t want her to think that I was weird
(and why would she think that?) Early on, she was chosen and passes their
“are you biased and going to send this guy the chair for stealing a car”
test. The case concerned a police officer accused to stealing from the
evidence room and selling the good to pawn shops. Pretty dumb case, and
pretty open and shut. This time, when I was called, I was Mr. Clean
Slate. They asked if I had any relatives in law enforcement. I said no.
(My uncle’s a cop.) They asked if I was ever a victim of a crime. I said
no. (Of course I’ve been a victim of a crime. This is America, isn’t it.)
And, with the grace of the nail gods, I was accepted.

If I had any complaints about this experience, it was that I had a bad
seat. I was in the front row of the jury box, and Eve was in the back.
Normally, I would keep turning around, just trying to get a glimpse. But
this was a courtroom. I couldn’t just raise my hand and say, “If it would
please the court, I have a little fetish I would like to indulge in and
there’s a woman twice my age who I’ve been lusting after since the Reagan
administration just a few feet away. Your honor, may I have your
permission to take in her sexy nails and retire to the bathroom to jerk
off.” I had to be patient.

After a few words from the Judge, we adjourned for lunch. The jury was
sent to the cafeteria. We weren’t supposed to talk to anyone else, so we
all sat together. I took a seat directly across from, and we began eating
in silence. Finally, an elderly man decided to break the ice. He asks
that everyone say their names and where they are from. We went around the
table. I couldn’t care less about everyone else’s life story. I was just
waiting for Eve. I knew that we had the same hometown, so when she said
it, I remarked that I was from there, too. She smiles and we talked about
it briefly. I didn’t care about the content of the conversation. Here I
was, finally looking her straight in the eye (with occasional glances
towards her nails, of course), talking to her like an adult.

We finished our meals quickly and had some time to kill. Everyone made
their way back to the courtroom and milled outside, waiting for everything
to get moving. I approached Eve, and just started talking. Where exactly
do you live? How long have you lived there? She was talking with her
hands, as she always did, and I noticed something different. Back in
seventh grade I had memorized everyone millimeter of her hands and nails.
If there was such a thing as a forensic nail artist, I could give a good
enough descripttion that they could put up wanted posters. Imaging that.
America’s most wanted sexy nails.

When I saw it, my blood rushed straight from my brain to you know where.
She had always worn her engagement ring and wedding ring. But they had
been replaced with newer, smaller, rings. Did this mean…

“So, does your family live in town?”

“Well, my children are either in college or have graduated. And since
my husband and I separated, I’ve been living alone.”

I knew this was my time. I started flirting, smiling, laughing. And
she was responding. At one point, she placed her hand on the forearms and
gave a slight squeeze. Her thumb nail gently dug into my skin.

“Oh, sorry. Did I hurt you.”

“No. Not at all.”

We soon filed back into the courtroom. I had no idea what they talked
about that afternoon, and I didn’t care. I just wanted it to end so I
could talk to Eve. After we adjourned for the evening, I approached Eve.
The trial didn’t seem like it would last long, and I figured that I had to
make every moment count.

“So, Eve.” I was calling her by her first name! “Since we live so near
to each other, do you want to carpool? I can pick you up tomorrow.”


She was going to be in my car. We were going to talk. We were going to
be alone. I was in heaven.

She gave me her phone number and address and I told her that I would be
there at a quarter to eight the next morning. I barely slept that night,
and I made sure I was clean, well dressed, and ready for the morning.

When I pulled into her driveway, I saw her house for the first time. I
was a modern, sleek building with- what else?–well manicured lawns. I
didn’t want to just honk and hurry her out. Instead, I went to the door
and rang the bell. She answered in her bathrobe and apologized that she
wasn’t ready. I assured her that it really wasn’t a problem. She sat me
down in her kitchen, placing her hand on my shoulder, and poured me a cup
of coffee. Her nails were simply beautiful. White, pure white, and
nothing else. Glowing, glossy, but not flashy. Simple, and elegant, but
still very different. She is only one of three women in my life ever to
wear pure while nail polish, and she pulled it off beautifully. I saw in
her kitchen and drank my coffee, relishing in the smell that she left
behind in the room.

It took her a while to be ready. When she finally emerged, she was
wearing a powder blue suit, showing some leg just like how I remembered
her. Her top was cut rather low, exposing a little cleavage. She also wore
heels probably a little too high for jury duty. But who was I to complain?

When we were finally in the car, we noticed that we were going to be
late. And we knew that you can’t be late for court. The judge doesn’t
care that I’ve been in the presence of a goddess. Eve was a little
worried, too. She said that she would tell the judge that it was all her
fault, but I told her not to worry. By this time it was 8:30 and the
courthouse was about forty-five minutes away. So I started to speed.

I was a little timid at first. I didn’t want Eve to think that I was an
irresponsible kid. But as I started going faster, I noticed that she was
into it. Her claws dug into the seat and he teeth showed through her

“Are you doing all right?”

She tapped her heavenly hand on my leg. “Keep it up.”

I couldn’t believe it. She was having a great time. I never could have
guess that this suburban mother had such a wild side. She laughed as we
passed cars on the freeway and kept tapping my leg as I wove between

When we finally got to the courthouse, parked the car, and ran to the
courtroom, we were still ten minutes late. We were the last ones there and
we took our seats. After sustaining an accusing look from the judge, we
were told that the defendant had agreed to a plea bargain and we were free
to go. That’s all. Thank you for playing.

Eve and I left the courthouse and just laughed. We had risked our lives
to get there, and it was over before it began. Then she placed her hand on
my shoulder and asks if I wanted to get some food.

We went to a freeway diner and sat down. It was only 10:30. Neither of
us had anywhere to go that day, and we settled down for a meal. She asked
about me. College? Pretty good. Girlfriend? Not currently. And as she
asked about me, I asked about her. Is she dating? A little. But she felt
that she needed to change her image. She said that she’s looked the same
for over fifteen years, and maybe it was time to update. She said that now
she was single, she should be a little more current. Maybe change her
wardrobe. Or cut her hair.

“Just don’t change the nails.”

I had never complemented a woman’s nails before. (This was before I saw
all the pages on the net and got more confidence and understanding of my
interest.) I had no idea how she would react. But I had made the leap. I
had mentioned the nails.

“You really like the nails?”

“They’re amazing! Don’t you think so?”

“I guess. My husband liked them. But I guess I don’t know how other
men would react.”

“Trust me, they’re beautiful.”

She smiled and held them out for me to get a closer look. I finally had
them in my hand. She gently stroked my arm.

“You have goosebumps.”

“Can you blame me.”

She pulled her hands away. I though I had said too much. Did I scare
her? Did she remember who I was, how I pined for her?

Suddenly, I felt her tapping on my knee. She stroked my leg, and I
reached out my hand. I put mine on top of hers and grabbed her fingers.
Then I went farther and began to massage her thigh, getting farther and
farther up her skirt. I figured I might go as far as her underwear.
Unfortunately, she wasn’t wearing any. My hand had found its way to her
vagina. As I touched her pubic hair, she leaned over to me and whispered
into my ear.

“Forget the food. You can eat at my place.”

As I stood up, she noticed my erection and gently scratched it with her
forefinger. I grabbed her hand and lead her to my car.

“You were driving pretty fast this morning. Let’s see if you can do a
little better.”

I tore down the freeway, never dipping under 80. We didn’t talk much in
the car. Just staring. Every so often she would lean over and kiss my
neck and drag her claws across my chest. As we took the exit to her house,
she grabbed by crotch and began to rub me. Finally, her long fingers, her
meticulously manicured nails, and their beautiful white polish where just
where I always dreamed they would be.

We pulled into the driveway and jumped out of the car. Once inside her
house, she lead me into the bedroom. I opened her jacket to reveal a
simple bra. Then I unzipped her skirt to reveal her naked pussy. I could
smell excitement as I laid her down and, well, went down. I could have
stayed there forever. A goddess like Eve deserved to feel pleasure. As I
worked with my tongue, she placed her hands on my head, scratching my scalp
and the back of my neck.

“It’s your turn.”

I sat up on the bed and she bend down and swallowed my penis into her
mouth. As she worked the head with her tongue and lips, she played with my
shaft and balls with her nails. At one point, she had my entire ball sack
in the palm of her hand, gently squeezing and ticking. Overcome with
pleasure, I spurted cum into her mouth. I had never come so much before.
She swallowed most of it, but a little spilled onto her lips and cheek. As
it dripped towards her chin, she let go of my nuts and gently scooped my
seamen into her nail on her middle finger. Then she placed her finger in
her mouth. It was exactly what she did years before with the homemade
snacks at the bake sale. A small smile spread over her face and she worked
her tongue to lick her nail clean. I looked her in the eye, and she

“I think I remember you.”

I stopped terrified. Did she know I was some freak?

“I always though you were just some kid with a crush. Now I know. You
some sick pervert in love with my nails.”

She paused.

“Fuck me.”

She reached into her night table, and pulled out a condom.

“I assume you want me to put this on you.”

And how. Holding the package between her thumbs and her fingers, she
tore it open. Then she slowly removed the rubber, holding it with her
nails. She leaned over me, so her hair flopped over my head. She unrolled
it onto my penis, gently unrolling it with her long fingers. And she sat
back and spread her legs and grabbed my back and pulled me into her.

I entered her with a rush I think I will never feel again. She was by
far the oldest woman I had ever been with, and I was expecting her to be
loose. And she was, at first. But she knew how to use all of her vaginal
muscles. As I rode her back and forth, she used her skill to squeeze my
dick into submission. We sat up, with her on my lap and my dick in her
cunt. She dug her claws into my shoulders as I lifted her up and down.
She was experienced and knew the I was about to come.

“This might hurt a little.”

She leaned back off the bed so her head almost reached the floor, only
holding on to me with her talons in my lower back. Suddenly, I felt a
prick in ass, as she speared her left pinky into my hole. It was the first
and only thing ever to go up there. The tip of the nail must have come
close to my prostate, because I began to come uncontrollably. I jerked
back and unloaded, ever more than before. She came at the same time,
wiggling and moaning beneath me. Spent, I keeled over on top of her and we
both fell to the ground.

We stared at each other, laughing and kissing. She brought her hand up
to my mouth, allowing me to suck on her right hand. When I got to her ring
finger, we noticed some blood. I assumed it was the anal penetration, but
it was on the wrong hand. She turned me over to see that I was bleeding
from my back. Apparently, as we both were writhing in ecstasy, she had
torn off a small, raised mole on my lower back with her nail. She
retrieved some gauze from the bathroom and patched me up.

“I guess this means that you’ll have something to remember me by.”

She threw her arms around me as we shared a long, deep kiss. We made
love for the rest of the afternoon. I came three more times. She came at
least three times that. I kissed her entire body. She scratch me entire
body. It was the most wonderful thing that ever happened to me.

We met a few more times that summer. Of course, we knew that we
couldn’t ever have a normal relationship. Really, neither of us was
looking for one. We made love several times. I even convinced her to take
me along to her nail appointments a few times. But she was getting a
divorce and I was going back to school.

I only saw her once after that summer. I was at Staples, picking up
some printing paper, and peeking down the aisles, searing for long nails.
She was shopping for a day planner, but had a man on her arm. As I
approached her, I noticed that she had a new engagement ring. I waited for
her fianc e to leave and I sidle up beside her. She looked down at me,
lifted my shirt, and gently scratched my lower back, right over the scar
she had given me. And then she walked away.

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