It’s easy to get fucked when you’re a sixteen-year-old girl. I don’t mean sixteen-year-old boys, who are incredibly easy from what I could tell but with someone old enough to be my father. I was thinking in particular about Richard, one of two divorced men I sometimes did babysitting for. I had called him mister and his last name, at first, but I’ll just go with Richard here.
I expect you’ve watched porn where the guy does the babysitter. But it really wasn’t like that. I figured I had to be sly, be subtle, be suggestive in my own sixteen-year-old way. I probably wasn’t, though, and he was far easier than I expected.
Richard was, I think, thirty-eight, a good-looking guy. He had actual ab muscles, which I’d seen when he wore shorts and no shirt in the late summer. He had good shoulders and arm muscles. He had a clean-shaven face, with a quick smile and clear blue eyes. I had a crush on him. Wouldn’t you, if you were a girl?
Mid-November, the early evening was fairly brisk and I wore jeans and a jacket over my t-shirt. To come on to a guy, it’s more about taking off layers than appearing in a bikini. Older guys, at least, seek to hunt you down, not catch you with your leg in a trap.
Richard had seen me with few clothes in the warm San Diego months of September and early October, when the highs were often in the 80’s. I’d worn very short shorts and crop tops that showed my small boobs to advantage, although I thought my long legs and tight butt were my best features. This November evening was different.
“Hi, Richard,” I said brightly after he opened the door and I walked in. “How’s tricks?”
I often talked differently to older people than I did to my peers.
“Not bad, Lauren, thanks for asking.”
He was always so polite. We talked about the evening ahead, how late I’d stay (until he came home around 11 pm), food, when to put his ten-year-old daughter to bed (nine o’clock). I took off my jacket while we talked. My white t-shirt didn’t go down much further than the top of my tummy and was a size too small, so my nipples poked out. It was, in my opinion, very hot.
Richard glanced at me, looked away, then turned his head back quickly, a classic double-take like a cartoon character. His eyes widened.
“What was I saying?” he asked.
“You said to make sure Deb was in bed by ten,” I replied.
I stretched, pulling my arms back and pushing my boobs out. I wasn’t that subtle, I guess. I wanted Richard to think about me at home when he left for the evening.
While he was out, I did homework and played a bit with Deb. We both watched a little TV. I made her do her homework, too, although only for half an hour.
When Richard returned, he wasn’t drunk, but he’d had more than one drink. He poured himself a cold, short vodka and poured the same amount of vodka into a glass of lemonade for me. I assumed he had the lemonade on hand for his daughter, who was fast asleep.
“Cheers,” I said, raising my glass. I didn’t know what it meant, just that it was the thing to do.
We chatted a bit, Richard on the big living room chair and me on the sofa. I had been sitting on it rather primly, but gradually opened my legs so he was soon looking at where my legs came together. My nipples got hard again. I saw a bump in his pants and figured I’d done enough for one night.
“I gotta go home,” I said. “It’s 11:30.”
He frowned and said OK, got up and paid me. He took me to the door. Just as we got there, I turned around and stood close to him, maybe a foot away, and let my hand brush his pants and his semi-hard cock. He grabbed me by the shoulders and kissed me. Instead of appropriate-for-any-age outrage, I kissed him back, opening my mouth, allowing his tongue to meet mine. I felt his hand on a breast, gentle, manipulating. I felt his cock brush against my cunt.
“Good night,” I said.
“You could stay longer,” he offered. He wasn’t exactly begging, but he was more than eager.
“I don’t think so,” I said. “See you later.”
I walked home, still steady despite the vodka. I masturbated myself to sleep, thinking about big shoulders and hard cocks.
A week later, I was back at his house for more babysitting. I’m not sure why they call it that for a ten-year-old. Deb was nowhere to be seen.
“Where’s Deb,” I asked.
“She’s out at a friend’s house for a sleepover. I thought maybe you’d enjoy an evening off.”
“But I need the money,” I said, stomping my right foot. This was sort of true, although my parents bought me what I needed. What I earned I spent on what I wanted.
Richard pulled two twenties out of his pocket, thought about it, and added ten dollars more.
“Here you go, no reason it has to be an unpaid vacation.”
I thought about it briefly. I took his money. It seemed pretty obvious he wanted some kind of sex, which I wanted, too. Although this was happening way faster than I’d expected. One thing about being much younger was that I could just wait for him to say something.
“How about another lemonade and vodka?” he asked.
“Sure,” I replied. I wouldn’t drink much and it tasted delicious. I suspected he made the lemonade from scratch.
I was wearing a gray, lightweight sweater with nothing under it and a plaid skirt. I’d thought about a crop top to complete the Britney Spears look from her recent video, Baby One More Time. This was close enough. I also had on a little lipstick, a tiny bit of mom’s perfume and concealer covering my one awful zit.
We sat at opposite ends of his sofa, then moved closer together to put our glasses on the coffee table.
“You’re a sexy girl, Lauren,” Richard said. “You must have a lot of boyfriends. Or at least one special one.”
It was time to either go with the whole truth or spin a tale of lies or something in between. I figured I’d at least start with close to the truth and see how it went.
“No, not really. The guys my age are lame. They aren’t interested in me at all, just in what they can get.”
“Get?” he asked.
“Yeah, you know. Cop a feel? Or more?”
“And do they ever get that?” Richard asked slowly. He scooched a few inches closer, not quite close enough to touch me.
I blushed; I’m sure I did. I couldn’t be too truthful, here, I couldn’t tell him that, well, yes, just the other day Jeremy had fucked me. And then there was Jessica…
“Honestly, I’ve let a couple of guys feel my breasts,” I said, sitting a little straighter. “And maybe they touched me between my legs.”
I expect he was unconscious of it, but he licked his lips. I saw a small bulge in his pants. His cock was getting hard. He took a sip of what he was drinking, straight vodka on ice with a bit of lemon.
“Did you enjoy it?” he asked. “I mean, did it feel good?”
I paused, choosing my direction, and said, “Well, yeah. They weren’t very good at it, I do myself a lot better than they did, but it was still nice. Pleasant. Kinda warm, kinda cozy.”
His bulge was still small, but he reached down and moved his cock, making it more comfortable, I guess. I watched him do it openly. He seemed both embarrassed and pleased with himself. I swallowed a slug of my lemonade and felt a little burn from the vodka.
“Did you do anything back,” Richard asked. “Did you… rub them in return?”
I smiled. “Well, yes, I did. I can tell you; you’re not my parents. While they were playing with me, I rubbed their cocks. With my thigh. With my hand. Through their shorts, though, it was all clothes-on.”
“Did they…?” he sort of asked.
“You mean, did they cum? Yes, they did. I could feel them cum. Their cocks were hard and sort of pulsed or something. Their shorts became damp where I was pressing. And, of course, they quit playing with me as soon as they came.”
“Oh, that’s so unfair,” he said. “I, uh, never quit until a girl has cum. It just seems right, you know, to make them cum?”
I widened my eyes and hoped they shined. I smiled, showing my teeth, as friendly as I could be.
“Totally,” I said. “You sound like a nice guy.”
He moved over and put his hand on my knee. It moved halfway up my thigh. His touch was light, it felt good, but I stood quickly and walked around the room.
“So,” I said, “this is your library?”
I stood in front of two large bookcases that took up half of one wall. My eyes wandered over the titles, but I didn’t read them. I was wondering what to say or do next.
“Yes,” Richard said, rising from the sofa. “Well, I mean, it’s the living room, but that’s the library part. All the books I’ve read since college, not counting all the ones I’ve given away to people or the real library.”
He stood directly behind me. I could feel the heat from his body, inches away.
“So, how about you?” I asked him.
“What about me?” he asked back.
“Girlfriends? You must have a shitload of them.”
Swearing in front of an adult seemed wrong. But everything felt a little wrong, so what the fuck.
“No, actually no girlfriends at all. I haven’t been on a date in two years.”
I spun around and looked at him.
“No way. You must have women over here all the time. Take them to dinner and the movies. Weekends somewhere. Fuck them in your bedroom.”
Swearing was much easier the second time.
“No, really. I work fairly long hours and Deb is here when I’m home. I gave up on the idea of sex with women here twenty-one months ago, not that I’m counting, and I’ve stuck to it.”
“So, you…” I stopped, couldn’t say it. “Have sex by yourself?”
Richard laughed. ”Yes, I masturbate. Every day. Generally, twice a day. It feels good. Not as good as real sex, but nice in a quick release kind of way. I’m horny enough now to masturbate, in fact. I’m almost always horny enough to masturbate when you’re around.”
I think we both blushed at that. I looked quickly below his belt and saw the outline of his cock pointing straight up, but it didn’t look like it was very long. I blushed some more and turned back toward the books.
“Does that bother you?” he asked.
I kept my back to him and answered, “No, not at all. If you want to masturbate, you should.”
Saying the word “masturbate” was worse than swearing.
He put his hands on my shoulders, but didn’t say anything. I trembled a little. His hands slid down my arms and back up. They moved to my front and cupped my breasts. My small boobs, enveloped by his hands. I leaned my head back against his chest. Neither of us spoke.
Richard pulled up my sweater and I felt his smooth fingers on my skin. Reaching up, he felt my breasts, pressed them, squeezed them. I shivered. He rubbed my nipples, which hardened immediately. I could feel myself getting wet. I had a sudden urge to pee and decided it was an illusion. He took my hand and led me back to the sofa.
Before we could get into any kind of position, I drank the rest of my lemonade. He ignored his vodka, but all the ice had melted anyway. I lay on the sofa on my back and he sat at the edge near my knees. His hand came to rest again on my knee, then again on my thigh, and finally under my skirt and a fingertip touched my cunt. He stroked my slit, just my panties between him and me, and paused at my clit, rubbing in a small circle. He knew where my clit was!
