Caution: This Coming of Age Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including mt/ft, mt/Fa, Consensual,
Desc: Coming of Age Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Young Derek takes on the job of looking after his neighbor's cat while she's away. As it turns out, the cat has a special talent that leads the young man to some amazing adventures.
I've never been especially fond of them; cats, I mean. They're OK, I guess, but I don't think they make the best pets. I like animals you can play with and do stuff with, like dogs and horses. Once they get past being kittens, cats are just sort of... there, you know? I guess it's good to have cats around the neighborhood because they're such good predators, and they'll keep the rats, mice and other kinds of vermin under control, if you let them. Of course, if you keep them penned up inside the house all the time, they're not much use at all.
That's what Mrs. Wilson does. She has this big ol' tom that's gotta be older than I am, and I don't think I've ever seen him outside. I'm almost sixteen, and Virgil's been around for as long as I can remember.
Virgil! Now, what kind of a name is that for a cat? And he's fat! I swear, he'd go thirty pounds if you could get him on a scale. And lazy? As far as I can tell, he doesn't do anything but sleep, eat and crap. For a good part of just about every day, you can see him dozing in her front room window; just a big blob of gray fur lying there in the sun and acting like he owns the world. Every once in a while, he'll open his eyes and look around to see if everything is still going according to his plan.
That pretty much describes Mrs. Wilson, too, come to think of it. Well, she's not gray or furry, but I don't think she does much besides sleep, eat and crap. And watch TV. And she's fat, too. I don't mean like a few pounds overweight, I mean ginormous! You should see her getting in and out of her old VW bug. I swear it takes her five minutes to get squeezed in behind the steering wheel and adjusted before she starts the car. Sometimes, I wonder if maybe she keeps Virgil fat because it makes her feel like they're kindred spirits or something.
She's nice, though. Ever since I was about ten, Mrs. Wilson has been calling my mom about every day, and asking her to send me over to help her with stuff. It started out as just little things like climbing up on the step stool to get something out of one of the high-up cabinets, or carrying something down to her basement. As I've gotten older, she has me doing a lot of different things like fixing electrical appliances and doing some general repairs around her house. I'm pretty good at that kind of thing because Dad's a building contractor and he's always teaching me how to make stuff and fix things. I want to study engineering when I go to college.
I don't really mind doing chores for Mrs. Wilson because she always pays me more than she should. Like once, she asked me to fix her automatic garage door that got stuck halfway between up and down. It wasn't any big deal; one of the rollers had jumped off the track, is all. It only took me about ten minutes to see the problem and fix it, but she gave me twenty bucks. I told her it was too much, but she insisted. I didn't argue too hard.
A few weeks ago, she called my mom to ask if I could look after her place for three or four weeks while she went out to some little town in Nevada to take care of her sick sister. School had just let out for the summer, so Mom figured it would be a good way for me to earn some spending money, and she told Mrs. Wilson I'd do it without even asking me. I got pretty steamed about it, but there wasn't much I could do except whine and gripe, and neither one of my parents will put up with that for very long. They're not real big on freedom of expression.
But I changed my tune after I talked to Mrs. Wilson. She said she'd pay me fifty bucks a week just to feed Virgil, keep his litter box scooped out, and mow her lawn once a week. It's a small lawn, and I knew it wouldn't take me more than about twenty minutes or so to do it. And she wanted me to bring in her mail and newspapers so nobody could tell she wasn't at home.
I figured fifty bucks a week was a pretty good salary for the little bit of work she wanted, so I told her I could start whenever she wanted. She said a taxi was picking her up real early the next morning, so she gave me the key to her back door, and said she'd leave a list of instructions on the counter. Oh, and she wanted me to use up all the stuff in her refrigerator that might go bad. In three or four weeks, that'd be about everything, and was thinking there might be a lot of things like pies and pastries and stuff. It was for sure she didn't get that fat eating carrots and celery.
Fifteen minutes after I crawled out of bed the next morning, I was in her house, checking it out. She must lead a really boring life because I didn't find anything that was interesting. The whole place was as neat as a pin, and that made me wonder if she hired someone to come in and clean for her. I couldn't imagine that big, round body down on her hands and knees scrubbing the kitchen floor or cleaning behind the toilet.
I was right about her refrigerator. It was stuffed with things Mom would never allow in our house because she's a real health nut. She makes Dad and me eat leaves and twigs and stuff. Well, not really, but close. I figured I'd have to pace myself on all that rich food or I wouldn't have any appetite at dinner, and Mom would know I'd been cheating.
The note Mrs. Wilson left on the counter explained everything I needed to know about feeding Virgil. He got two cans of cat food a day, one in the morning and one in the evening, plus a saucer of half and half. Can you imagine? And as fat as he was, I'll bet she fed him Cheezee Pops and junk like that all the time, too. I expected to have to scoop his litter box every day because he probably pooped at least twice as much as a normal cat. I thought about maybe cutting his food intake in half to trim him down some while she was gone, but I was afraid he'd meow bloody murder and Mrs. Wilson would think I forgot to feed him when she got back home. Anyhow, he wasn't my cat, so why should I worry about it?
As I was standing there reading her instructions, I felt something bump my leg. I looked down and there was Virgil arching his back and rubbing up against me, begging for his breakfast. He was purring like a motorboat and I could feel the vibrations through my jeans. I reached down and scratched him between the ears and that made him purr even louder. I think Virgil's a slut.
So, I figured, what the hell, and scooped a can of cat food into his dish and set a saucer of half and half next to it. I'd come back in the evening to serve him his second can of cat food. Jeez, what a life!
So every day, I did what I was supposed to. Virgil got fed, his litter box got scooped out, and I stuffed my face with all kinds of forbidden goodies from Mrs. Wilson's fridge. Saturday, I mowed her lawn and even trimmed it up and swept the sidewalk. I think I was feeling a little guilty about how much I was getting paid, and decided to to an extra good job.
The next day, Sunday, was the beginning of my summer of adventure. Actually, it was the beginning of three adventures that changed my life. You're probably gonna think I'm telling a big lie, but I swear it's all true! It started when I went next door to feed Virgil before heading over to the park to play some touch football with my friends.
I unlocked her back door, and when I opened it to go inside, a streak of gray shot by me, scaring the crap out of me. It was Virgil, of course. I knew Mrs. Wilson never let him out, so I was gonna have to round him up and get him back inside.
When I twisted around to see where he went, there he stood in the middle of the back yard with his tail sticking straight up in the air, showing me his pink butt hole and furry balls. He was looking over his shoulder like he was saying, "Catch me if you can!"
Crap! I thought, I don't have time for this. I'm supposed to be at the park in ten minutes.
I called to him and made little kiss-kiss noises, but Virgil wasn't that easy. I knew he couldn't resist food, so I went inside and poured some half and half in a saucer and put it on the porch step, figuring he'd come a-runnin'. He just sat there on his fat butt and stared at me.
It was plain he was gonna make me do all the work. I walked toward him real slow, saying, "Kitty, kitty, kitty. Heeeere kitty, kitty, kitty." Jeez, I felt stupid. He'd let me get to within about five feet of him, then he'd get up and move a few feet further away. We did that all the way across the back yard. I didn't dare make a run at him because I knew, even as fat as he was, he could still outrun me, easy, and if I scared him, he'd never let me get close.
After a few minutes of following him around the yard, I finally decide, Screw it! The yard is enclosed by a six-foot fence, so he can just stay out here and enjoy the great outdoors for a couple of hours. It'll do him good!
And that's what I did. When I closed the gate behind me, he was sitting by the corner of the garage, looking around like he didn't have a care in the world.
When I got home a couple of hours later, I saw he'd lapped up the half and half, but he was nowhere to be seen. I looked all over the yard and in the bushes, but I couldn't find him. I was starting to get worried because he wasn't an outside cat, and I was afraid he might do something stupid like find a way out of the yard and run out into the street and get himself killed. How would I explain that to Mrs. Wilson?
I was standing there trying to decide what to do next when I heard a 'meow' coming from over by the back fence. I guess he must've gotten out, somehow. I trotted over and unlatched the gate to let him in - and I let him out! The dirty sneak was hiding behind the trash can by the gate, and he tricked me into opening it.
"Damn it, you stupid cat! You get your fat ass back here!" I yelled, as if we spoke the same language. He trotted down the alley a few feet and stopped to look over his shoulder. I swear, he was bustin' my chops on purpose! I kept walking toward him real slow so he wouldn't spook and run. Like before, he'd just wait there until I got close, then he'd trot down the alley another twenty or thirty feet.
About four or five houses down the alley, he suddenly took a right turn and did an amazing leap to the top of a privacy fence and dropped down on the other side. It was hard to believe the big butterball could actually jump that high!
Crap! I didn't know who lived there because they'd just moved in two or three weeks earlier, but I hoped they wouldn't mind me chasing Virgil through their back yard. I unlatched the gate, stepped through and latched it again, like I was gonna trap him inside. As if!
When I turned around, I found myself staring at a lady lying on a chaise about ten feet away and reading a book. She was in her birthday suit! Naked as a jay-bird! We just gawked at each other for about five seconds before she started laughing, probably at the dumb-ass look on my face, and I damn near died of embarrassment. I spun around facing the fence and groaned, "Jeez, Ma'am, I'm so sorry! I was chasing my cat and he jumped over your fence!"
She just kept laughing and I just kept feeling my face getting redder and hotter. Pretty soon she calmed down and said, "You can turn around now."
I turned my head very slowly until I could see she was standing and that she'd wrapped a big beach towel around herself. I kept my eyes pinned to the grass, anyhow, and asked, "Um, did you see which way he went?"
"I did," she said. "He's right here."
I looked up and there was ol' Virgil, doing figure eights around and between her legs. I think, just for a moment, I was jealous because she's a real pretty woman. Then I was angry. "Virgil, darn it! See what you've done now! We've busted in on this lady's privacy! She probably thinks we're a couple o' pervs!"
She still had a smile on her face as she said, "Don't worry about it, OK? It's not your fault. In the future, I'll remember to locked the gate if I'm going to sunbathe in the nude. I hope you liked what you saw, at least."
Damn, I thought, blushing all over again, there's nothing I can say to that without making it worse!
I guess she took pity on me. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't tease you. What's your name?"
Still looking at my shoes, I answered, "Derek, Ma'am. Derek Hampton."
"Well, I'm pleased to meet you, Derek Hampton. My name's Millie Joyce. I moved in three weeks ago, so I guess that makes me the new kid on the block."
"Well, um, welcome to the neighborhood, Mrs. Joyce. I guess I better get Virgil and get going. I'm awful sorry about busting in on you like this."
She giggled, "Virgil? Is he named after the Roman poet or someone in your family? It's certainly an unusual name for a cat."
"Yeah, but, uh, I didn't name him. He's not even my cat. He belongs to my neighbor, Mrs. Wilson. I'm taking care of him while she's in Nevada taking care of her sick sister."
"How nice of you to do that, Derek."
I've never been all that fond of my name, but the way Mrs. Joyce said it, it sounded sort of, I don't know, cool. "Well, she's paying me to take care of him and watch her house and stuff. I mow her lawn and do some other chores for her, too."
"So you're kind of a general handyman, huh? Maybe you could help me out with a few little projects, as well, if you have the time. I live alone, and I could really use some muscle around here for a few days. Young men like you always need extra spending money, don't you?"
"Um, sure, I'd be happy to do what I can."
She reached down and picked Virgil up, trying to hold the towel in place at the same time. "Good lord!" she grunted, "This guy needs to be on a diet, doesn't he?"
"He sure does! I was thinking about feeding him only half of what he usually eats. He probably needs to loose at least ten pounds."
She walked over and handed him to me. I liked the smell of her hair. "Good luck with that. Look, why don't you come back later this evening and we'll talk about hiring you to take care of a few odd jobs."
"Sure! What time should I come?"
"What time does your family have dinner?"
"Six on the dot. Mom's real strict about that."
"OK then, why don't you come over after dinner and we'll talk."
"Great! Thanks, Mrs. Joyce."
"Just call me Millie, Derek."
"Right! And thanks for helping me catch Virgil."
She got this odd grin on her face and said, "Not a problem, Derek. Pussies can be hard to keep under control, sometimes. See you around seven."
As I stood in Mrs. Wilson's kitchen spooning Virgil's food into his dish, I couldn't get the image of Millie Joyce out of my mind. I guessed she was about Mom's age, maybe thirty-five or so, but that was the only thing they had in common.
The picture of her lying naked on that chaise was burned into my brain. Her short sandy-blond hair gave her kind of a pixieish look (think Tinker Bell). I'd seen Mom's boobs a couple of times and they were kind of saggy. Not Millie's, though. Even lying on her back, they stood right out from her chest. Of course, the first thing my eyes focused on when I saw her naked was her bush. It was darker than the hair on her head, kind of a reddish-brown. Her tan skin just glowed. I think she's about the hottest looking woman I've ever seen, naked or otherwise! Not that I've seen that many real live naked women.
Virgil started complaining and I realized I'd been standing there with the can in one hand and the spoon in the other, just thinking about Millie Joyce's body. I needed to take care of the boner that picture was causing.
I scooped the rest of the cat food out of the can, set his dish on the floor and went into Mrs. Wilson's bathroom to get some relief. I imagined myself doing it to Millie, and it didn't take more than a couple dozen strokes before I fired off a big load into a wad of toilet paper.
At dinner, I told Mom and Dad about Mrs. Joyce wanting to hire me to do some odd jobs around her house (I didn't think they'd like me calling her by her first name). I told them about having to chase Virgil all the way down the alley and into her yard, but I left out the part about her being bare-ass naked. They were all for me earning extra money. I told them she asked me to come by after dinner and they didn't have a problem with that.
I went next door and fed Virgil his evening meal first, then headed down the alley to Millie's house. I could see her in the kitchen when I knocked on the back screen door. She was wearing white shorts with a sleeveless pink top that really showed off her figure. I thought she looked better than any of the girls at school.
"Come on in, Derek, and have a seat at the table. I'm just making some hot chocolate. Would you care for a cup?"
I stepped into the kitchen and smelled the hot chocolate and the plate of chocolate chip cookies on the table. "Thanks Mrs. Joyce - er, I mean Millie - I'd love some. Those cookies sure smell good!" Subtlety has never been one of my strong points.
"Don't they? And they're fresh out of the oven. Help yourself, 'cause I made 'em just for you."
"Awesome! Thanks!" I inhaled two of the warm, gooey treats while she poured the hot chocolate into big mugs, then added some little marshmallows. Mom won't even allow marshmallows in the house because they're just about pure sugar, and in her opinion, sugar is poison.
She set the steaming mug in front of me and took her seat across the table. There was a piece of paper between us and she pushed it my way, saying, "I've made up a list of odd jobs you might be able to help me with."
I looked it over and said, "These all look simple enough. I'm pretty good at fixing things too, you know, like some minor plumbing problems and simple electrical stuff."
"Are you, really? My, my, a man of many talents! Well, in that case, I'll probably have a few more jobs I can offer you in the future. You might wind up saving me a lot of money, depending on how much you charge for your services."
I took another cookie and bit off half of it. I felt a little guilty, being such a pig, but they were soooo good! "Ummpff," I mumbled through an over-full mouth, "I guess you can just pay me what you think it's worth. I don't really have any kind of regular fee or anything. I'm pretty easy to please."
That put a smile on her face, for some reason. "In that case, Mr. Hampton, I think we have a deal!" She reached across the table and shook my hand. It wasn't any wimpy handshake, neither. She had a grip like a guy.
She took a sip of hot chocolate, leaned back in her chair and said, "So much for business. Let's talk about you for a while. How old are you, Derek?"
"Sixteen. Well, almost. Next month." I almost lied and said I was seventeen because I didn't want her to think I was just some kid. I'm almost six feet tall and I probably could have got away with it, but I chose not to lie because Mom knew every single time I tried, and I was afraid Millie might be able to tell, as well. She seemed pretty smart.
"So! Nearly a grown man, now. The age when you start pushing for your independence. A nice-looking young man like you, I'll bet you've got a girl friend or two, haven't you?"
I shrugged and admitted, "Uh, not anybody regular. I've taken this one girl to the movies a couple of times. Kristen O'Neal, she lives in the next block. But I think she's got a steady boyfriend now."
She reached over and rubbed her fingertips on the back of my hand, giving me kind of a funny feeling inside. "I'll bet you could date any girl you wanted to. You seem like the sort of guy who'd have girls hanging all over him. After all, you're big, strong and handsome, and you seem poised and intelligent. You have a smile that would easily capture the heart of any young lady. I should think you'd have lots of experience with women."
I was really sucking up the praise, until she got to the 'lots of experience with women' part, then I kind of deflated. "Not so much." I hated saying that, but I knew I couldn't lie about it without it showing all over my face.
"Well don't you fret over that, Derek. Experience is where you find it, and I have a feeling something might be right around the corner for a good-looking guy like you."
"How do you mean?"
She just shook her head and said, "No need to get into that right now. Let's just say you never know when life's lessons are going to present themselves. You just need to be ready when they show up, right?"
"Uh, right! I guess."
"So, do you like school? Are you planning to go to college?"
"Yeah, Dad's already got my college fund all paid up. I'm hoping to go to the University of Missouri and study engineering at Rolla. And my grades are real good so I'll probably get a scholarship, too. At least, I'm hoping to."
"Good for you, Derek! See, I could tell you were a smart guy, right off."
I felt myself blushing. "Thanks, Millie. Um, what kind of work do you do?"
She put her hand on her chest, "Me? I write stories, Derek. All kinds of stories. Children's stories, young adult stories, adult stories, a little of everything, I guess."
I was impressed because I'd never met a real live author before. "Wow! That's pretty big stuff, Millie. Maybe I've read some of them, but I don't remember seeing your name as the author."
"Maybe you have, Derek, but you wouldn't have seen my name, because I don't use my real name when I publish. I use a pen name. Several of my short stories have appeared in books and magazines, but most of them have been published online. Sometimes I write just for fun."
"Yeah? Well, what's your pen name. Maybe I'll look up some of your online stuff."
She kind of chuckled. "Sorry, no can do! I use a pen name because I don't want people to know who I really am. I'm not interested in fame or notoriety, so the only readers who know my real name are my publishers."
"Oh, yeah. Well I guess I can understand that." I didn't, really, but what else was I supposed to say? I went on, "I kinda like to write short stories, too, but I'm not very good at it. I don't ever show them to anybody."
"Maybe you're better than you think you are. If you ever feel like sharing one of them with me, I might be willing to offer some constructive criticism. But it's good that you write, whether they're any good or not, because writing is a skill that seems to be in short supply among so much of the younger generation. I don't consider texting and e-mail to be writing; it's just instant messaging; no skills required."
I stood up to leave. "I suppose you're right. Well, I better be getting home. I sure do thank you for the job. Oh, and the cookies and hot chocolate. When do you want me to start?"
"Tomorrow's good for me, Derek. I'm an early riser, so pick your own hours. You should probably wear something old and ragged because I plan to start you in the basement. It's pretty grungy down there."
"Fine! I'll come over after I feed Virgil, say about nine?"
"Nine's fine. See ya then."