It’s something like three in the afternoon on a weekday, and I hear a knock on the door. This is pretty unusual.
It’s not unusual that I’m at home at three in the afternoon on a weekday. Even though I work a normal 9–5 job, I get to work from home a lot. And since I live by myself—my wife left me a couple of years ago—it gives me a nice, quiet place to be compared to the hustle and bustle of work.
It’s also not the first time I’ve gotten a knock at the door. But I’ve always expected it before: a package, or someone to service the furnace, or whatever.
Frankly, I’m fine with the interruption. I was just goofing off instead of working anyway, so it would be no big deal to disappear for a little bit. I get up out of my chair and make my way to the front door.
There’s another knock at the door by the time I get there. Too impatient to check the peephole, I just open the door...
And there’s Megan, standing there, a lock of auburn hair twirled around one finger, rising up and down on the balls of her feet impatiently, her other hand fidgeting with her phone, turning it over and over again.
“Hey, Megan. What brings you by?” I’m a little curious. She’s a high school girl who lives a couple of houses down from me; I see her at neighborhood get-togethers and other random times. We’ve always gotten along pretty well, I think mostly because I’m the only adult who doesn’t treat her like a little kid. It’s one of those things I’ve picked up over the years: treat teens like adults, and they aren’t little snots to you.
“Hey Mr. Turner. Can I ask a favor?” She’s looking pretty anxious there, still twirling hair and fidgeting with her phone. I kinda wish I still had that kind of energy. The rest of her hair—the part that isn’t in a finger—is that wonderful shade of auburn that isn’t red enough for her to be a redhead, but is red enough that she’s not just another uninteresting brunette. It’s not particularly well-tamed, hanging a little below her shoulders, but also with a little bit of curl. Not enough to be curly-haired, but also not really straight.
“Sure,” I say. I’m guessing she came over pretty much right after school. I think she’s a sophomore now, and shaping up to be right in the medium height category. Pretty average body, except for her spectacular tits, which I’ve wanted to fondle for the last year or two. It’s been a long time since I’ve been able to play with tits that perky. They were perfect little globes that stuck out from her chest, just a little bigger than a handful.
All-in-all, an attractive girl, which is probably one of the reasons I didn’t mind talking with her. “Uhm...” she says, still twirling her hair. “Can I come in? It’s kind of personal.”
“Uh-huh,” I say, ushering her in and closing the door, curious what it could be. I’d have called us friends and neighbors, but not really in any deep sense. “What is it?”
“Can I um ... borrow your Wi-Fi for a while?”
I motion for us to walk to the living room, and she takes me up on my lead. “Why? Don’t you have Wi-Fi at home?”
She plops down on the couch, still fidgeting with her phone. I find it curious that she’s had it out all this time, but she’s wearing a knee-length pink skirt, so she probably didn’t have a place to tuck it. And I know that teens never let go of their phones. Did she carry it around all day like that? “Yeah, but...” she looks away a little, no longer playing with her hair. “They’ve shut me out of it for this sort of thing.” I sit down in a nearby chair.
“What sort of thing?”
“Porn. I’d like to use your Wi-Fi to watch some porn and ... you know...”
I feel a stirring in my cock, imagining what she might mean. “Ah.”
“It always happens this time of month, too,” she starts talking super-fast. “My period-tracking app says it’s when I’m ovulating, so I’m like suuuuuuper fertile or whatever” Her voice drops into that vocal fry thing all the teen girls do for “super”. “But it also means that I’m super fucking horny. And like, I usually watch some porn and jill myself off, but my parents figured out that I was doing that, and my dad went totally nuclear!” That vocal fry thing again on the last two words.
“I see,” I say, sitting back a little, uncomfortable with this sudden outburst of sharing—and the steadily growing cock in my pants.
“He already killed my phone’s data connection, so I can only use it for texting and calls while out and about. And then he installed some sort of filter on the Wi-Fi so I can’t get to any porn. It’s sooo frustrating!” She lets out a huge sigh, clearly expressing her frustration. “I just wanna watch some porn!”
“Can’t you ... y’know ... jill off without porn?” I suggest.
“Yeah but like, it totally gets me off more watching porn while I do, y’know?”
“Hah, yeah, I guess,” I say sheepishly. “So uhm ... I’m kind of surprised you trust me with that info.”
“I’ve nowhere else to turn to!” she says emphatically. “And I know you actually talk to me like a human being and do things like help me with my math homework.” Yeah, that part is true; I have helped her out with homework a couple of times. “And I know you’ve been single for a while, so I figure you’ve already watched lots of porn on your Wi-Fi.”
I laugh nervously, holding up my hands as though I’ve been caught. “You’ve got me there.”
“So like, can I, then? I can hide away in a bathroom or bedroom or something if you don’t want me here ... but I just gotta get a big O or two, and then I’ll go home, okay?” One of her hands seems to be crawling its way down her skirt, while the other is still fidgeting with her phone, turning it over and over.
“Uh, sure,” I say, not really sure what else to say. After all, I totally understand sexual frustration, and who am I to deny this amazing teen girl in my living room her own pleasure? I then give a side glance to the TV, a nasty idea entering my mind. “And actually...”
Her face rises, then grows confused. “What?”
“Instead of just looking at your phone’s tiny screen ... we could use my TV. If you don’t mind if I join you.”
The phone stops moving in her hand as she obviously considers that. “Don’t you have work or something?”
“Nah, I wasn’t doing much of anything anyway, so I can ditch it. To be honest,” I chuckle a little, “I haven’t stroked myself in a while, either, so I kinda need some release.” I have no idea if what I’m saying is going to gross her out or what.
“Then um ... sure ... that sounds like it could be fun,” she says, brushing her hair behind her ear. “I’d like to see what it looks like, really. I mean, I’ve seen it in videos and stuff, but never in person.”
“You just can’t tell anyone about this, because I could get in lots of trouble,” I admonish.
“Yeah, sure.” She pats the seat next to her. “Fire it up.”
I sit down on the couch next to her and start loading everything up. I have a computer hooked up to the TV—I control it with a mouse on the arm of the couch—and it takes it a moment for everything to get ready. “What sorts of porn do you like to watch?”
“Pretty much anything. I usually just go to one of the vid sites and tap on stuff that looks interesting. I usually prefer actual fucking instead of like, facials though. What about you?”
.... There is more of this story ...