Tammy and the Bachelor
Chapter 1

Copyright┬ę 2007 by Just Plain Bob

Incest Sex Story: Chapter 1 - A revenge story.

Caution: This Incest Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Consensual   Heterosexual   Cheating   Incest   Mother   Son   Sister   Slow  


This is a story of revenge, pure and simple. There are those who will shake their heads in disgust when they read about what I did, but fuck them; they didn't live the life that I did.

It started twenty-seven years ago on the back seat of a Chevy Impala. A man, whose name I never found out, drove his cock deep into Mary Alice Reardon's fifteen year old cunt and the sperm that shot out the head of his dick found the egg that became me.

Mary Alice, being the good Catholic she was, would not even consider an abortion and so she was sent to live with relatives until I was born. One day, shortly after my arrival, I was given up for adoption. The people who adopted me were killed in a car accident (luckily I was at home with the babysitter) and since they had no living relatives I became a ward of the state. I disappeared into the system and for the next seventeen years I was bounced from foster home to foster home with a little time out for a six month stretch in the Juvenile Detention Center. That period was seventeen years of living hell. Granted, I do not have a clear memory of the first five or six years other than I got spanked a lot because I had a bed wetting problem (actually, beaten with a belt is what it was) but I have vivid memories of the last twelve.

My first really clear memory is of the Ferguson's. The family I had been living with before the Ferguson's moved out of the state so Child Protection Services placed me with Sam and Martha Ferguson. The Ferguson's let me know from day one that I should be grateful to them for taking me in.

They had two other children, Tommy who was two years older than me, and Marie who was the same age. I don't know what they were paid to keep me, but other than the food I ate none of it was spent on me. My clothes were always Tommy's hand-me-downs. If Tommy or Marie got sick they were rushed of to the doctor's office, but if I got sick I was given a couple of aspirin and put to bed. Tommy and Marie saw a dentist once a year, but I never saw one. I was given a list of chores and I caught hell if I didn't do them or do them right, but I noticed that Tommy and Marie never did anything but go outside and play.

I was with the Ferguson's for two years when suddenly I was taken away from them. I found out later that they were swingers and had somehow gotten arrested for "lewd and lascivious behavior." It came to the attention of Child Protection Services and I was removed from "an unsuitable environment."

They didn't have a foster home available at the time so I was moved into the County Youth Facility which was a fancy name for an orphanage. In reality it wasn't even an orphanage; what it was was a jail without a fence. It sat on twenty acres that it shared with the County Juvenile Detention Center. The detention center was seven buildings surrounded by a barbed wire fence and just outside the fence were the four buildings of the youth facility. The thing was that the same personnel ran both places and the prison guard mentality of the detention center carried over to the youth facility.

Imagine, if you can, and eight year old sleeping on a bunk in a room with fifteen other boys when the lights come on at 5:30 AM and an adult yells at the top of his lungs:

"Drop your cocks and grab your socks. I want beds made, floor swept and mopped by 0615. Come on, MOVE IT, MOVE IT, MOVE IT!"

As an eight year old I had no idea what drop your cocks and grab your socks meant. One of the older boy groaned, "Shit! I was almost there" but as an eight year old I didn't know what that meant either.

We were marched -- that's right, lined up and marched -- to the dinning room (in later years I would learn to call it the mess hall) for breakfast which was most always oatmeal and toast or chipped beef on toast. Then the school buses would take us to school. In the evenings you had to take your homework from school to the 'attendant' (read 'guard') to have it checked. If it met with his approval you were allowed to go to the recreation room to watch whatever TV shows the 'attendant' picked out or play board games with the other boys (girls were in a different building).

At nine it was "lights out" and around nine-thirty the moans and whimpering started as the older boys moved in on the younger ones. At eight I didn't know what that was either. It never happened to me and I found out later that the older boys had found out that the "new fish" were prone to running to the attendant unless the older boys brought them along slowly and "prepared the new boy for what was to come. Fortunately for me I was only there two months and I was placed in another foster home before the older boys had a chance to get to me.

How the Stottlemeirs became foster parents was beyond me. Vern and Nancy were both abusive drunks and I learned early on to find a place to hide when they started chasing their shots of Seven Crown with bottles of Stroh's beer. Of course it wasn't much better the next morning when they were suffering through their hangovers. But even sober they were abusive. I got beat if they didn't like the way I cleaned my room. I got a taste of the belt if they didn't like the way the dishes looked after I washed them and I got whipped if I _____ (fill in the blank). I was with the Stottlemeirs for two and a half years and then Vern drove his car into a tree at about fifty miles an hour. Nancy never had a sober day after his funeral and it came to the attention of Social Services and I was removed from her house and it was back to the Youth Facility for me.

Nothing had changed in the time I was gone. The moans and whimpering still started about half an hour after lights out, but I was old enough by then to know what was going on. I also knew that it was something I wanted no part of.

One thing you learn as an orphan bouncing from foster home to foster home is that you are on your own. I know now that there were plenty of foster homes was there was love and compassion, but I was never lucky enough to end up in one of them. But at the time - I was eleven then - I knew that I was on my own. Kids at school made fun of me because I was "different" -- I had no real family -- and like all schools there were bullies who preyed on the smaller and younger. I was a frequent target and my life was hell until one day an older kid took me aside and told me that bullies only pick on those who didn't fight back or who were too small to fight back effectively.

"You don't have to fight fair when they are bigger than you. Hit them with a rock; stab at them with a knife or broken bottle, but let them know that if they fuck with you they will get hurt. Do that and they will leave you alone."

I listened to him and the next time one of the bullies picked on me I swung back and hit him in the mouth. It hurt him because my fist was wrapped around a rock that I had taken to carrying in my pants pocket. He stood there stunned and I hit him again and that time he fell to his knees and I smashed him in the head with the rock and I was so mad that I probably would have kept beating on him if I hadn't been pulled away. I wasn't ever bothered again.

Anyway, that was the mentality I had when I went back to the Youth Facility. I'd been back four months when four older boys came to my bunk one night after lights out and one of them said:

"Come on fish, it is time to let you know who runs this place" (fish is what new kids were called and even though I had been there before I was new to them).

One of them pulled my blanket off me and I came off the bunk wildly swinging my right hand which was holding a butter knife I had swiped from the mess hall. I had sharpened it by rubbing the edge on concrete and while it wasn't all that sharp, but it did draw blood from two of the four and all four of them took off and left me alone. The next day one of them, he had a slash mark on his cheek, told me that he would get me for that and I told him that the next time he fucked with me I would kill him. I was at the Youth Facility for another seven months and was never bothered.

I had just turned twelve when I was put in another foster home. Norm and Glenda Miller seemed an alright couple at first and I began to think I had lucked out and in a way I did. Norm was some kind of traveling salesman and Glenda was a stay at home housewife. Norm would be gone two or three weeks at a time and it would just be Glenda and me at home.

One night when Norm was on a business trip Glenda came and got into bed with me. She said she couldn't sleep well when she was alone and if I didn't mind she was going to sleep with me. I didn't care so I scooted over to give her some room and she scooted over to stay next to me. Her hand reached out and took hold of my cock and she whispered:

"Another reason I don't sleep well is that I'm always horny. Would you like to help mommy with her problem?"

I might have been a virgin, but I knew a little about sex and I had been masturbating for almost a year. When my cock grew in her hand she giggled and said: "Yes indeed baby, I think you would like to help mommy out" and she pulled me on top of her and guided my stiff little cock into her. "Just push it in and out baby; that's all you have to do, push it in and out."

I came pretty quick and Glenda said, "Was mommy's little boy a virgin? Oh baby, mommy is going to have so much fun teaching you."

She slid down and took my cock in her mouth and when she had me hard she pulled me on top of her again and off we went. I fucked her four times that night; got two more blow jobs and my first taste of pussy when she taught me how she liked to have her pussy eaten.

Did I like it? Does a duck walk barefoot on the beach? Norm's trips took him away for two or three weeks at a time, but the downside was that when he came home he was home for two or three weeks. So it was two or three weeks of fun and games and two or three weeks of going nuts waiting for him to leave again. This went on for a little over two years and then one day it all went to hell.

Norm had just left on a trip and Glenda asked if I wanted dinner or did I want to go upstairs to her bedroom and play "hide the weenie." I of course opted for my favorite game. She sucked my cock and I licked her pussy and then she said:

"Come on little man, fuck your mommy."

I climbed on and fucked her until I came and she hugged me to her and held me tight. Then I heard, "Now it is my turn" and I looked over my shoulder and saw a naked Norm come out of the closet. He had a tube of KY in his hand and a hard cock pointing toward me as he headed for the bed. Glenda was still hugging me tightly to her and she started crooning into my ear:

"It's all right baby. Mommy's little man will like this. Do this for mommy baby. It will be okay; trust mommy baby, trust mommy."

I struggled to get away, but she held on tight. "Let daddy have his fun baby and he will let you have more fun with mommy."

I loved the hell out of playing with Glenda, but not at the price of taking Norm up my ass. I kept trying to get away and suddenly "mommy" stopped her crooning and said:

"Hold still you little bastard."

I felt the cold KY rubbed against my asshole and one of Norm's fingers pushed its way in. Glenda tightened her grip and I bent my head to her right tit and took the nipple in my mouth.

"That's it baby," Glenda said, "Just relax, play with mommy."

And then she screamed as I bit the nipple as hard as I could. I don't know if I bit through it or not, but I was trying to. She let go of me and I was off of her and the bed and running for the bedroom door before Norm knew what was happening. I ran downstairs for the kitchen, grabbed a carving knife out of the knife block and then got in a corner and got ready to fight Norm off. It was maybe five minutes before Norm came into the kitchen and saw me cowering in the corner with the knife.

"I let you fuck my wife for over two years and this is the thanks I get? You threaten me with a knife?"

I didn't say anything, just stayed in the corner with the knife up and watched him.

"You had it made kid. Good pussy and lots of it and it could have stayed that way. I'm calling Social Services tomorrow and telling them I want you out of here. I'm going to tell them you tried to rape my wife while she was asleep."

One thing that happens when you accept that you are on your own is that you grow up fast. You also learn a lot watching TV and Glenda's favorite shows were on Lifetime and they always had shows about child abuse and the like and I watched with her and learned a lot. When he was done talking I said:

"You do that and I'll tell them all about the last two years and that you tried to rape me. It will be your word against mine and while you may be the adult I know too much about Glenda's body -- the scars, tattoos and birthmarks -- and it won't matter who believes what, but the rumor will go out that you and Glenda are pedophiles. Most people believe that where there is smoke there is fire. Best you just tell them that you took a job out of state and are moving. You say anything against me and I'll show you just how effective a crying young boy can be when he yells "sexual abuse."

He turned and walked away and me and the knife went to my room.

Norm left on his trip the next day and Glenda threw murderous looks at me until the lady from Child Protective Services came to pick me up. Then it was tears and "I'll miss you sweetie; I wish it didn't have to be this way." She gave me a final hug and I looked down inside her blouse and saw the bandage on her tit and I smiled to myself. Served the bitch right. But I was going to miss the fun and games.

My next stint at the Youth Facility only lasted five weeks before I was placed in another foster home. I learned years later that every effort was made to get the kids out of the center because it was more expensive to keep them there than to place them in homes.

I was with Bill and Sharon Winkler for almost nine months. They had two kids; John who was my age and Marsha who was two years younger. The two of them didn't like me because as they saw it I was competing with them for family resources. Any money spent on me was money not spent on them. The two of them were always picking fights with me and then running to mommy and daddy and blaming me. Finally the Winklers decided that they couldn't take the turmoil any more and back to the Youth Facility I went.

Next were Bud and Alice Turmint. Alice had always wanted children, but for some reason she couldn't have any. So she talked Bud into becoming a foster family. Bud gave in to her, but he didn't like it one bit. He was happy that there hadn't been any "brats" around and he let me know just how unwelcome I was -- never in front of Alice of course.

Then Alice fell, hit her head and broke her leg. She was never "quite right" after hitting her head and Bud was only too happy to tell Social Services that Alice was going to require all of his attention and that even though Alice and I had grown close I was going to have to go.

I was three months past my sixteenth birthday when I went to live with Steve and Fran Myers. They had sixty acres just outside of town and they kept horses. It was soon apparent, at least as far as Steve was concerned, that I was there as another pair of hands to do the work the sixty acres and horses required. By that time in my life I was used to the fact that whatever family took me in wanted something from me and for the most part I was willing to go along if it kept me out of the Youth Facility.

Steve and Fran had a sixteen year old daughter and Merrily thought her shit didn't stink. Mom and dad treated her like a little princess and she was spoiled rotten. She expected me to suck up to her and to kow-tow to her like mom and dad, but I was having none of it and so she didn't like me and I ignored her. One of the things that Merrily did was ride horses at horse shows. She rode the horses and I mucked out their stalls. She rode the horses and I shoveled the shit out of the Logan horse trailer. She rode the horses and I got to brush and curry them.

It was two days after my seventeenth birthday when I walked into the barn and the lights went out. I was on my knees shaking my head and trying to clear it when Steve stepped in front of me and in a voice full of rage said:

"That's just a taste of what you will get if you lay a finger on Merrily. She's too good for the likes of you so you had best keep your dick in your pants."

I managed to get out, "I don't even know what you are talking about."

"Bullshit you little turd. I saw you watching her work Baron in the corral. I saw the boner you had in your pants."

It was true. I had been watching Baron being worked and I had gotten a hard on, but it was from watching his wife, not his daughter. Fran packed a pair of Wranglers better than any woman I'd ever seen and she filled out her shirt just as good. But I wasn't going to tell Steve that. And I wasn't going to just take what he had done to me. He was a grown man, an adult, and he had to blind-side a kid? Fuck that shit!

"No way would I touch that little whore. She isn't going to give me fleas. No way am I taking a dog's left-overs."

"What? What are you saying?"

"Your little Miss Perfect spends her evenings out behind the silo on her hands and knees while Buck (their male Great Dane) makes her his bitch. I ain't taking no dogs sloppy seconds."

"You're lying you little bastard!"

True, but so what? He started to kick me and I rolled to the left and my hand hit metal. I looked down and saw a small hand axe lying on the floor in the straw. Steve charged at me and kicked at me again and I avoided the kick and brought the axe up and smashed the flat side of the blade into his knee. He screamed and went down.

"You'll pay for that you little bastard; I'll kill you" and he got up and dragged his bad leg toward the house. I knew he had a couple of rifles, shotguns and hand guns in the house so I ran past him into the kitchen and grabbed the keys to the pick-up truck off the hook just inside the door and ran for the truck.

Long story shortened, the cops caught me. My story was backed up by the huge bruise on the side of my head, but the bottom line was that it didn't matter -- I'd stolen the truck and that's what counted. Back to the compound I went only that time it wasn't to the Youth Facility, but to the seven buildings inside the barbed wire fence and I was going to be there until I turned twenty-one.

I was there six months and one day I was called into the Vocational Training office and one of the councilors asked me if I would like to get out. I said yes and one month later I was doing my Basic Training at Fort Knox, Kentucky. I did my three years, got out, got a job and got on with my life.

Three years went by and they weren't bad. I got a job working in a warehouse as a fork-lift operator and over the next couple of years I worked my way up to foreman. I always seemed to have a girlfriend, but I could never seem to get into a lasting relationship. Not really surprising, given my past, but I did have hopes that some day something permanent might come along.

I did have one constant in my life. While I was in the Army I spent a lot of time wondering who I really was and where I had come from. By the time I took my discharge the idea that I wanted to find my parents was firmly planted in my mind. I wanted to know who they were. I didn't want to know why they had abandoned me; I didn't want to walk up to them and say, "I'm the kid you kicked to the curb all those years ago," I just wanted to know who they were.

I looked into it and found that it wasn't all that hard to do. All I had to do was go to Social Service's Child Protection Service Department to get the form, fill it out and then they would forward the request to the people who gave me up and ask if they were willing to meet me. If the people who gave me up said okay then it was a done deal, but if the person or persons said no that would be the end of it. It was that "but" that kept me from filling out that form. If they said no I would never find out who they were, but they would know that I was looking and they might take steps to make it even harder to find them. It didn't seem like I could ever make it happen, but I constantly thought about it.

Like millions of people I bought lottery tickets in the hope that some day I would hit it big. I know that the odds are 137,000,000 to 1 on hitting the jackpot, but the way I looked at it all the past winners faced the same odds and they won so why not me? One Sunday morning I got up and got the paper off the porch and checked the results of Saturday night's lottery drawing and almost had a heart attack. I had all six numbers! The jackpot was a little over twenty-seven million and I yelled and screamed and danced around the house and when I went to bed that night I couldn't sleep for thinking of all the things I was going to spend the money on.

I got the rude awakening when I got to the lottery office on Monday afternoon. It turns out that three other people also had the same six numbers. When the pie was divided and I took the cash option instead of the annuity and the taxes were taken out I ended up with just a little over 486,000 dollars. Not what I had hoped for, but it was still enough to set me up for life -- as long as I kept working of course. I bought a three bedroom condo and moved out of my apartment. I furnished the condo, replaced my eight year old pick-up truck with a new one and bought myself a few toys and still had over 154,000 dollars in the bank.

Then I did the one thing I had been thinking of for years. I got out the Yellow Pages and went looking for a private detective. It had to be a specific kind of detective. I didn't want a large agency because they would be too prone to follow the rules. Pretty much the same with smaller outfits that had several people employed. What I needed was a small one or two man operation, an outfit that was likely to be hungry and a little more open to bending the rules. To be honest about it, I wanted some one who would do what had to be done even if it had to be done illegally because that was the only way I could see getting access to my file at Social Services.

The first two I went to see turned me down, but the third listened to me and then said, "It will cost you." Three weeks and twenty thousand dollars later I had the file on Mary Alice Davidson, nee Reardon; a forty year old mother of two who had been married to Wendell James Davidson for twenty-one years. The two children were Donald (19), and Tammy (17). The file was complete with photos of the entire family including one really good one of my mother. I framed the one of my mother and put it on the dresser in my bedroom.

I thought that was the end of it. I had found my mother and I knew who she was and what she looked like. The file said "father unknown" and the only way I would get an answer to that question would be to ask my mother, but I had no intension of ever doing that.

Months went by and the last thing I saw every night when I turned out the light and went to bed and the first thing I saw every morning when I woke up was the picture of my mother. As time went by the pull on me became stronger and stronger until finally the day arrived when I knew I just had to see my mother in person. Not face to face, but I wanted to see the real her, not just a picture. That is when the wheels came off the wagon. If I had just been satisfied with the picture none of what followed would have happened.

I took a weeks vacation and on the first Monday of that vacation I was parked on Wildflower Way just a couple of doors down from 5130. At 7:05 AM the garage door opened and a Ford Taurus backed out into the street and Wendell was off on his way to work. A 7:18 AM Donald came out the front door and walked to a Honda Prelude parked at the curb, got in and drove off. At 7:41 Tammy came out and headed for a Honda Civic that was parked in the drive. The front door opened again and there stood my mother. She called out to Tammy and Tammy walked back to the front door and our mother handed her something, smiled, and then bent forward and kissed Tammy on the cheek. Tammy turned, went to her car, got in and as she backed down the drive she waved at our mother and our mother waved back, blew Tammy a kiss and then went back into the house.

I felt the pain in my forearms and looked down to see that I was gripping the steering wheel so hard that I had strained my muscles. My head was so full of rage that I'm surprised that steam wasn't coming out my ears. Smiles, kisses and goodbye waves for Tammy, but I had been tossed away like yesterday's garbage. At that instant the thought raced through my mind that the bitch had to pay. She had to pay for the beatings, the mistreatment, the long nights I lay awake ready to defend myself from the older boys. Yes by God, she had to pay and I knew just how I was going to do it.

The next morning I was again parked just down the street from 5130 Wildflower Way and when Tammy came out and got in her Civic I followed her. She drove to the high school and parked in the lot and headed on inside. There was an apartment complex right across the street and I drove over there and parked where I could keep an eye on Tammy's car.

It was a long day. It was three-thirty in the afternoon before she came out and got in her car. I followed her to the public library and when she went inside I pulled up next to her and parked. When I got out of my truck I ducked down and let the air out of her right front tire and then I followed her inside. She was on a computer in the computer section so I took a seat at one of the tables in the Reference Section where I could keep an eye on her. An hour later she got up to leave and I waited until she got outside before I followed. When I got to my truck she was just backing out of her parking spot. She hadn't seen the flat because it was on the passenger side. I rapped on her window and said, "Miss? You have a flat tire and I pointed down at it. She stopped, got out and looked and she made a nasty face.

"Let me back my truck out and that will give us some room to change it."

As I moved my truck she went to get her jack and spare tire and I heard her cry, "Shit!!"


"The spare isn't here. I had a flat last week and took the tire in to be fixed and then forgot to go back and get it."

That was some luck that I hadn't expected. My plan had been to change the tire for her and hope she would offer to buy me a cup of coffee and when I accepted I would work on getting to know her better. Suddenly all kinds of possibilities opened up."

"We can handle that."


"Take the tire off and take it to Donman's Tire over on Beckworth. It is only three blocks over. Wait for them to fix it and bring it back and you're good to go. Tell you what. You go on back into the library and relax and I'll handle the tire."

"Why are you doing this?"

"Doing what?"

"Jumping in to help me like this. I don't know you from Adam."

"You don't really know?"

"No, I don't."

"Two reasons. One is karma. I help you and someday I'll be repaid when my sister or mother breaks down somewhere and some one helps them."

"That's one; what's the other?"

"Oh come on; you have to know that one."

"Apparently don't."

"You are a gorgeous girl and I'm a guy. Guys are hardwired from the factory to show off or do things to help or impress gorgeous girls. I'll help you and then I'll know for a long time to come that whenever you see a truck like mine you will think of me. Guys like to think that gorgeous girls think of them."

"You Irish?"

"Not that I know of. Why?"

"Because you are so full of blarney."


As we talked I had been jacking up the Civic and pulling the flat off. "Go on back inside and relax. I should be back in twenty minutes or so."

"I'll go with you."

"Didn't your mother ever tell you not to get in cars with strange men?"

"You aren't driving a car; you have a truck."

"That makes a difference?"

"Normally no, but you believe in karma so you know that if you don't be good bad things will happen to you."

"Okay, you got me there."

On the drive to the tire place we introduced ourselves and made small talk. The guy at Donman's said it would take a half hour so I talked Tammy into going down the block to a Denny's for coffee. We were making more small talk when suddenly she said:

"Why is a guy your age trying to pick up a girl my age?"

"I wasn't aware that I was trying to pick you up, but if I were what has age got to do with it? I'm twenty-three (lying and taking a couple of years off my age) and you are what... nineteen, twenty (lying again and adding a couple to hers)? What's three years?"

"I'm only seventeen."

"Well you certainly don't look like a kid. If I was trying to pick you up how long would I have to wait until you are eighteen?"

"Who said you had to wait until I'm eighteen?"

"Now we are back to the "who says I'm trying to pick you up? Pretty pushy for a seventeen year old if you ask me."

"I may only be seventeen, but that doesn't mean I don't think like I'm twenty-five."

"Okay then; back to the question, "When will you be eighteen?"

"Why is that so important to you?"

"It is a 'mother' thing. A mother will get bent out of shape if her seventeen year old daughter tries to go out on a date with a guy my age and in this state mother's still have a say in what a seventeen year old can do and where she can go. At eighteen the state considers you an adult and you can pretty much tell mommy to back off. Of course in real life it doesn't always work like that especially if you are still living at home and mommy and daddy control the purse strings."

"I'll be eighteen in five weeks and I can hide you from mother for that long."

"Whoa up there missy. Just who is hitting on who here?"

"You don't seem to want to admit it so I guess it is up to me to step up. What's the matter? The gorgeous girl you just had to impress back at the library isn't gorgeous any more?"

"Are you sure that you are only seventeen?"

"Seventeen and three quarters."

By then we were back at the library and I started putting the tire back on the Civic. She stood behind me and silently watched and when I was done and had put the jack away she said:

"So, where are we going on our first date?"

I turned to face her and said, "I'm supposed to be the adult here. When did I lose control of the situation?"

"When you told me I was gorgeous. Back to my question. When is our first date and what are we going to do?"

"Does your mother let you go out on school nights?"

"No, but that still gives us Friday, Saturday and Sunday."

"You want all three and you don't even know if you'll like the first one?"

"What can I say? I've got to trust a guy who thinks I'm gorgeous. What are we going to do?"

"I haven't a clue. What does a guy dating a seventeen year old girl do?"

"What you did when you were seventeen."

"I don't think so. All I wanted to do was party, get drunk and get girls out of their panties."

"You never took a girl out to dinner or to a movie?"

"Yeah, I did that."

"It's a start."

"Are you sure about this?"


As I drove home I wondered at how easily things had fallen into place. Maybe there was such a thing as karma and it was seeing to it that I got even with Mary Alice. My plan was to take my revenge on Mary Alice through her daughter, but I had expected it to be a whole lot harder. I had expected that it would take some time to get to Tammy - if I could get to her at all - but suddenly I found myself where I had not expected to be for another three or four weeks. And what a surprise Tammy was. Seventeen going on twenty-five indeed!

For our first date I took Tammy to dinner at an Italian restaurant that I liked and then to the movies. Tammy told her mother she was going to the movies with a girlfriend and then she drove to the library and I picked her up. She had a curfew so after the movies we stopped at a Sonic for a milkshake and then I took her back to her car. I behaved myself, was a gentleman, and did the door thing when she got out of my truck and again when she got to her car. She stood there looking at me expectantly and when all I did was smile at her she said:

"Doesn't the gorgeous girl even get a goodnight kiss?"

"I never kiss on the first date. I don't want the girl to think I'm easy."

"That's where we differ. I kiss on the first date just so I can find out how a good a kisser my date is. If he isn't any good there isn't much sense in a second date, is there?"

And then she kissed me and it wasn't just a little peck on the cheek. I got a taste of tongue and I teased hers with mine and then broke the kiss.

"Best you hurry home. We don't want you to be late and get yourself grounded."

"That would interfere with our second date which is tomorrow night, right?"

"I don't know. Was my kiss good enough to rate a second date?"

"It showed promise. We will need to work on it. Here? Tomorrow night?"

Yes indeed! Seventeen going on twenty-five.

The second date was a copy of the first except we spent some time necking in the library parking lot. Sunday was our third date and I met her at the mall at ten and we drove out to the lake. When she took off her jeans and sweatshirt I almost had heart attack. I knew she was gorgeous from the neck up and the clothes I'd seen her in up to that point did hint at her having a decent body, but I was totally unprepared for Tammy in a bikini. She was stunning! I found out later that her 116 pounds were arranged 34C - 22 - 35.

"Race you to the water" she said.

"I can't. I have to sit here for a bit."


"I just have to."

She giggled and said, "Oh poor baby. Did little old me give you a woodie?"

"You are evil. Are you sure that you are only seventeen?"

"Sweetie, I haven't been a teenager since I was thirteen. Come on, the cold water will take care of your problem."

"Not as long as you are still around in that bikini."

"You are such a wuss. Okay, I'll go and hide."

She ran for the water, dove in and then surfaced with just her head showing. "Come on wuss, I've got it hidden."

I suffered that day. She had it, she knew she had it and she flaunted it. There was the usual horseplay in the eater and she rubbed that magnificent body against me every chance she got and then laughed. Thinks were moving too fast for me. I had a plan where Tammy was concerned, but you have to be in control to make plans work and I hadn't been in control since Tammy spoke her first words to me.

When we pulled away from the lake Tammy slid over next to me, put her head on my shoulder and said:

"You seem to be doing your best to keep some distance between us."

"That surprises you? Especially given the effect that you in that bikini had on me?"

"Yes, it does surprise me. Most boys would have been falling all over themselves to get to where they could cop a feel while we played and claim it was accidental."

"When I was seventeen I probably would have done just that, but guys my age go to jail if they do things like that to girls your age."

"That only happens when the girl makes a stink about it."

"Or the girl's mother makes a stink about it."

"That isn't going to happen. She isn't going to know, at least not until I turn eighteen."

"We hope. You sound like you expect me to still be around come your birthday."

"You better be."

"Are we sounding a bit possessive?"

"It's my chance and I'm making the most of it."

"Your chance?"

"Yes sweetie, my chance."

"I don't understand."

"Do you know how many of my girlfriends would give their eye teeth to be sitting in this truck with you? Damned near all of them."

"I still don't understand."

"Remember telling me what you were like when you were seventeen and dating? Party, get drunk and get the girls out of their panties?"

I nodded a yes and she said, "That's just what my girlfriends and I have to put up with and it gets old. Most of us want older boyfriends and now I have one and I plan on hanging onto you."

"There you go being possessive again."

"And you are loving it."

The windows in my truck were steamed up when Tammy got out and went to her car. The necking session had been pretty hot and I know I could have gotten away with putting my hands on her tits and probably could have even gotten a finger or two into her pussy. How do I know? I got my first clue when she put her hand on the lump in my pants and rubbed it as she giggled:

"I see that you still have your woodie."

I pushed her hand away and said, "Yeah, and you are still only seventeen and underage."

I was not going to rush things. I had plenty of time -- or so I thought.

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