Copyright© 2013 by Lubrican
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Have you ever been to Tumblr.com, and seen the really interesting photo sites they host? There are pictures of everything you could think of there. Including naked people. I always liked the ones of naked girls. Until, one night, I saw my teenaged daughter's picture at one of those sites. Her friends were there too. It might not have been so bad if all it was was the girls, naked. But there was a guy in some of the pictures. And he wasn't just standing around watching them eat pussy.
I'm a pervert. It's just that simple.
Except that it isn't simple at all. The definition is simple, but I have come to learn that just about all forms of human interaction are complicated, no matter how easily someone puts labels on them.
So how did I become a pervert?
Well, I suppose it's because I enjoy looking at a beautiful woman, and imagining that I'm making love to her. I fantasize about how happy she is that I'm doing that, and that she's telling me never to stop.
But wait. All men do that. So that's not perverted.
Okay, so I suppose it has to do with the fact that, one day, I noticed one of my daughter's friends was really cute, and her smile made me have this ache inside. Her name was Sally, or something like that. Amber, my daughter, is one of those girls who has more friends than a man can keep track of, and they come and go like the ebb and flow of the tides.
Actually, that's a pretty good analogy, come to think of it. Pretty girls, with bright smiles, and teasing glances ... girls who are fresh and unjaded by repeatedly having their hearts broken ... girls whose bodies are right at the perfect place to do their genetic part in replenishing the species ... those girls are as beautiful to watch as the waves, crashing onto the beach.
And those girls have the same kind of force that waves have. They can throw a man off his feet, and carry him away, tumbling head over heels, unable to think, until he finally struggles to his feet with a shit-eating grin on his face. He thinks "Fuck that was fun!" and then hopes it can happen again. Being around those girls can do that same thing to a man ... just turn his world upside down.
Of course there are people who hate sex, or seem to think they have the right to determine when, where and with whom one is allowed to further the species. I don't understand them. But somehow they have made all these rules, and come up with the definition of what a pervert is.
Like wanting to make love with a fifteen year old girl. They say that's perverted. It doesn't matter if she wants to make love too. They all say she isn't old enough to make that decision.
Of course that's because they're afraid some asshole will come along and use her and dump her and ruin her psyche.
Which, by the way, is my definition of a pervert ... no matter how old the woman is.
But that's not the accepted definition, so I'm stuck with the fact that, by definition, I'm a pervert. I suppose, in mathematical terms, I'm a pervert squared.
Maybe I should just tell you what happened, instead of beating myself up for something that I believe Mother Nature actually meant most men to be.
I didn't know it at the time, but it all started with a slumber party Amber told me she was having. I know that might sound a bit off to someone, a teenager telling her father what she was going to do, rather than asking if she could do it, but our situation was different than most. My wife was gone, you see, and Amber had, since she was eight, been the woman of the house. More or less.
I'm not telling this story well. It's all jumbled up. But that's just because my own mind is all jumbled up. Let me start over and see if I can do it chronologically. Maybe it will make more sense.
Heather and I met when I was in my last year at West Point. I was all gung ho about being in the Army and we worked hard and played hard. Heather was finishing up her bachelor's in education, and she had a part time job at this local eatery called Boss Hogg's, a barbeque joint that had it figured out. Their slogan was "Terrifying vegetarians since 1965." She was a babe, and she had this way of flirting, but only with her eyes. It drove me crazy.
Anyway, I invited her to my graduation, and was astonished when she agreed. We went out that night and she was as proper as the day is long. Nothing happened. Well, nothing except good conversation. She was a farm girl from Kansas, and she was one of those "good girls" you hear so much about from people with silver hair. All I got was a kiss on the cheek when I took her home and, to be honest, I thought that was it.
But then, the next time I was destroying a rack of ribs at Boss Hogg's, she asked me if I wanted to go to her graduation. I did, and afterwards she said she wanted to go home and change out of her cap and gown before we went out. So I went with her and she left the door open when she went in, so I went in too, and was standing around looking at the way she decorated when she walked out of her room ... stark naked.
Heather had long, blue-black hair, and she had, after leaving Kansas, stayed out of the sun, so her skin was milky white. Her nipples were darker than the rest of her skin, but so pale they were hard to see. She apparently didn't go in for skimpy bikinis, because it looked like she was all original down there.
"Have you ever wanted to fuck a teacher?" she asked.
Well, I was lost. It was like she owned me. I asked her to marry me, and she complained that she'd been waiting for me to ask her for over a year. It was like that. She never told me she wasn't on the pill. When I finally got around to having that conversation with her, she was already pregnant, and said "I always knew you'd be the one to father my babies."
The wedding was perfect. I had the whole arch of swords thing going on, with all my classmates there. My best man slapped her on the ass with his saber. I got orders for my first assignment, which was Fort Leonard Wood, and she networked through the placement office and had a sixth grade teacher's job all lined up in someplace called Waynesville.
Everything was perfect. I was going to be a father soon, and a general sometime later.
Then, exactly one week after reporting for duty at my first permanent party assignment, I was heading into the company HQ building for a meeting and had to pass by a scaffold a contractor had put up to do some kind of work. A bolt snapped and the whole thing swayed. The guy who was standing on top of it yelped, and I reached to steady things. It turned out to be more than I expected, and I felt something tear. The whole thing went down, and me with it.
And just like that, I was unfit for military service, and was medically retired with a 30% disability.
Well ... I say "just like that." Actually, it took over a year.
But Heather had a good job, and they need engineers everywhere, even in the Ozarks, so I thought everything would work out. What the Army calls 30% disability doesn't mean you can't do a regular job. It just means you can't be in the Army.
In the meantime, Heather had delivered me the cutest little girl I'd ever laid eyes on. Amber was the light of our lives. She was smart, even as a baby. And she was trouble ... even as a baby.
I kept in touch with a few of the guys from West Point. One of them was Americus Tybernium Brown, who was the first person in his family line to go to college, though not the first to serve his country. Americus, or "Merry" as all the cadets called him, was the descendent of freed slaves. His great-great grandfather had fought in the Union Army, and various other men in his line had been in the Mexican American war, and both world wars, Korea and Vietnam. His mother wanted him to have a memorable name, because she knew he was going to do great things.
Merry did two tours in Iraq without getting injured, and then, within 72 hours of getting back in the United States, he and his wife were both killed when they took a wrong turn and drove between a shootout between two gangs of drug dealers.
I found out when a lawyer called me and told me we were named in Merry's will as Godparents and guardians for his three-year-old surviving son.
So, suddenly, Amber had a brother who looked completely different than any of the rest of us. He was as black as coal, not the cocoa brown that most African Americans are these days. His hair had that tight, impossible to comb kink in it. He was like a lost puppy, and we all fell in love with him instantly. His father had resisted doing the same thing his mother had done, simply naming him Robert Alexander. Robert after me, and Alex after Alexander Hockenstone, the third musketeer in our class at the point. His parents had called him Alex, so we did too.
This is where it begins to get complicated. Amber was two, and Alex was three, and neither of them had any clue as to what had happened in their lives. Alex knew something was wrong, because he asked for his mom and dad for almost six months before that began to fade away. Amber was fascinated with him, and followed him everywhere he went. She was like his shadow, though it was a very pale shadow. Eventually they thought they were brother and sister. He asked a couple of times why he was different than the rest of us, but I told him I'd explain it when he was twelve. I picked that age out of a metaphorical hat, but events intervened and he learned the truth long before that.
That's because Heather got sick. It was some kind of cancer of the blood, and by the time they found a marrow donor it was too late. Amber was eight and Alex nine when we buried her.
They were definitely old enough to understand then.
A loss like that can make you mentally ill. I'm sure it happens in varying intensities, and that not everyone falls down the rabbit hole I did, but I'd bet that in every case like that, there is a time when you're certifiable. And, to be honest, when I got up one day and discovered Alex and Amber asleep in her bed, arms wrapped around each other, I understood exactly. I understood the need for someone to hug, and cry with, and I was glad they had each other, because I didn't have anybody. I would not wish that on my worst enemy. If I hated someone that much, I'd just shoot him and be done with it.
I'll tell you how sick I was. I was given a leave of absence from my job, and just never went back. I knew my clothes had been washed, but not how it had happened. I knew food appeared on the table, but not who shopped for it, or prepared it. I saw the kids come and go and I know I spoke to them, but I have no recollection of what was said.
Anyway, I think it was because I was in my own hurt locker that I didn't parent much, if at all. By the time I did get my head working again, six months had gone by and Amber had already taken over as the woman of the house.
And she and Alex were still sleeping in the same bed. Sometimes it was in hers, and sometimes it was in his, but I finally paid enough attention to realize that, even though they were only kids, it probably wasn't healthy for them to sleep together like that. Especially since, somehow, they had gotten out of the habit of wearing pajamas. What that means is that they slept in the nude.
And that is the point at which the first traces of my pervertedness showed up.
Others might blame this on my mental illness, which went untreated until I just woke up one day and realized I'd missed six months of my life. I don't. My kids were both stronger than I was, and they kept things going. Both of them knew how to use a credit card and they did the grocery shopping. Alex figured out how to set up the online bill-pay option in our bank account. Amber later told me that they knew I'd get better one day, and they were afraid that if they called somebody, they'd get taken away by social services. So they just did what they had to to go on living.
Anyway, back to my pervertedness. As I said, I woke up one day, and it was like I had been asleep like Rip Van Winkle or something. I realized a lot of time had gone by, but couldn't remember much of it. So I went looking for the kids and found them in Alex's bed. They were asleep, hugging each other. The contrast between her pale pinkness and his blackness was startling. So I pulled the covers down. I swear it was only to see more of that contrast, and not for any prurient purposes. That's when I realized they were naked.
I wondered if they'd had sex. It just popped into my mind. Then I paid attention to what had just popped into my mind, and it freaked me completely out. I mean they weren't even ten yet! Alex woke up and opened bleary eyes.
"What?" he asked. "Did the alarm not go off? Are we late to school?"
It was a school day. I didn't even know that.
Anyway, Amber woke up and they got up, like everything was completely normal (which I guess it was) and there was my daughter naked, and my maleness perked up and I suddenly knew I was a pervert.
I didn't do anything about it, of course ... act on the sudden interest I took in her body, I mean. She was only eight, for Pete's sake.
But I remembered it, and it affected me. For example, I did tell them they had to sleep in their own beds again. They wanted to know why, and they argued, but I had finally rejoined the living, started being a parent again.
Thank goodness the kids were smarter than I was. They'd done fine in school while I was ... away ... and they seemed like perfectly normal kids. Instead of trying to get my job back, I decided to do some consulting. I was still a little gimpy, emotionally, and consulting let me work on my own schedule.
It was at this point that they came into my bedroom one night, Alex in the lead, and Amber following him, like happened so often.
"My parents are dead ... aren't they," he said. His face was solemn.
I nodded. Then I started crying.
I will always be thankful that my kids were so strong. They sat with me until I could talk and then I explained what had happened to his parents. There were pictures, in a box in the top of the closet, and I gave them to him. Amber sat next to him, with her arm around him as he learned all this. We ended up in a group hug that lasted quite a while, and then he said "Thanks, Dad," and they left.
And life went on and I got better and better. The kids continued to do well too. I was so proud of them. Amber got interested in cheerleading, and Alex was in any play or musical they'd give him a role in. All in all, we tried to live a normal life.
But the pervert in me loved watching Amber mature. She entered adolescence with a vengeance, and her body blossomed. She began to look more and more like her mother, which brought both pain and exhilaration that was almost impossible to separate.
I had missed one each of their birthdays while I was sick. They had just dealt with it. And the next couple were simple family affairs, where we all went out to do whatever the birthday boy or girl wanted to do. It was when Alex turned thirteen that I insisted on a big party. He was entering his teens! He was becoming a man!
So we had a big blowout party and it was great.
Of course, the next year we did the same thing for Amber.
And it was at Amber's party, that I found an outlet for my perversion.
Both kids were popular in school, though I was clueless of that fact for a few years. It was when a gaggle of absolutely delicious looking teenage girls all stampeded into our house for Amber's birthday party, that I learned this. They were like young horses, frolicking in a meadow. Long, lean limbs, swelling bosoms, slightly rounded hips, and a carefree attitude about everything.
Thirteen-year-old girls are capable of outrageous flirting. They can convince a man they are capable of doing ... and want to do ... things society would normally reserve for an eighteen-year-old. Like fuck a man blind.
This is not to say any of those girls came up to me and said "I'd just love to fuck you blind, Mr. Carpenter." Nothing of the sort. But their eyes said things, and the way they held their bodies said things, and the way they touched me on the arm said things. Of course a psychologist (or judge, for that matter) would say I was "seeing" things that weren't really there. That's what they say about perverts. They say things like "She didn't really want you to suck her tender, pink nipples. She's not old enough to be able to form that kind of knowing intent!"
And of course I didn't do anything even remotely like that at that birthday party.
No, that came much later.
But let me explain, because I honestly think the psychologists (and judges) are just flat wrong about what kind of intent a young woman can develop.
As I said, I didn't do anything perverted at my daughter's birthday party.
Well, except fantasize a little.
But some of those healthy, energetic, sexy girls started coming back to the house on a more or less regular basis. They came to do homework together, and to form groups to go to the mall together, and to have sleepovers, and to use the pool and the hot tub and the sauna. And as I saw more and more of them, I got to know them better, and they got to know me better, and they got comfortable being ... I don't know ... relaxed, maybe? By that, I mean relaxed, socially, around an adult male.
What that means is that, during their frequent visits, over the next year or so, if it was a sleepover, they didn't seem to mind if I saw them in pretty revealing PJs. They also didn't seem to be averse to plopping down beside me on the couch to watch a movie in those PJs. And they eventually adopted the habit of kissing me good night just like Amber did.
And if they came over to swim, they changed in Amber's room, but after being in the pool they'd shower the chlorine off in whatever bathroom was free and then just wrap a towel around themselves to get back to Amber's room. Same thing with the hot tub and sauna.
Suffice it to say I saw a lot of thirteen and fourteen-year-old leg and even a little ass now and then.
It's a well known fact - maybe less known if you aren't a pervert yourself - that girls like to explore and push the sexual envelope as they work their way through puberty. This is not to say they're sluts. I'm not saying that at all. It's just that they're curious about things sexual. Boys are too. That's why boys try things with girls. And the reason girls resist the boys is because they are well aware there can be undesirable consequences when you let a boy get away with too much.
I'm not talking about pregnancy here. Statistics alone will show that girls don't think nearly as much about pregnancy as they should. What I'm talking about is more complicated, and involves adolescent politics. What I mean is that girls know that boys blab, and a boy can really fuck up your reputation if you let him get into your panties and he blabs about it. That is the primary motivator for girls to resist the attentions of boys between the ages of, say, twelve and about sixteen. Once they hit the sixteen through eighteen years, things change and having a boy brag about nailing you can actually be a badge of honor. At least in some cases. And once they turn eighteen, girls do things like going to Mardi Gras and showing their tits to the whole world.
But we're talking young teens here, and while they are very resistant to experimenting with boys ... that's not so much true about experimenting with the handsome, trusted, discrete father of your best friend.
I know. The pervert's primary, mainstay excuse is "She seduced me!" And the psychologist (and judge) then respond "She's not sophisticated enough to seduce anybody. She might be able to spell seduction, but she doesn't know how to do it!"
Well, folks ... I'm here to tell you that's just, plain bullshit. Fourteen-year-old girls, at least some of them, are perfectly cognizant and capable of trying to seduce a man. I'm not saying they're sophisticated about it. Nor am I suggesting they understand all the consequences, or what it will actually be like if it happens. Not at all. But they're plenty old enough to fantasize about sexual experiences, either partial or complete. And some of them want to try things, to find out if the fantasy is real.
So who can they experiment with? Well ... maybe with the cool, single father of their best friend.
And how do they get him to provide them with this experimentation? Well ... they seduce him. Actually, they do what they think is seduction. The man knows the difference.
But who can turn down a horny teenage beauty?
Yeah. You're right. That fucking psychologist (and the judge), that's who.
Now, before I get to the good parts, I have to say one more thing. Remember how I was arguing that girls are capable of trying to seduce an older man? Well, that's what I thought was going on. What I had no clue about was that there are other kinds of males a teenage girl might be willing to fool around with on an experimental basis.
But I had no clue about that at the time I began to be a practicing pervert.
I pretty much fantasized about the girls from the moment I first saw them. Especially two of them, named Brandi, and Sybil. They were cousins, who lived with Brandi's father. Like me, he was a single parent, having had to raise the girls after an accident took Sybil's parents and Brandi's mother when the girls were very young. Brandi was a dark-haired beauty whose body was lush even when she was thirteen. She had braces, which she didn't mind showing. That was just one outer suggestion that she had a pretty good self-image. She also wore the most revealing bikinis, which was another. She had a sultry, knowing smile, and from the very first time I met her she flirted with me shamelessly. Sybil was a year older, and was the taller, darker, even more lush version of Brandi, except without the braces.
On that fateful night, when the doorbell rang and I opened it to see Brandi and Sybil for the first time, I used the same line I'd used on all the other party attendees. I said: "You must be here for Amber."
Brandi looked me up and down and said "Well I did come here for Amber." She paused and looked me up and down again. "But only because I didn't know you'd be here too." Sybil, whose name I did not yet know, slapped her friend on the shoulder and said "Slut!" in a loud whisper.
That was my introduction to Brandi and Sybil. They were almost always together, which would become important later on. It sounds very adult, and very seduction oriented, but just as soon as she said what she said, she gave me a brilliant smile - and I don't mean her braces gleamed - and said "I bet you're her dad. She says she has the best looking daddy on the block." And just like that she was just a teenage girl who was flirting just a little bit with a man she'd just met.
Of course I responded to her flirting, at least in my mind. Remember, they were both thirteen back then, and all I actually contemplated was a little naughty fantasy. I never dreamed of actually touching either one of them. Not then.
And, to be honest, there were half a dozen other girls there that night, all of whom were flirty and happy and interesting. It was obvious they were good friends with Amber. Their speech patterns, and the kinds of things they said made it clear they were very comfortable with each other. I expected that. I knew Amber was popular at school. What I did not expect was for them to all be comfortable with Alex too. I knew he and Amber were close, of course, but I had preconceived notions that teenaged girls would not want to have a teenaged boy around them in a situation like this.
I was wrong about that. The first thing some of the girls did was ask where Alex was and stampede to his room to drag him to the party. He pretended to be irritated by all this, but even I could see it was an act.
The party went off without a hitch, and they all had a great time. But something happened that night that was a major pivotal point for our family, though I wouldn't know it for two more years. And it was my fault, because the pervert in me kept looking at Amber, who was so beautiful and so much on the cusp of being a young woman, that I made a toast to her.
It was actually the speech before the toast that caused things to happen. I know there are both fathers and mothers out there who are reading this and cringing. A father, toasting his thirteen-year-old daughter at her birthday party? Horror! Lameness! Embarrassment! But it wasn't like that at all. I don't remember exactly what I said, but it went something like this.
I actually banged the fork I was eating cake with on the side of my beer bottle to get their attention. Okay, maybe that part was a little lame, but it got the job done. And maybe it would have been better if I hadn't had several beers. But they were drinking soda and I gain weight like crazy when liquid sugar is involved. Anyway I said something like this:
"I am sad, because my little girl is gone. I'm going to miss her climbing up on my lap, and asking me to kiss her boo boos." I got some "Awwww from the crowd, which encouraged me to go on. "But as I see her now, becoming a woman, it almost makes my heart hurt from the joy of it. She's so beautiful, and has so much to offer the world, that part of me wishes I was a boy her age." That last part was the beer talking.
And believe me, they understood every nuance of that toast. Then I said "To the memory of my little girl, who has flowered into womanhood."
There were cheers, and not even one of those sidelong glances that suggests how lame someone has just been. And that's all I said. I just kept the snacks and sodas coming, and was the dad. Some of the girls gave me a hug after the toast, and told me how sweet I was, but it wasn't anything more than that.
The paint didn't quite peel off the walls from the noise, but it was almost unbelievably quiet when the last one of them left.
I was tired by then, so I hugged my birthday girl, and her brother, and went to bed.
Now the reason this was all so pivotal, was because when I went to bed and left them alone, they were both still on an emotional high. Alex was on the high of a fourteen-year-old boy who has been appreciated by a gaggle of girls. It didn't matter that they were a year younger than he was. They were cute, and they had made it clear they thought he was too. And Amber was high on the remnants of my toast, which she took seriously. So she expressed her emotional state by kissing her brother.
Did I mention that, while they were in those sleeping together years, they did all their exploration and experimentation with each other? Don't feel bad. I wasn't aware of it either.
I wasn't aware, for example, that the first penis - both soft and hard - Amber examined in great detail was her brother's, or that the first pussy he touched and peered into was Amber's. I wasn't aware they learned to kiss by kissing each other. Actually, I wasn't aware of anything. Not then. But it was all pretty innocent in those years. It really was just curiosity and experimentation.
But it was also part of what made them so close.
And on this night, when she kissed him, it was a kiss with meaning, instead of merely an experiment. And it fired them both up, so they kept kissing and basically made out until they ended up in bed ... naked ... with him on top of her. They both swear neither of them intended to actually have sex, but while he was rolling around enjoying the feel of rubbing against a naked female, his long, black, adolescent penis snuck into her juicy, pink adolescent pussy, and the next thing they knew they were fucking like the big boys and girls.
I blame myself. Had I stayed up with them, it wouldn't have happened. But as I said, what I know now I didn't know then.
And I didn't even see it the next morning, when we all got up and had breakfast, sitting around the table. They insist they acted like nothing had happened, but if I'd have been paying attention I'm sure I would have seen signs.
Anyway, it's important to note that they did not engage in this activity again for some time. While both had been very happily involved in that initial tryst, both also knew that this new game could get them in serious trouble. And both loved each other enough to avoid getting each other in trouble.
At least to some degree.
But it's important for the reader to understand where they were in their lives before I go on explaining how I got to where I am in my life now.
Amber's birthday party seemed to unleash the girls. There was a slumber party within two weeks, the first of what would be at least two dozen over the years. We had a big house, with the pool, sauna and hot tub, and it was perfect for entertaining. And both Amber and Alex were popular, so there were always kids hanging around and coming for sleepovers, both male and female types. Whenever Alex had the guys over, Amber always slept over at some girl's house. I didn't think that was odd. What girl wants to be ogled in her own home by a bunch of guys?
But what I failed to notice was that it didn't work the other way. When the girls came over, Alex stayed home, and often got invited into the gabfest. It's not like he went into Amber's room with the girls and stayed there. But he always seemed to be engaged with one or more girls, somewhere in the house, or the pool or whatever. Who knows? Maybe even if I had noticed that, I wouldn't have thought anything about it.
But it was important, because with Alex around, there was a constant high level of sexual tension in the girls.
And I benefited from that, as it turned out.
It manifested first when Brandi came to stand beside me at the counter while I was making a peanut butter sandwich. She stood close to me, with our arms touching, and hip-bumped me.
I remember she said "Move over or make me one too."
And I so I hip-bumped her back and said "Make your own!" and that turned into a hip-bumping war, with her giggling and squealing. Then she tried to grab for my sandwich, and tore a piece of it off. She got peanut butter all over her fingers, and her braces were full of bread and peanut butter. We stopped, and just stood there, looking at each other. We were both breathing deeply, which made her firm, round breasts move under her T shirt. She looked at her fingers.
"You got me all messy!" she accused.
Then she reached and pushed her index finger into my mouth.
"Clean it off!" she ordered.
I was stunned. It had happened so fast I wasn't prepared for it. I don't think I knew what to think, and I was kind of paralyzed.
Except that my lips closed over her finger and I sucked as she slowly pulled it out of my mouth.
She looked at me through lashes that were lowered, and examined her finger. The one next to it was all messy too, but instead of offering it to me, she sucked it clean herself. It was erotic as hell, and I felt my cock just fucking spring to attention.
"Mmmm," she murmured. "That's better." She looked at me with what was obvioulsy a come-hither stare, and said "Make me a sandwich?"
All I wanted to do right then was take her up to the bedroom and rock her world. I know my eyes were skittering all over her body. But then she said "Please?" in a little girl voice and reality slammed back into me. I took a deep breath and turned away. I just knew my prick was making my pants tent out. I concentrated on spreading peanut butter onto a slice of bread. She went to the fridge and got out the strawberry preserves that were in there, bringing them to stand beside me again, arms touching. She unscrewed it and stuck the tip of her index finger in, pulling it out to suck clean.
I about came in my pants.
"I want some of this too," she said, setting the jar down.
Her actions, and words, for that matter, were almost exactly 50/50 in terms of being normal teenager, versus hot, horny young woman. And, of course, I reacted to them. And yes, I know it's no excuse that she was fourteen by then, but she sure didn't act fourteen.
Actually, the problem was that I couldn't decide how much of it was an act and how much wasn't. That was the problem.
Maybe two months later, the girls had been swimming and Sybil had decided to shower off in the master bathroom, which was accessed through my bedroom. I was lying on the bed, reading at the time. I had learned not to be up and around when the girls were swimming, because some of them wore suits at my house that they couldn't get away with wearing in public. And that was hard on the pervert in me. So I usually read something in the action/adventure genre, while they were running around in next to nothing. It wasn't foolproof, but it did help me keep the lid on things. By that I mean at least I didn't have to masturbate every single time the girls were there and swimming.
Anyway, Sybil ran through the bedroom with a "Hi, Mr. Cee" in a thong swimming suit that completely revealed her lush ass. She closed the door and I heard the shower running. I adjusted my cock, which was hard, by then, as I imagined her in the shower.
And when she came out, the towel she'd tied across her breasts "accidentally" came untied and dropped to the floor like it weighted forty pounds.
My goodness she was pretty.
Sybil had proud, thrusting, round breasts, with coral colored areolas and nipples. She didn't have a bikini cut. Rather, she had simply removed every trace of hair from her genitals. Her pussy looked like it belonged on an eleven-year-old, perhaps, but her breasts were all woman. She stood, frozen, for perhaps four heartbeats, and then said "Ooops!" and knelt to pick up the towel. She had her suit in one hand, which apparently made it impossible for her to retie the towel, because she just held it in between her breasts, so it hung down and covered that bare camel toe.
Of course I just stared.
"Sorry," she said.
I think it was then I realized she wasn't really embarrassed. And I think that rattled me, because I said "How old are you, Sybil?"
Yeah. I actually asked her that question.
"Fifteen," she said, just as cool as a cucumber.
"That's amazing," I said, thinking about how completely amazing it was that a fifteen-year-old girl could possibly look that grown up and fuckable.
"Why?" she asked, still standing there with her breasts peering at me from each side of the towel.
I still had a shred of un-pervertedness in me. "Never mind," I said. "You should probably go now."
"Oh," she said. "Okay ... yeah." Then she said "Sorry," again and turned to walk out, showing me that luscious ass again.
The only reason I didn't just shove my pants down and beat off then and there was because she left my bedroom door open, and within fifteen seconds of her disappearing I heard one of the girls shriek "Sybil's naked!" I actually expected one or more girls to come streaming through the door, accusing me of being a dirty old man or whatever. I went soft at the thought.
Actually, I think it was the guilt I felt that made me go soft. I felt really guilty because I wanted to fuck Sybil. Plain and simple. I wanted to fuck that girl and make her squeal.
That's when I knew I was a full-fledged pervert.