Chapter 1

I’m driving down a street, in a neighborhood that is, one, not-very-prosperous, and two, several miles from my own. My reasons for this will become clear in a moment.

Also, it ‘s a rainy day. The rain isn’t pouring down, and a person, if they wanted to or needed to, could still go out it in.

And that’s who I’m looking for – someone, a woman, preferably underage, who’s stuck walking out in the rain today. Someone who’s just miserable enough to accept a ride from some guy she doesn’t know...

For example, some guy driving a plain white nondescript van...

... like me.

~ ~ ~

I see her. She looks to be a teenager, average height, no umbrella, soggy white Keds – and only a tee-shirt, which is, of course drenched to the point of transparency. Through the wet tee-shirt I can see that she’s wearing a neutral-colored bra.

I hit the turn signal and pull carefully to the curb just a little ahead of her – carefully, so I don’t splash her if I hit a puddle – wouldn’t want to get off on the wrong foot now, would we?

I roll down the passenger-side window. By now she’d come even with me, so I yell out to her, “Hey, I know you don’t know me, but it’s raining pretty hard – can I give you a lift somewhere? Promise – I’ll drop you off right where you want me to.”

It looked like she was considering the idea, and I was afraid that too much consideration would result in her realizing what a foolish thing it would be, to accept some stranger’s invitation to get in his van with him.

“Yeah, okay, I guess.”

My kind of girl!

I wanted to start the reassurance process right away.

“So, it’s not real pleasant out there – where can I take you?” Hoping, hoping,...

“I wasn’t goin’ anyplace special...” And left it there like that.

Is she really that dull? Or is she exploring, too, giving me the chance to suggest – propose – where she wants to go? With me?

“Well, I was just at Home Depot, but they were out of what I needed so I guess I don’t have anything to do for the rest of the afternoon.” Then my next try. “How about you?”

She thought for a moment. For the truth? Or for a story?

“Nuh. I was walking over to see if my friend was home, but when I got half-way there she called me and said she had to go visit her old aunt and by then it was raining.” No further elaboration.

And now that she was in the van I was able to get a better look at her. She was like I thought – mid-teens, about five-five or so, brown hair gathered into two ponytails held in place by those hair elastics with the cherry-red plastic balls. She was wearing mid-length while denim shorts, simple white canvas Keds. And, of course, the drenched white tee shirt. In other words, pretty much like I thought she looked when I first spotted her. Like I was hoping for.

“So where were you walking when ... I stopped.”

“I guess I wasn’t goin’ nowhere. When I left the house my folks were fightin’. As usual...”

Oh, this just keeps getting better and better!

“ ... so I was just walking...”

All the time, she’d been looking straight ahead, out the windshield, but now she turned and looked at me.

“ ... seein’ if anything would happen...”

What was that?? Was I what she was hoping “would happen?”

I hadn’t planned for an opening quite like this and I didn’t want to jump the gun and mess things up.

“So, would you just like to drive around a while, spend some time before you have to go home?” We hadn’t said anything about when she had to be anywhere.

“Yeah, that’d be good – I’d like that.” She turned and looked at me. “If it’s OK?”

I now had her “permission” to not take her home. Next, phase two.

“Y’know, your shirt’s soaking wet. If you’d like to get out of it, I think I got a clean tee-shirt in the back.” And I did. Not that I wanted her to put it on, but I needed to give her that option in order to maintain my credibility as “a good guy.” “You can go back there and change...” I hesitated, then added, “if you want to.”

She looked at me, like, “Did you really say that?” But then without a moment’s hesitation she said, “Okay,” unbuckled her seat belt, and squeezed between the seats to the back of the van.

“There’s some clean towels on that ledge in the back. You can use one of those to dry your hair.” She went to the back and found a towel, then sat on the bench seat there. First she undid the hair elastics that were holding her ponytails, then toweled her brown hair until she thought it was dry enough – or at least, as dry as she was going to get it in the back of a stranger’s van.

I gave her a verbal nudge. “You wanna get out of that soaking wet... “ I exaggerated the description, hoping to give her the excuse – if she needed one - “that soaking wet T-shirt? It can’t feel very good, wearing it like that,” prodding her some more. Still sitting on the bench, she worked her arms free and then peeled the clinging wet cotton shirt over her head. Of course I watched in the mirror! I tried to keep it subtle, but I think she knew because I think I saw her smile a little. What she didn’t do was ask where the spare T-shirt was. Instead, she sat there on the bunk, shirtless, in just her tan brassiere.

“I think the T-shirt is next to where you found the towel...” I knew darned well that’s where the T-shirt is.

In the rear-view mirror I watched as she looked, then found, the large clean white Rolling Stones concert tee I kept back there – the “Sticky Fingers” one, with the one with the big red tongue – not a coincidence. She pulled it over her head, but then she took her sweet time pulling it down the rest of the way, like she wanted to be sure I was watching and that I got a good look.

“Neat van.”

In fact, it is not a “neat” van. I purposely purchased it and maintain it so it’s totally unremarkable – generic utility-van white, with no exceptional markings or trim. No windows. Anonymous. And that’s what I was going for – that’s what I want. That’s what I need.

She checked out the interior some more.

“You got a bed. Cool.”

Saying something, trying to keep the conversation going in this direction. “Yeah. It’s pretty comfortable.”

“So ... you wanna make out or something?”

Yeah, I do want to “make out” – or something!

The first thing was to park the van. Fortunately, since I was hoping for just this kind of opportunity, I’d already driven to an industrial section that has a huge area for vehicle parking but it’s mostly deserted on weekends, and I knew just the place where I wanted to go. I pulled my nondescript van in next to some other similarly generic-looking service vehicles.

I looked in the rear view mirror. The girl was still sitting there with my dry tee-shirt still only half-way on. I turned off the engine and shimmied between the seats til I was in the rear of the van, with her.

“So ... you still want to make out?”

“Yuh.” Gotta love teenage eloquence.

“Want me to start?”

“Yeah.”

You might think that “making out” would begin with some “necking” – kissing and such. But think about it. I’m only early thirties, but a girl the age of ... this one ... might find it gross to be necking with an “old guy” like me.

Instead, I went straight for her tits. Not straight for them – I put one arm around her shoulders and let her get comfortable with that, and then I slid my other hand onto her belly that was still bare because she hadn’t pulled the tee shirt down all the way.

I slid my hand along her belly a few times, then quickly moved up to where her still-damp cotton bra was. I gently handled her young tits through her bra before she asked, “Should I take off my bra?”

Yes – yes, my sweet, you should do that.

She reached behind her and unhooked her bra, and then she did that thing that girls do about removing their bras from underneath their T-shirts. But then she didn’t seem to know what to do with it. I took it from her and draped it over the back of the driver’s seat, making a show of seeming to be careful with it. Yeah, like that matters a fuck.

So I played with her breasts. Her small, pointy young tits that made perfect cones, with nice stiff nipples at the tips of those perfect cone-shaped tits. I didn’t maul them or anything (that could come later, I hoped). Instead I fondled them gently and rubbed my hands around them, and then I went to her nipples, rubbing around them with my finger tips, and then when they turned into stiff rubbery nobs I squeezed them a little between my fingers before pulling on them, just a little, and when I did that she moaned and started moving her hips.

That’s what I was going for – for her to start feeling things “down there.”

And of course, with her tits exposed and her nipples hard, the next thing for me to do was start using my mouth on her. Since she didn’t seem to want to slow things down I didn’t mess with kissing around her breasts, just went straight for her nipples.

First just licking them – running my tongue over and around those rubbery little nubs, and over the bumpy little areolas, then back to the nips, then sucking gently. That’s the mistake most guys make – they think it’s sexy to suck hard on the nipples. Actually, it’s just painful to the girl, and especially the young ones – like this one.

And it must be working because she puts her arms around my head and cradles it up against her chest, and she’s gentle about it, but also there’s no way she’s going to let me pull away from her. And that’s when I go to “Phase 2.”

Now that my mouth is doing its number on her tits and her nips, that leaves my hand free to run over that bare tummy – back and forth, slowly,...

... and getting closer and closer to the top of the white denim shorts...

Until my fingers start to slip inside, just enough to let both of us know that my hand is now inside her pants.

And she’s not resisting, so I slide my hand in a little farther, til my fingers just touch the elastic band of her cotton panties, and I slip my fingers just inside that waistband – and I stop, and I free my head from her arms and I look at her ... and I ask,

“Like me to take them off...?”

She didn’t say anything. What she did do was lift her hips from the bench, just a little – just enough to signal that I could – that she wanted me to – slide her shorts down and off her.

What she didn’t say – or signal – was anything about the panties underneath those shorts. So I unbuttoned the waist button and zipped down the short zipper in front and then slid my fingers under the waistband and started shoving those shorts down, andn when I reached the waist of her panties I simply hooked my thumbs under the thin elastic and pushed the panties down along with her shorts.

The girl lifted her hips, telling me that she was okay with my plan to get her out of her pants...

... and expose her bare pussy to me.

Sweet ... teen ... pussy.

She was smooth, and plump, not bare, but with sparse soft brown hair that was more sexy than if she’d been completely bare. Like I said, her pubes were ... plump. In fact, her whole body ... she wasn’t “chubby,” but she still had enough flesh on her – succulent, smooth, young, teenage flesh – to make her downright ... delicious – juicy!

And it was those plump, juicy lips that I slid my fingers between and began rubbing her, and she responded immediately, lifting herself up to me, rolling her hips in synch with the fingers I was working around inside her pussy lips.

I let my fingers slip inside her, touching the wet flesh, on the brink of actually finger-fucking her. And while that would be easy – and quick – I had another plan. I was making an investment in the future – my future.

I didn’t ask or say anything. I just kneeled down and used my hands to gently spread her thighs. I kissed and nuzzled my way up those thighs and buried my face right in that plump teen twat. I figured that even if she’s had guys eat her pussy before, they were probably klutzes (like I was when I started eat ... when I started dating girls). I wanted her to go home dreaming about her ‘next time’ – with me.

So the first thing that hits me is the scent. It’s young girl flesh and young pussy, with just the slightest bit of pee sourness.

In other words - perfect! (A more refined writer might describe it as a “heady aphrodisiac cocktail.” Yeah, that works too.)

For some odd reason I thought that licking her plump-but-firm thighs might be gross to her so I started at the crease where her legs meet her crotch. She moaned – I guess it was a moan – the first time my tongue touched her there – which was the first time my tongue touched her anywhere - but she just leaned farther back and spread her legs a little wider, which just made it easier for me.