Chapter 2

I do not know why it is this way, but it’s pretty universal in America for people to look askance when an older man is with a younger woman. There are lots of terms for it. Cradle-robber. Chester the molester. Dirty old man. Sugar daddy. Those are for a heterosexual relationship where the man is older, but there are dozens of other names for other kinds of relationships. We won’t go into those. My point is that American society looks down on May-December relationships and I don’t know why. If two people love each other, what does it matter if there is a difference in their ages?

It starts early. As young as thirteen girls seem to be interested in “older” males, such as fifteen and sixteen-year-olds. That’s not acceptable, at least to the parents involved. There is about a decade from the very late teens to the late twenties when that mere two year difference is fine, even stretching to three or four years, but then it begins to shrink again. And when a man is more than eight or ten years senior in age to his chosen mate, then eyebrows go up and tongues wag incessantly.

In my case there was a four year difference between Cassie and me. Her only interest in me would have been envisioned to be wrapped up in the fact we were cousins, and nothing more. Likewise any interest I had in her other than as a visiting relative would have been frowned on in the extreme.

I knew this, and it was for that reason that I had to manufacture a chance to get some private time with my cousin so... things... could be discussed. I admit I was curious about that picture on a number of levels. And sure, one of them was because my very hurried examination of naked little Cassie had been pleasing indeed.

But I also wanted to know how it had happened.

Remember that these Tumblr girls were a pretty big part of my sex life at that stage in my life. I didn’t plan on using masturbation as my primary sexual release forever, and I hoped that when I had the time and met a girl I didn’t want to do without that she would fill all my sexual needs. At present, however, I had hundreds of Tumblr girls in my sexual life.

I had not, however, actually met one of them.

Believe it or not, that was what I really wanted to talk to Cassie about. I’d wondered for years how girls ended up posing like that, and now I had a chance to find out. The only caveat was that separating Cassie from Lori was going to be a challenge. I had an idea, though.

So, as the dishes were being taken off the table, I said, “Cassie, college isn’t all studying. Maybe I could tell you what my average day is like so you understand that college is more like a job than an ordeal. Kind of.”

“Okay,” she said, before anybody else could weigh in on the idea. “I’d like that.”

So, there we were, a slightly older cousin offering to share his limited wisdom about something her parents wanted her to do.

Personally, I think it was brilliant.

I should have suggested a walk, since that would have prevented any of the parents from barging in on us. Instead I took her back to Dad’s office, where the computer was.

She was nervous and pinker than usual.

“Bobby, that picture wasn’t supposed to be where anybody could see it,” she opened.

“I go by Bob, now,” I said. I don’t know why I said that, except she looked so adult and “Bobby” sounded so juvenile to my ears. I think I wanted things to be the other way around, with me being the adult and therefore having the authority that so many people grant “older” folks... whether they deserve it or not.

It blew right past her.

“Tiffany swore nobody else would ever see that,” she moaned. “How did you get it?”

“Who’s Tiffany?” I asked.

“She’s the one who took the picture. We were all at a sleepover and were goofing around and she used her phone to snap the shot. But it was just for giggles. Nobody was ever supposed to see it, I swear, Bobby.” She frowned and then corrected herself. “Bob,” she added. “Please, you have to tell me how you got that.”

“I’ll answer your question,” I said, with an attempt to sound grave, “but first I want you to answer one of mine.”

“Okay,” she said, nervously.

“Why were all of you naked?”

She blinked. I’m sure that, in her mind, the answer was obvious. Many times people do things for what they think is the obvious reason. They expect others to understand intuitively, but of course that’s kind of an iffy proposition.

“Are you a lesbian?” I asked.

Her reaction would have been comical if the situation hadn’t been so serious.

“No!” she yipped. She froze and then saw things through my eyes. Her face got earnest. “No, Bobby... Bob. I like boys. We all do. It was just fun to be crazy and naughty and Rochelle dared us to strip down and compare... things. It was just for fun, Bob. Nothing happened between any of us. We were just being crazy.”

I felt better. The thought that this beautiful girl might eschew men in favor of her own gender seemed like such a waste. Not that I thought I would ever benefit from the fact that she “liked boys” but I wanted some guy somewhere to get lucky with Cassie some day. Girls that age have amazing potential for being in fantasies. Cassie with her boyfriend, writhing on her bed instead of doing homework. Cassie babysitting and then being nailed by the father of the kids she sat for. Cassie on one of those narrow benches in the locker room with the track coach straddling her, his hips moving rhythmically as her face twisted in passion. Cassie on the bus to the away game, in the back, in the dark, bouncing up and down one some boy’s prick. I could go on and on.

And yes, I know that’s sad. But I’m a guy and guys fantasize, okay?

“Where did you get that, Bob?” she said again.

“On the internet,” I said. “It was on a Tumblr site I go to now and then.”

“No way!” she said. “That can’t be!”

“Actually, as you saw before, it can be,” I said.

“How did it get there?” she asked, puzzled.

“I’m guessing Tiffany sent it to some guy who has a Tumblr account. I doubt that site is operated by a female. If it is, then her only interest is in girls because that’s all there is on that site.”

“It’s a porn site?” Now her voice sounded weak.

“Yeah,” I said, not even trying to spin it.

“But why did you go there?” Her voice changed from weak to curious.

“I don’t have a girlfriend,” I said, shrugging.

“I don’t understand,” she said.

“Do you ever get horny?” I asked.

She blinked. That was a pretty intimate question for what amounted to a stranger asking.

“Let’s just assume you do,” I went on. “So there are several ways to deal with that. You can do things with your boyfriend, or you can handle things by yourself, right?”

I actually saw the stain of red appear where the skin below her chin was visible. It traveled up to her prominent cheekbones very quickly.

“Oh,” she whispered. Then her eyes got big. “You mean you do that?”

“Most guys do,” I said.

“I know that,” she said, suddenly exasperated. “But not you. And why don’t you have a girlfriend? You’re a hunk, Bobby.”

Her eyes got wide again and she cringed. It was obvious that last bit was unplanned and just spilled out of her mouth.

“I don’t have time for the entanglements of a relationship,” I said. “I really do study a lot. Which, by the way, we should address so we don’t end up lying to our parents. College isn’t that bad for the first few years. If you develop good study habits and keep up with the work, you’ll have plenty of time for other things.”

I couldn’t resist.

“Like for having sleepovers in the dorm where everybody gets naked and has a pillow fight.”

She didn’t blush this time. Instead she bristled.

“We only did that that one time. We had lots of sleepovers, but we only got naked like that one time. We always wore jammies to bed at sleepovers.”

“Did you change into your jammies in front of each other?” I asked.

“Of course we did,” she said, as if that would be obvious to a blind man.

“Then it wasn’t unusual for you to be naked in front of each other,” I pointed out.

That gave her pause.

“I’d like to hear more about why you all decided to do what you were doing in the picture,” I said. She frowned. “I admit I’m just pruriently interested,” I said.

“Pruriently?” She looked puzzled.

“It means having an interest in sexual matters,” I explained. How often does a high schooler hear or use a word like that?

“Oh,” she said in an offhand way that made it very clear she not only wasn’t surprised that a guy would have prurient interests... she actually expected a guy to be that way. She was very open in her body language and her nonverbal cues were very plain.

“So, if you aren’t lesbians, why frolic around naked?” I pressed.

She dithered for a few seconds, but apparently felt comfortable talking about it.

“Girls all feel like there’s something wrong with them,” she said. “Like a girl might think her boobs are too big, or too small. Or maybe she thinks she’s fat or whatever. I don’t know any girls who think their body is perfect, not even the popular girls. And we were talking about that at the sleepover and Rochelle said we should all get naked and everybody talk about our flaws. The idea was that everybody would disagree with whoever thought they had a flaw and make them feel better. I know it sounds crazy, but that’s how it started.”

“I don’t think it sounds crazy at all,” I said. “I think it sounds kind of cool.”

“Because we were all naked,” she said, her voice suddenly a little grim.

“No, because you all wanted to support each other,” I said. “Guys would never do that. We compete too much and every guy wants to beat out every other guy, especially in the body department.”

“Guys are such losers,” she muttered.

“I thought you liked guys,” I reminded her.

“I do, but sometimes they can be so frustrating,” she said.

“Which brings us back to why you don’t have a boyfriend,” I said.

“I’m not allowed to,” she said with a fatalistic voice. “My parents let me date, but I can’t date the same guy more than three times. It’s stupid, but I can’t get them to budge.”

“It’s not stupid at all,” I said.

“Oh? And why is that?” she said, sticking her chin out.

“They don’t want you to have sex,” I said, simply.

“Just because you have a boyfriend doesn’t mean you have sex,” she argued.

“In most cases it does. It’s a natural consequence of becoming intimate and if you aren’t allowed to go out with a guy more than three times you don’t have time to build the intimacy that leads to the urge to have sex.” It sounded wise to me and I was proud.

“You sound just like my parents,” she groused.

“Come on. On these dates you go out on, have any of the guys tried to cop a feel?”

“Sure,” she said, easily. “Guys do that. It’s like they think they have to, to establish how macho they are.”

“No, it’s because they want to have sex with you,” I said.

“That’s bullshit,” she grunted.

“I’m a guy,” I said, wisely. “I know about guys. I’d hazard to say that every guy you’ve gone out with wanted to have sex with you.”

“Lame,” she said, scornfully. “And not true. You’re a guy. Do you want to have sex with me?” she challenged.

This wasn’t the conversation I’d intended to have with her. It’s one thing to lust after a woman who is unavailable and entirely another to tell her you lust after her.

“You and I aren’t dating,” I said, evading the question.

“Okay, but you make it sound like all boys think about is sex.”

“I read somewhere that the average adolescent male thinks about sex something like seventy times a day,” I said. “Or maybe it was seven times a minute. I can’t remember now, but I do remember being amazed at how accurate it was. Guys are hardwired biologically to think about sex.”