Chapter 1

I was sitting at my desk in my bedroom doing my homework when my cell phone rang. I picked it up and answered without even looking to see who’s calling. My mind is still focused on diagramming a sentence, a task I don’t find particularly difficult but it’s just so damned boring that I hate doing it. I have to really force myself to focus. That’s probably why when an adult male voice I’ve never heard before asked, “Is this Kayla?” in a strong, confident voice I answered yes without thinking.

It wasn’t until I’d answered his question that I thought to ask, “Who is this?”

He didn’t respond to my question. Instead, in an amused tone of voice he said, “I found your name and number on a men’s room wall. The message with it said you’re Kayla Fuller, a fourteen-year-old girl who likes to fuck and suck and if anyone is horny they should give you a call.”

I was so dumbfounded by what he’s saying that I didn’t come to my senses and hang up until he finished his obscene explanation! The reason for his call finally sank in and I squawked, too shocked even to scream. Then I finally came to my senses and pushed “End” breaking the connection.

I put my phone down and sat there shaking like a leaf for several minutes. My English homework is the farthest thing from my mind now. All I can think about is that disturbing phone call. Who could have written my name on a men’s room wall?! And why?!! I’m not aware of any boys I’ve pissed off lately. And anyone who knows me knows the things that man said about me aren’t true. I’m still a virgin! But the note must have been put there by someone who knows me; someone who knows my full name, my age, and my cell phone number.

From racking my brain trying to think who might have left that horrible message on the wall in a men’s room I slowly turned my thoughts to the man who just called. I can’t help wondering how much of a troll must a guy be to call a number he found on a men’s room wall like that?! He must be the biggest loser in town! He isn’t just some horny kid, either. He’s a full-grown man for Christ’s sake! He should be married or at least going out and meeting women his own age. Not trying to lure young girls out to satisfy his sexual needs!

Are there girls who would really do that?! Are there girls, especially girls my age, who would sneak out to be with some guy they never met just to have sex the way he seemed to expect me to? I can’t imagine there are. No girl I know would do something like that! I’ve never given the subject a lot of thought but I’m pretty sure all the girls in my class are still virgins ... well, except maybe Sara and Dawn. But even those two wouldn’t sneak out to have sex with a man they’ve never met ... I don’t think.

I forced myself to clear my mind and return to my homework. I managed to finish diagramming the sentence I started before the phone call threw me for a loop. But I only just finished that one sentence before my phone rang again. This time I looked to see who’s calling. My caller ID said the number is blocked. I know it must be him again. Him or some other pervert who saw my number on the wall and wants to have sex with a teenage girl he’s never met.

I had every intention of disregarding the call. So I can’t explain how I found myself holding the phone to my face and saying hello in a timid voice I almost didn’t recognize as coming from me.

It was him. His deep voice sounded more than a little amused when he said, “Hi, Kayla. I think we got disconnected.”

It’s obvious that even though he probably knows he’s going to be turned down he finds this situation entertaining and he’s enjoying taunting me.

“Where did you find my number? I mean which men’s room is it in?”

He chuckled and replied, “It’s in a gas station.”

“Which gas station? Listen, someone’s playing a really bad joke. I’m not like that. I’d never do something like that! I’m a virgin!”

If I thought he’d apologize and leave me alone I was wrong. After a brief pause he said, “Really? That’s hot. I’ve never done it with a virgin.”

What balls!! What solid steel, Teflon coated balls!!!

I gasped and sputtered for a few seconds before finally exclaiming, “Are you nuts?! Which gas station?”

“Now why would I tell you that and ruin your social life? I gather I’m the first suitor to call in response to your ad. I’d love to be your first customer. Can you get out tonight?”

“NO!! And I wouldn’t even if I could! I don’t do things like that! I don’t know any girl who would sneak out to have sex with some stranger who found her name in a men’s room! You know some boy wrote that message there to screw with me. Please, tell me where it is. Someone could find my address pretty easily. This is a small town. I only know of three other Fuller families in town. Someone might see that message and decide to ... hurt me.”

“I don’t want to hurt you, Kayla. I want to make you feel good. I want to make you feel better than you’ve ever felt before. I’d love to spend a long time licking your entire body before settling down between your legs and eating your pussy until you were permanently cross eyed. And that’s just the appetizer.”

“Don’t say those things! I told you, I’m not ... I don’t ... GOD!”

He chuckled at my frustration, upsetting me even more. I forced myself to calm down and said, “I’m going to hang up now. I have to finish my homework. Please don’t call me anymore.”

“But Kayla! I enjoy talking to you! I’ll make you a deal. If you answer two questions for me I won’t call you again tonight.”

I don’t know why I didn’t just hang up and turn my phone off. But I didn’t. I didn’t even try to control the exasperation in my voice when I responded, “What questions?”

I doubt if he minds though. He’s probably amused.

He sounded amused when he asked, “What color are your hair and eyes?”

I thought about it for a moment before answering. His questions sounded innocuous enough. I finally said, “Blonde and blue.”

“Are you a natural blonde?”

“That’s three questions and it’s none of your damn business!”

“Not true! If you tell me you’re a blonde but it’s because you dye your hair, then you aren’t being entirely honest with me.”

What the nosy bastard is really asking is what color is my pubic hair! I don’t know why I let him make me so furious. I don’t know why I don’t just hang up. But after another long pause I snarled, “I don’t dye my hair! Now leave me alone!”

I hung up without waiting for an answer. I put my phone down and sat there slightly stunned thinking, “I just told a complete stranger the color of my pubic hair! What the hell is wrong with me?!!”

It took me nearly an hour to finish what should have been fifteen minutes of homework. Over and over again that rude stranger kept intruding on my thoughts. Between worrying about the fact that my phone number is written on a men’s room wall with an obscene offer for sex, and the two phone calls from a man who’s interested in taking advantage of that offer, it was nearly impossible to concentrate on diagramming sentences. It’s a good thing I was almost finished with my homework when he called or I’d be up all night!

I looked my work over for a few minutes. When I was satisfied I had everything right I put my books into my book bag. I put my phone on the charger and started getting ready for bed. I shocked myself as I was undressing when I found myself smiling and thinking, “Wouldn’t that son of a bitch love to be here now?!”

I’m not kidding. I was shocked when I realized what I was thinking. My mind just doesn’t work that way! But as I stood in front of the full-length mirror on my closet door and finished undressing, I looked at my body in a way I never have before. I’m a teenage girl going through the last stages of puberty. Of course, I’ve looked at my body over the years and watched it change. Like most girls I’ve worried about the size and shape of my breasts and how I compare to other girls my age. Over the years I’ve watched my shape change from looking a lot like a young boy to a definite feminine form. I’ve turned out rather well and I’m proud of the way I look.

I live an active life. I enjoy sports and cheerleading. I have all the right curves in all the right places. I’m slender but shapely. My hair is blonde, healthy, and straight. It hangs down to just below my shoulders. My B cup breasts are full and perky, tipped with light brown nipples which I sometimes think are far too sensitive. My vulva is slowly beginning to look a little more mature. There was a time not very long ago when I thought I’d never grow any pubic hair. But now I have a sparse covering of straight, fine, almost reddish-blonde hair coming in. My best friend Carrie has joked on more than one occasion that I look just as good going away as I do coming. It’s embarrassing to have it pointed out, but I do have a nice butt and I’d be lying if I tried to say I’m not proud of it. I’m no different than any other girl. I want to be sexy. I want boys to find me attractive. I want them to want me.

That being said, I don’t think I’ve ever looked at my body and tried to imagine what I’d look like to a full-grown man before. I’ve seen men looking at me and it has kind of creeped me out. But it never occurred to me to wonder what they see and what they’re thinking when they check me out. As it turns out, it’s a unique and stimulating way for a girl to look at herself. I don’t pretend to understand the opposite sex. Who does?! But I think I have a pretty good idea of the way males react to the sight of sexy females, especially sexy females who aren’t wearing any clothes.

Somehow, my mind traveled from the sight of my sexy body to the strange man on the phone. I found myself imagining what it would be like if I were to agree to sneak out and meet him; wondering in the abstract, of course. It goes without saying I’d never actually do something like that.

He’d probably be pretty disappointed if I did agree to meet him. I’m reasonably attractive. But I have no idea how to suck a man off. I’ve never even seen a man’s ... a penis; a dick, a cock. The idea of doing something like that makes me slightly ill. And I’m certainly not about to let a pervert I’ve never met be the first to have sex with me. It isn’t that I’m one of those girls who intend to “save themselves for marriage.” To be honest I haven’t given it that much thought. But I intend to be a lot older than I am now and if and when I do it I’ll do it with someone I’m dating, not with a sleazy stranger in response to an anonymous phone call!

I tried once more to clear my mind, to forget about the phone calls and the horrible message scribbled on a men’s room wall somewhere. I put my pajamas on and went across the hall to brush my teeth but only a few short minutes later I was lying in bed in the dark, staring at the ceiling and thinking about that man again. Even more disturbing, without my even realizing it, my hand has somehow migrated to the space between my legs, the part of my body of most interest to the man on the phone. My fingertips are moving lightly over it as though they have a mind of their own!

I’m not masturbating, just lightly strumming that super-sensitive part of my body. I do masturbate sometimes. And I enjoy it. But at the moment I’m just teasing myself as I try to picture the man on the phone and imagine what was going through his mind when he was talking to me. The sensations in my belly are making it harder to force those thoughts from my mind. I began to imagine a scenario in which I snuck out of the house to meet a man. No, not to meet him. He doesn’t want to meet me. He wants to do things to me. He wants to touch me. He wants me to get down on my knees so he can put his ... his COCK in my mouth. He wants me to suck on it until he has an orgasm in my mouth.

He wants to do something else, too. He wants to undress me and put his cock inside of me. He wants to shred my hymen and make love ... no, not make love. He wants to fuck me like I’m some kind of whore or slut or nymphomaniac or something. He doesn’t know me. He doesn’t like me. He doesn’t want to. He just wants to use me. No, not even that. I’m not even a person to him. He wants to use my body. He couldn’t care less about me as a person.

I’ve never even conceived of such a thing before. It’s a repulsive idea. It’s degrading and dehumanizing. It’s obscene. So why on earth am I so aroused?!!

My fingers worked their way inside my pajama bottoms, this time as a result of conscious thought. Gentle strumming slowly turned to masturbating as a scenario played out in my mind in which I snuck out of the house at night, met the pervert who called me tonight and let him do anything he wants to do to me over and over. In my highly aroused mind I’m torn between hating the nasty things he makes me do and loving them. It wasn’t until my orgasm subsided that I had the presence of mind to be ashamed of the thoughts running through my head. And yet, even then my fingers continued to lightly tease the sensitive flesh around my protruding clit until I found myself masturbating again. It’s almost as though someone else is in charge of my actions, guiding my hand and putting perverted thoughts in my mind. Someone, that stranger on the phone perhaps, is using my hand to arouse me so I’ll be more susceptible to his perverted plans for me!

I enjoyed one more wonderful orgasm but then I lay there recovering my breath and fighting to hold back the tears. I’m experiencing the strongest urge to cry, and I don’t even know why!

I finally removed my hand from my pajama bottoms, but the tingling down there didn’t go away. Not for a long time. At one point I became aware of one finger lightly circling my left nipple in a very pleasing way. I moaned and dropped my hand to my side before I started something I’d need to finish. I’m disgusted with myself and even a little bit afraid. How is it possible that a normal, moral, virginal teenage girl can harbor the perverse fantasies that just played themselves out in my head like a pornographic movie?!

I can’t even guess how long it took me to get to sleep. It was a long, troubled time before I drifted off. I’m disturbed by the idea that I just masturbated to such perverse fantasies ... twice!! When I wasn’t worried about that I found myself wondering how many other men might see my name and phone number on a men’s room wall and decide to give me a call in the hopes that I’ll go somewhere and have sex with them. But most disturbing of all is the fear that if I’m the kind of girl who will masturbate to those fantasies, I might eventually be talked into doing just that!

My thoughts weren’t much clearer in the morning. As soon as consciousness returned to my sleep deprived brain those troubled thoughts returned. I tried to tell myself I’m being silly. The gas station attendant will erase my name and number from his men’s room wall and the man on the phone will soon tire of having me hang up on him. Nothing will come of it. It’s a minor irritation in my life. And I believed all those things to be true. But in the back of my mind the nagging fear remains that I might somehow be talked into doing just what it said I’d do on that men’s room wall because, after all, thinking about it turned me on so much I masturbated to those images. Not once but twice!!

The shower helped. I began feeling more normal as I dressed for school. By the time I finished breakfast I’d just about put the strange events of last night out of my mind. Walking to school and engaging in inane conversation with Carrie about some stupid reality show she’s hooked on almost pushed the phone call out of my mind. Almost. Just as we were approaching the school grounds the conversation turned to boys.

A certain boy, to be more exact; Dan Peters. Carrie has the hots for Dan big time but she’s as inexperienced as I am and doesn’t know how to handle him. She has let him get as far as second base in the back of a darkened theater and she enjoyed it as much as he seemed to. For days after it happened it was all she could talk about whenever we were alone. But Dan being a normal, red blooded boy, neither of us is surprised he isn’t satisfied with feeling her boob when he gets the chance. He wants more. And she does, too. But we both know all the possible drawbacks. There’s the danger of getting carried away and damaging her reputation. Or worse yet, getting carried away and getting pregnant.

I’ve told her all the right things, all the things her parents would have said to her. But I didn’t say anything she doesn’t already know. She can’t decide what to do and I can’t make her mind up for her. And unfortunately, talking about Dan and sex is drawing my mind back to my mysterious caller and the things he wants to do to me. All the terrible but extremely exciting things leading my mind to create erotic images to which I found myself masturbating as they played out in my mind last night.

I finally settled down once classes started. On more than one occasion during the day I let my guard down and thoughts of sex with a strange man popped back into my head. But I quickly pushed them away and concentrated on my schoolwork. I found it to be a little more difficult to keep my mind clear on the walk home from school. Carrie is walking beside me gushing about the few minutes she spent alone with Dan after her history class. As soon as the room emptied her boyfriend pulled her into his arms and they kissed. That would have been enough to get her going. But as they kissed his hand slid down and cupped her ass and he held her firmly in his grip while he ground his erect cock into her belly.

She was so aroused by that she was almost unaware of his other hand sliding up the front of her blouse and closing over her boob again. She eagerly admitted to me, well, bragged to me is more like it, that she was in the middle of an orgasm when the kids from the next class started filing into the room and caught them.

I listened to her boast about her passionate kiss most of the way home. But it wasn’t her erotic kiss that gripped my thoughts. I won’t deny her story was exciting. But it’s the way her story led to thoughts of my obscene phone caller that disturbs me. It seems as though I’m becoming fixated on this man! I desperately don’t want to associate thoughts of some perverted stranger with sex in my mind. And yet my thoughts seem to go to him constantly since he called last night and there’s nothing I can do about it.

No. I know better than that. There is something I can do about it. As much as it bothers me to even consider it, I can turn my phone off. I said goodbye to Carrie when we arrived at my house. It wasn’t until I was walking up my sidewalk that I wondered why I didn’t tell her about the phone call last night and the message inviting strange men to have sex with me written on a men’s room wall somewhere in town. I don’t know why. I’ve done nothing to be embarrassed about. Well, nothing except masturbate as I imagined what might happen if I went to him. But she needn’t know about that part.

I went to my room and changed out of my school clothes. Wearing a pair of comfortable shorts and a t-shirt I joined my mom in the kitchen. I poured a glass of juice and took over peeling potatoes from her. I told her how boring my day was and she said something along the lines of “That’s nice dear.” Then we talked about this, that and the other while I helped her get dinner ready. There was a time, not long ago, when I would complain about having to help with the cooking. Fortunately, I began to realize my mom is the only mother I know of who’s teaching her daughter how to cook. It isn’t a subject I’ve discussed with all the kids in my classes but as far as I know, the only other kid who’s learning to cook is Barry Phelps. And no, he isn’t gay!