Chapter 01: My Eighteenth Birthday

I’m going to get right into it because this is still blowing my mind. It was summertime, and I had just turned eighteen with one more year of high school to go. So, now I’m an adult. I can do everything an adult can do but drink, so I get most of the benefits, but I also get all the blame. There are legal consequences to my actions that I had never thought about before, not really, and to tell you readers the truth, I don’t give a shit about the unfair legal consequences. A jury would understand, right? I would. But just because I don’t care, it doesn’t mean that my mother doesn’t. My mother cares. She cares a whole motherfucking lot.

As I’ve said, I’m eighteen years old, but my girlfriend was fifteen with a month to go until she turns sixteen. I’ve known her for my entire life. She’s my neighbor. So, let’s say that I’m two years older than her just to round things out. So, fourteen and twelve? That may be an iffy age range for two people to start dating. Fifteen and thirteen? That sounds skeptical. Sixteen and fourteen, though, that’s getting to seem more reasonable. Fifteen and seventeen? Yep, not so bad. Twenty and eighteen? Perfect. Thirty and twenty-eight? That’s the way it should be. Sixty-two and sixty? Aw, lifetime lovers. Eighteen and sixteen? Statutory rape, say hello to your cellmate; you’re a pervert.

You see, no one had had a problem with my relationship with Jenna—I’m Mark, by the way—not my mother, not my father, not Mr. and Mrs. Mason, not anyone, until Mr. Mason walked in on me with a mouth full of his daughter’s hairless pussy right before my eighteenth birthday. Could you blame me? Jenna was fucking hot.

We’re both teens, and porn was everywhere. Sex sells, and teens are supposed to resist their urges while under the onslaught of 13 Reasons Why, Euphoria, and Taylor Swift writing songs about every guy she’s taken between her legs. Then there’s Miley Cyrus being a whore, and Ariana Grande talking about dick size and social media oozing sex all the fucking time. You can’t watch a teen drama without someone getting fucked. If people were fucking at my age before the invention of TV, then why the fuck wouldn’t modern teens want to blow a load or two as often as possible? Sex is everywhere, and we like it.

Where was I? Oh, yeah, Jenna was fucking hot. There’s more to her than hotness, but she was fucking hot. She has long blonde hair, tan skin, an oval face, bright blue eyes, and perfect teeth. Her tits are over a handful in size, and her stomach drops straight down with an almost six-pack look that ends at the cut in her hips leading into the smooth skin of her mound and the bare lips below. She doesn’t like hair. She doesn’t want any. It gets in the way of her sexy bikinis and her even hotter panties. While her pussy is heaven, she has one hell of an ass. She has a soccer chick’s round butt, firm thighs, and long legs. You can’t beat that for sexiness.

Dad used to say, “She reminds me of your mother,” before Jenna entered high school, and sports thickened her body.

One day, we were on her sofa, and she was wearing a black shirt with white trim, and printed across the front was the word EASY. She was also wearing a pink schoolgirl skirt that was way too short for school, and if a girl was going to wear that, she had better expect to be flashing her panties to the world. Lucky for me, Jenna doesn’t mind one bit. She was wearing them for me. We were on her couch, and her panties were on her coffee table, and that’s when the lock on the front door rattled.

We parted in a hurry and went back to watching TV as her dad walked into the house. He greeted us, then he went to the kitchen, and then he came back, and that’s when he grew silent. It was kind of freaky. We both looked at him, and we both noticed that his eyes were staring at the ultra-small, transparent panties his daughter had been wearing. This was right after he had caught me going down on his daughter and had told us both to knock it off until Jenna turned eighteen.

So ... ah shit.

“Jenna,” he said in a calm voice that was more unsettling than if he had yelled. “Put your panties back on right now.”

Jenna stood, grabbed them, and facing sideways to her father and me; she straightened her panties in her hands, then she lifted her right foot and put them through the strings of her leg hole, and then her left foot after her right and then she pulled them up her legs, fitting them into place. Her hips shuffled, and her skirt came up over her thighs, baring the sides of her hips to her father and me, along with a flash of her muff as her skirt flared when she adjusted the crotch against her softness.