I was doing what many fifteen year olds do at 11:30 on a Friday night when they're in the privacy of their own bedroom. I was reading through the letters in Penthouse forum and jerking off. I had my towel next to me all ready to catch the load and was reading about a male real estate agent that was fucking two lesbian clients in a prospective house. It was a very well written piece (though not exactly a believable one) and I was heading for the final push when a loud bang against my window made me jump nearly out of my skin. Instinctively I went into my emergency procedure for masturbatory interruption, pulling the covers over me and stashing the magazine under the towel, which was also under the covers. My dick instantly wilted as I opened my ears to try and figure out what the noise had been.

Something had hit my window. I looked over my shoulder at the window in question. The blinds as well as the curtains were closed of course. Like most teenagers I lived in constant horror of being discovered whipping off. I always made sure the room was sealed and that there was no possible sightline from the outside to the inside before I initiated jacking. So what had hit the window? My room was on the second floor, overlooking the driveway. It was unlikely at best that anyone could be standing outside the window on the small section of roof there. Had someone passing by our dark street thrown something at my window? Why would they do that? Why my window out of all the others on the street?

While I was considering these points and waiting for my adrenaline rush to ease off, something clattered once more, a little louder this time. What in the hell was going on?

I pulled my sweats up and climbed out of bed, careful to conceal the instruments of my self-pleasure beneath the covers once more. I pushed the blind and the curtain aside a little and peered down into our driveway. Light from our porchlight provided scant illumination. I looked just in time to see Theresa, my older brother's girlfriend, who was standing in the driveway, toss a small rock at my window. It struck four inches to the right of my face, making another loud clatter.

What in the hell was she doing? She was dressed smartly, as if for a party. She had on a short red skirt that showed off her attractive legs nicely. Her legs were covered with a pair of black nylons. Her red hair was somewhat in disarray however and her face was showing trepidation. She'd been the star performer in more than one of my masturbation fantasies. I particularly liked to visualize her pussy. Was it covered with red hair like her head? She was hot; and a college student at that. My brother had always had a way with the opposite sex, ever since junior high school. But with Theresa he'd outdone himself. Greg was still in high school; a senior. And let me tell you he was the hero of his peers for having bagged himself not only a college chick, but one that was pretty hot to trot as well.

She saw me looking down at her and seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. I saw that my brother's Trans Am was parked, not in front of the house as it usually was, but between our driveway and the neighbor's driveway. Odd. Theresa began waving frantically at me. After a moment I figured out that she wanted me to come down. Why? Where was Greg? I finally figured that there was only one way to find out.

I threw on a shirt and some shoes and then opened my door. The hall was dark as I walked quietly past my parent's bedroom, where the snores of my father could be heard drifting through the closed door, and went down the stairs. I opened the front door and stepped out into the chilly night. Theresa was waiting for me on the porch. My eyes widened as I got a good look at her.

She had vomit all over her. It stained the front of her skirt and both arms of her sweater. There was even some on her pantyhose. I could smell it. The distinctive odor of barf mixed with a heavy kicker of alcohol. Her face seemed to be well beyond the point of disgust and into unwilling acceptance of her situation.

"What the hell happened?" I asked.

"Thank God you came out." She told me. "I need your help."

"My help?"

She nodded, jerking her thumb in the general direction of my brother's car. "Greg had a little too much to drink at a party tonight." She explained, and then amended. "Actually, a LOT too much to drink. He's been throwing up and he's barely conscious. If your parents find out, they'll kill him. They'll take his car away from him."

"Yep." I said, making no move to help her, a smile forming on my face. "They sure will."

Though Theresa, whom Greg had been dating about four months, always went out of her way to be nice to me, Greg certainly never had. He was self-centered and always scheming. He was, in short, an asshole. He delighted in teasing me in front of his or my friends, calling me a pussy, a faggot, or claiming he caught me jacking off to gay publications. Since we were little kids he'd always blamed me for things that he'd done wrong. And he was such a good liar that my parents usually believed him. It is safe to say that at that particular point in my life I had little love for Greg. I would have gladly seen his car taken away from him, hell, I almost would have enjoyed seeing him marched off to the gas chamber.

Theresa saw this in my face. "Please Mark." She pleaded, casting a soul-melting expression at me. "I know Greg doesn't always treat you nicely but you'd be helping me too. I'm always nice to you aren't I. I've been trying to get him to ease up on you a little."

"You haven't been very effective." I said, my resolve already fading under her beautiful green eyes.

"If you help us," She promised. "I'll let him know that he owes you a big one." She smiled. "You'll even have something to hold over his head, if you know what I mean."

I sighed. "All right." I told her. "I'll help you. Where is he? In the car?"

She nodded, "Thank you so much. You're a sweetheart."

I was glowing warmly under her praise as I followed her to the passenger side of the Trans Am. The glow disappeared in an instant however when she opened the door. The odor that I'd noticed clinging to Theresa came rushing out at me, hitting me like a nerve gas and making me gag and almost puke myself. My brother was curled up in a ball in the passenger seat, still wearing the stylish clothes that he'd left the house in five hours earlier. Vomit was everywhere in there. It was caked on the seat covers, puddled on the floormat and in the compartment between the two seats. It was all over his clothes. Some of it was even in his hair.

"Jesus that's gross." I complained to Theresa. "How did you sit in this car with that?"

She gave me a cynical smile. "You get used to it." She told me. "It's what I get for going for younger guys I guess. Come on, let's get him out of there."

"Can he walk?" I asked, envisioning the two of us trying to carry him silently up the flight of stairs, past our parent's bedroom. That would be hard enough, if not impossible. But it would be completely out of the question getting him up the ladder that led to the attic. Greg, several years before, had gotten permission to convert our attic into his bedroom. The motherfucker had done a good job too. He had a bathroom up there with a shower, his own phone line, a TV, even a small refrigerator. My Dad had paid for much of these improvements as long as Greg did the work. I couldn't wait until he moved his ass out of the house so I could take over the room.

"I hope so." Theresa answered. "He was able to walk to the car, though we had to stop to let him barf once."

"Great." I said, leaning into the car while I commenced breathing through my mouth.

As soon as I grabbed his arm I regretted it. My hands contacted a patch of vomit. Wincing with disgust I began tugging, trying to pull him into an upright position.

"Greg, come on." Theresa chided, leaning in and grabbing the other arm. As she leaned forward I felt her nylon-covered leg pushing against mine. Even through the disgusting circumstances we were dealing with, I liked the way it felt. I liked it even more when she leaned further past me to strengthen her grip and the weight of her breasts pushed against my forearm.

We tugged and called his name and finally he achieved a state of semi- catatonia that allowed him to follow simple commands. We had him stand up but he was unable to maintain his balance and we each had to grab him around the shoulders. Vomit was now staining my arms and my clothes. The smell made the air seem thicker around us.

We walked him into the house without much incident and navigated him up the stairs. Here there was a little difficulty as his legs refused to negotiate the steps in a smooth manner. To make things worse he started giggling at something and trying to embrace Theresa.

"Greg!" She hissed.

"Wha... Baby?" He said loudly, much too loudly.

"Greg, shut the fuck up!" I whispered in his ear. "If you wake up Mom and Dad it's gonna be your ass. Now walk!"

"Shheeeeit!" He scoffed, belching a wet burp. Thankfully though, he took my message to heart and remained silent.

We crept by my parent's room, hearing the heartening sound of my Dad's continued snores from inside. It wasn't my Dad I was worried about however. A nuclear blast wouldn't wake him up. My Mom, however, was a frightfully light sleeper. We made it past and around the corner to the fold-up ladder that led to Greg's attic room.

Using the pole that always sat there, I disengaged the ladder and let it slide to the floor. Though I never remembered it squeaking before it suddenly let out a squeal that sounded like someone slaughtering a pig to my ears. I winced, waiting for my parent's bedroom door to burst open. It didn't happen.

"How are we going to get him up there?" Theresa asked me.

"He's gonna have to climb himself or were not gonna be able to." I told her.

"I'll climb up first to help him in." She said. "You stay down here and help him onto the ladder."

"Right." I answered, taking over the duty of holding him up as she mounted the ladder.

As she climbed upward I couldn't help but stare right up her skirt. My eyes were riveted there. Her beautiful legs tapered upward to the junction of her crotch, which was covered by the panty portion of her pantyhose. I didn't see any actual flesh but it was still quite an exciting view and my dick stiffened a little in my sweats. She reached the top and pulled herself inside. She seemed to have no idea of what she'd just shown me.

"Send him up." Theresa said, peering down at me now.

I nodded and then shook Greg back awake. "Greg, you need to climb up to your room."

"Huh?" He said, only half awake, his head lolling loosely on his neck.

I physically put his hands on the ladder. "Climb Goddamit!" I barked at him, kicking one of his feet onto the bottom rung.

He seemed to get the idea. He started up but was far from coordinated enough to manage on his own. I held onto his waist, steadying him as he went upward at the rate of about one step every thirty seconds. Finally, after an eternity, he was far enough up so that Theresa could grab his armpits and pull him the rest of the way up. She tugged and his legs disappeared through the trap door. There was then a thump from above me and a muted obscenity from Theresa.

I climbed quickly up and found my once-again-unconscious brother lying atop her. Her legs were spread wide, once again giving me a view between them. Before I could admire this for any length of time, she croaked, "Get him the fuck off of me!"

I grabbed him and rolled him off, allowing her to crawl out from underneath. She now had twice as much vomit on her as she had before. She looked at herself with disgust, shaking her head sadly.

"What should we do with him now?" I asked. "Put him in bed?"

Fate answered the question for us. He began to hitch and hiccup uncontrollably, the unmistakable harbinger of vomit to come.

"Shit." Theresa said. "The bathroom, quick!"

We rolled him over to his stomach and grabbed him under the arms. Bodily we dragged him across the floor and into the bathroom where we planted his face in the toilet bowl just in the nick of time. He began spewing gobs of fresh alcohol scented vomit. It went on for nearly five minutes before he stopped and passed out once more, this time with his head still in the toilet bowl.

Theresa and I looked at each other and then back at him. "What now?" I asked.

She shrugged. "I say we leave him there. He's probably not done barfing yet and that's the most convenient place for him to be."

I nodded at her wisdom. "Good point." I told her.

She smiled at me warmly. Strangely enough we felt very close to each other at that particular moment. The task we'd just completed had instilled a sense of camaraderie between us.

"Thanks for helping." She told me. "I couldn't have done it without you."

"No problem." I replied. "But he owes me big for this one."

She nodded and said. "Now I just need to figure out how I'm going to get home tonight."

"Why don't you just stay here?" I suggested. "Sneak out in the morning when he's sober enough to drive you home?"

"Are you kidding? My Dad would kill me if I stayed out all night. He already doesn't like Greg as it is."

I was confused. "But you're nineteen. Your Dad still tells you when to come home?"

She shook her head sadly. "Let me tell something Mark. Being nineteen don't mean shit when you still live at home. I had more freedom when I was sixteen."

"Wow." I said. That was a totally alien concept to me.

She thought for a moment. "Do you know how to drive?"

"What?"

"Drive." She said, miming the operation of a steering wheel. "I know you're only fifteen, but do you physically know how to drive a car? Tell me if you don't."

"I have my learner's permit." I told her, not seeing where this was heading.

"How about this," She suggested. "You let me drive you to my house in his car and then you drive his car back here. It's not that far and it should be safe if you're careful."

"Whoa, hold on." I protested. "I could get into a lot of trouble if I get caught doing that."

"Really?" She said, smiling. "How much trouble? Suppose you get pulled over by the cops. What would happen? You don't have a license so they can't take it away from you. They'd bring you home and tell your parents, at which point you would confess the whole story to them. Who would be the one to get reamed? You, or Greg?"

I thought about this for a moment. It would be Greg of course that would take the brunt of my parent's anger. After all, I was the younger child, easily corrupted. Greg would be seen as the catalyst to the whole thing. Besides, my old man was a cop. He would understand about trying to cover up a wrongdoing. He would probably even respect my actions.

"Okay." I finally said. "I'll do it."

"Great." She said. She then took a good look at herself. "But I can't go home like this. I need to wash these clothes and take a shower first."

"Yeah," I agreed. "I know the feeling."

"Can you run these through the washer real quick and then dry them without your parents waking up?"

Our washing machine was in the garage and could not be heard from inside the house. "Sure." I told her.

She nodded, standing up. "No time to lose." She headed for the bathroom, closing the door behind her. A few minutes later she emerged once more, wrapped in a white towel. She had the pile of laundry in her hands. She explained the basic instructions on how the clothes were to be washed to me but most of it went in one ear and out the other I was so transfixed at the sight of her standing there in a towel. Her skin was absolutely perfect. I could see her bare shoulders and the tops of her breasts. I could see her bare legs from the upper thigh downward. I really envied my brother at that moment. How many times had he fucked her?

"You got it?" She said, handing over the pile.

"Yeah." I said.

"Good, I'm gonna go hop in the shower. Your parents won't hear it will they?"

I shook my head, noticing that she had a freckle on her upper left thigh. I wanted to kiss it. "They might hear the water running through the pipes but they won't think anything of it. I need to take a shower too though. And they will hear if I do it downstairs. Leave the water running when you're done so they don't hear it stop and start again."

"Okay." She said, turning and heading to the bathroom once again.

I carried her laundry down the ladder and crept silently downstairs, easing through the house to the garage. I flipped on the light, cursing as I saw that the washing machine was already full of wet clothes that my mother had laundered before going to bed. I pulled them out and started to stuff Theresa's clothes in their place. I stopped as I came to her pantyhose.

The legs were heavily stained with vomit but the upper part wasn't. I folded the crotch outward and looked at it. There was a small stain of crusty white right where her slit would have been. Dried pussy juice. I saw a few stray hairs sticking in it. They were red I saw and very curly. I brought the crotch to my nose and took a sniff. The odor was much stronger than I'd expected, it was nearly overpowering at that range. It wasn't sweet at all but the stench of sweat tinged with urine and a faint underlying scent of pussy secretions. It smelled like a woman.