Chapter 4: Thirteen Years Old

Pretty and precocious, Maryon found the following year's Christmas due to be dull and unhappy.

It was not because of anything she'd done, or because of her increasingly sex-fantasied life's real-world disappointment, though sometimes in the secret nights of her 'soul' she would wonder whether it might be some 'judgment' on her that things had gotten so screwed up. Did her frantic, often frenzied fingerings of herself in the dark hours somehow radiate a sort of mood or aura out from her, that affected the others in the house? She didn't seriously think so, of course. Still, it was queer, the way it had all happened so suddenly...

First, quite early in the year, suspicious Lois had at last braced herself to personally check on some of Burt's overtime activities, and had found him quite truthfully making time--with his office typist, in the back seat of a floor-model '64 sedan, demonstrating the exquisite ease of his personal synchromesh system, though not without a considerable amount of double- clutching, and in the process flooding the girl's own carburetor, though using a steady-enough stroke. The appearance of Lois' furious face at the window effectively cut his ignition, however, though the unseeing underlying girl's motor continued to turn over for several seconds.

The result of this discovery was to send Lois to a lawyer, seeking divorce, with her trump card the fact that, should she tell Burt's boss of his demonstration techniques her future ex would find himself fired from a lucrative job. But, of course, the better the job he had, the better the alimony prospects, so it was a stand-off of sorts. However, the couple had separated with Michael, preparing for college, ostensibly staying with his father, though he had a pad of his own, and Maryon left with her mother. Lois, taking the whole thing badly, had herself started an affair with a sympathetic, bar-met male by the name of Jim Harris.

Though Jim was a pretty easy-going man in His middle thirties, not bad looking, and with a good job in an Insurance office, the stretched-nerved Lois was often quarreling with him, usually about nothing of importance, and threatening to break up the affair.

And on this second Sunday before Christmas it had happened that way again. Jim had promised to drop by and take both his girls out for a drive but, earlier, over the phone, Lois had got mad at something she imagined he'd said or implied and hung up on him, telling him she'd call him... when she was good and ready. Maryon cringed at the thought of spending a day with her mother when the latter was in one of her moods, and said she'd go and visit Karen. Lois said that was just fine. Because she was going out to spend the day with one of her old girlfriends herself--to cry over several mixers of martinis, Maryon secretly supposed. But Karen hadn't been in, and so, for the sake of peace and quiet, she'd pretended a conversation over the phone with her friend in which it was 'arranged' that she'd go over there in a little while.

Satisfied that 'her little girl' would be all right, Lois had left and Maryon, thankful for a whole full day on her own, prepared to relax and enjoy herself, remembering vaguely at the back of her mind that other day just before Christmas, three years ago!

After listening for a while on her record-player to a new group called the Beatles, she began to get restless and bored. Suddenly she realized that this would be a good time to see what she would look like, 'grown-up'. The house was hers for the day, and if there were visitors or phone calls she just wouldn't answer. Making sure that the back and front doors were securely locked, she turned off the record-player in her room and, feeling excited, slipped out of her 'round-home' dress, her bra and her panties, grabbing up a robe, just in case, as she went along the corridor to her mother's room.

As was usual lately, Lois' clothes were strewn everywhere about the place, as though the imminent lifting of the bonds of matrimony had also freed her from the restrictions of neatness, appearances, and other lower-middle-class importances. Dropping her own robe as carelessly to the floor, Maryon switched on the special light above the full-length mirror of the dressing table and admired the way in which her body had filled out lately. Her breasts were full and ripe and lush, as big, at least, as Sylvia's had been last year. And she was only thirteen yet! Her waist was as narrow as ever but her hips had a new and more subtle roundness to them, with lean bones quickly becoming submerged into fair and creamy hills. The hummock at her crotch stuck out boldly, firm to her fingers as she parted the bright gold curls of pubic hair to let it be seen by her in the starkly illuminating mirror. Posing coltishly the while, shifting from one leg to the other, raising a knee to show off to herself the excellent, fashionably slender length of her legs, thrusting her pink-tipped, well-separated and high-hanging breasts out toward her mirror-image as if she hoped that other might reach out and fondle them, Maryon shook her long blonde hair free from its hasty knot and, reaching for a rubber band, put it into a ponytail. Caught by some memory of a Roman siren, seen on the TV, she sought around until she found a length of thin white cord and with it bound the hair nearest her scalp into a seven-inch-long whip stock from which the rest of her shining silk flaunted yellowly down in a true tail that flicked her well-pronounced milky mounds of ass each time she shook her head.

For a while she disported herself by lashing at herself with her hair, thrilling as it slid quickly across her breasts when she leaned back, and drew exhileratingly up between her thighs when she bent forward then slowly straightened her body. But this was wasting time, however secretly delightful it was. Deftly running through the heaps of scattered clothes, remembering to remember more or less where everything was so that she could obliterate any traces of her clandestine visit, the nude nymph shortly had gathered what she wanted for the moment. Lois didn't allow her to wear much else but the school uniform and what Maryon considered to be 'kid's clothes'--jeans, shorts, sweaters, simple, discreet frocks and skirts and blouses. Why, she suddenly realized, looking at her collected booty, she'd never worn stockings in her life!

Lois and Maryon were now of a size, though it was obvious that the girl would shortly out-top and -bust and -hip her mother, so there was little fear of her repeating the comic (as she now remembered it) masquerade of that other time-before-Christmas.

Stockings being paramount on her mind, she pulled a pair of dark-toned nylons on first, standing in front of the mirror while she smoothed the cool, electric stuff up over her legs, carefully matching the darker rings of their tops against each other as they all but bracketed her gold-coiled cunt, riding high on her thighs. Next, a garter-belt--a brief black net nylon thing was conveniently to hand and, wriggling her hips so that her full breasts bounced loosely and independently upon her, she got the thing about her waist and, impatiently, fingered its clasps so that when she stood up straight again and looked in the glass at herself the dark stocking-tops formed perfect crescents in the center of her satiny thighs and, at the back, fitted comfortably up under the slight curved overhang of her cheeks, the straps framing most sexily (she thought) the cleverly concealed cleft at the front and the boisterous, saucy billow-walled separation at the back.

A pair of bright blue high-heeled shoes next caught her fancy and, as soon as she stepped into them she realized why women often preferred to wear them. The heels threw her body forward so that she felt a delicious tenseness along the fronts of her thighs and down the length of her stomach. In the mirror she could see how her breasts and butt were given extra prominence by this new posture and, when she began awkwardly to walk about, her hips rolled and her whole pelvic structure seemed to be floating in thick oil, constantly pushing her quim out and up so that she could feel the pleasurable tremors begin to work back into her from its pretty prancing. Eagerly now she stepped the into shoes' matching dress, shivering with delight as the bright blue nylon slithered up over her stockinged legs. Not wanting to bother for the moment with panties and bra, content to view the outward took, she thrust her arms into the sleeveless armholes, settled her breasts comfortably into the twin scoops of material that bracketed the low V-neckline, fitted the high, embroidered-banded waistline against her slim rib-cage, and with difficulty zipped up the back of the thing to where its top, in a lower-cut V, notched halfway down her spine. The dress was a trifle tight about bust and hips, but that only added to the delectable image she presented to herself in the mirror. The skirt was very full and, when at rest, just covered her knees... but when she twirled her hips the bright-blue stuff shirred and flayed high about her thighs.

For a few minutes she amused herself by running her hands slowly, tenderly up her legs, watching in the mirror as the dress rose higher until at last it formed a bright blue curtain draped enticingly each side of her yellow-curled cunt, and she parted her labial lips with the forefinger of each hand, letting her thumbs play with her clitoris until she could see her nipples harden through the nylon and feet the desire to becream herself flush and excite her craving cavity. But she stopped herself from loosing her load too soon, wanting to prolong the shivery ecstasy until the last possible moment. She let the dress drop to her knees and began to caress her whole body through the thin nylon, her eyes half-closed as she imagined other hands touching her here, there, sliding, stroking, kneading. And all the while she moved herself beneath the material so that its electrifying contact would upbrush the fine hairs on her body and sustain the sweet tingling that imbued her. She slid her hand into the neck of the dress, fondling one sensitive breast, wandering what it was like to have another perform on her, thus, and thus and thus! while she just relaxed and enjoyed the sensation...

When she was about ready to explode another sound suddenly overlapped her heavy breathing. The door-buzzer! Someone was out there! Who? Not her mother, for Lois had a key.

Careful not to make a noise, thrilling anew at the touch of the dress on her bare skin, feeling especially excited at the knowledge she wore nothing under it, making sure she wouldn't trip in the high heels, Maryon crept down the passage, through the living room, and across to the front door. Through the peephole she saw the magnified image of... Jim! What could he want? He wasn't supposed to be here? Caution flung to the winds, keyed up and already excited, Maryon opened the door a crack and stuck her head around it, her long, fancy blonde ponytail dangling.

"Jim? Mother's out for the day. She's mad at you. What are you doing here?"

It was evident, even to her, that he'd hit a few bars on his way over, for his face was flushed and His eyes mindfully solemn. With a nod he indicated the two packages he carried. "Came to make up. Brought some presents, too. Got something for you... ain't you going' to let a man in?"

A present for her!? Well, why not let him in. Lois would get over her mood, eventually. And Jim paid so little attention to Maryon, that he wouldn't now concern himself about her dress. She'd get him out of here in a hurry, anyway, once she'd found out what the present was. She pulled the door open and waited till he'd entered before closing and locking it again. She really didn't know why she was being so careful...

Jim put the three packages carefully down on the low coffee table and let himself fall, phhheeewww! to the couch, putting his arms along the back. "Gee, little girl," he said, not yet looking at her, "that's a mean weight to carry about. Your Mom's not home, you say? When'll she be back?"

"Oh, not for hours, I expect. She's gone to see one of her friends..."

"A boyfriend!?"

"No... ! One of the ladies she went to school with, or something."

"Oh. Say, Maryon Alysun, are you all dressed up to go riding with us today? Aw, that's a pity. But it ain't really my fault, y'know. And you took so pretty like that, come to think of it, don't ever remember seeing you wear a dress like that, and those shoes! Why, you look all grown up."

"Oh, thank you, sir," said Maryon, making a mock curtsey, aware of the length of leg she exposed as she raised the hem of the bright-blue dress and bent her knee.

"No, I mean it, kid! You really look grown up. Say, how old are you again? Thirteen? Wow, when I was your age little girls didn't look like you, kid. You know your mother when she's in one of her spats, though. Don't understand her sometimes. And she doesn't seem to understand me! But you wouldn't know about that. Jeeze, but I could do with a drink. She's out and won't be back till late, you say? Well, tell you what, I've, got a gallon of Chablis here--not great stuff, local but okay for a picnic, which is why I brought it. Since we're not going on a picnic, I might as well break into it, huh? Can you get me a glass, girlie? Old Jim ain't got much class, but he hasn't gotten to where he drinks out of the bottle, yet. Oh, and say, get a small glass for yourself, Maryon. We'll celebrate my solitude, a slug won't hurt you."

Acutely conscious of her over-swaying slender hips, bare under the nylon, Maryon sauntered into the kitchen, found a couple of glasses, and returned, wishing the while that he'd hurry up and get out of here, after he'd left his present! so that she could further investigate the mysteries of her mother's roomful of clothes. Now she put the glasses on the table and, watching as he expertly poured, sat down on a red leatherette hassock across from him, careful to bend her tight-closed legs away from him and pull the edge of the dress down over her knees, lest he see beneath it to her nude little nubbin.

"Now, sip that carefully, don't want your mother to get mad at me all over again 'cause I got you drinking," said Jim, taking a healthy swig from his own larger glass. Maryon felt a warm glow go through her as she drank. The wine tasted a little bitter but as her mouth and throat and chest warmed to it she could understand why grownups would like it.

"Mmmhhh, that's good," she said, looking at him out of her big blue eyes, screwing up her nose and shaking her long ponytail. "Uh, Jim, what present did you get me?"

He was already pouring his second glass and waited until he'd taken another drink before he indicated one of the two parcels, the flat, smaller, square one. "Bet you can't guess what it is?"

Maryon took another drink of wine, a bit more, this time. It was beginning to taste good, and nothing seemed to be happening to her. "Can I touch it?" she asked.

"Sure, sure," he said expansively. "Hey, come sit on my knee, and then you can open it. But you should guess, first. Bet you don't get it, first time off. Hey, mind my glass!"

Wondering what it could be, Maryon hastily had finished off her drink, picked up the package, which seemed light, and sat herself uncaring down on his knee so that she almost spilled the glass in his hand. Leaning around her he refilled both glasses and leaned back to watch her as she puzzled. "Hey, what'll you bet?" he asked, putting a hand on her shoulder.

"Oh, I don't know..." she said, reaching for her glass and weighing the gift in her other hand. "Uh... if I win, you get to buy me another something like whatever this is; if I don't guess, I'll give you a big kiss. And you get a kiss for this present anyway."

"Oh, yeah, just like all you girls," he said, laughing a bit ruefully. "Doesn't cost you anything, but I'll have to fork out if I lose. Well, okay. Can you guess?"

"Oh, don't rush me," she said, jiggling on his knee, feeling his bones through the thin dress against her rump. She moves a bit closer to him up his thigh and wriggled back until she sat on both His legs. His arm went about her waist to hold her There was a moment's silence as they both drank. "Oh, I give up," she said, and began to fumble at the wrappings.

"The bet first," he said, and pulled her toward him. She turned her face up and kissed him full on the lips as they came together, having meant only to dab him on the cheek. But even though she was intent at the moment on getting into the package, she couldn't help giving him a responsive open-mouthed kiss as his warm hand came up around her shoulder in what had probably started off being a friendly hug. And then she pulled from him and ripped into the fancy covering paper. It was a record, an album, The Sound of Music! She'd wanted to get it but her allowance wouldn't allow it. Tucking it under one arm, she threw her other about his neck and wildly kissed him, full on the mouth again pleased that he'd thought specially of her, and driven by the wine to extravagant gesture. "Oh, think you, Jim," she said, looking at him with shining eyes. "Can I play it now?" And with a fine disregard to the high-riding of her bright blue skirt up her stockinged legs, she slipped down from him and ran into her own room, where she impatiently set the record on the player and waited for it to start.

When, floating with the music, she returned to the living room, she found her glass once again full and Jim lying back against the couch grasping his own.

Feeling light-headed, grown-up and happy, Maryon danced around the room, arms outstretched, pausing only now and again for a gulp of the heady wine, careless of the way the high-waisted dress swirled out from the stems of her legs, letting the music decide her movements for her. When, out of breath, she paused, the skirt settling down over her dark-stockinged legs, she was surprised to see that the gallon bottle had been reduced by over a third. Jim, with a peculiar smile on his face, eyed her through half-closed lids. "I've never seen your mother move about like that," he said, his voice comfortable and blurred. "That's a piece o'real 'ntertainment. Y'deserve a li'l som'p'm fr y'r time. Screw Lois, always standin' a man up. Here, kid, take this instead o'... instead o' her. Try it on, lemme see if it fits though, huh? At least a man deserves that, don't he?"