Chapters : 1 | 2 | 3 | 4
I'm a pervert. It's just that simple.
Except that it isn't simple at all. The definition
is simple, but I have come to learn that just about all forms of human
interaction are complicated, no matter how easily someone puts labels
So how did I become a pervert?
Well, I suppose it's because I enjoy looking at a beautiful woman, and
imagining that I'm making love to her. I fantasize about how
happy she is that I'm doing that, and that she's telling me never to
But wait. All men do that. So that's not perverted.
Okay, so I suppose it has to do with the fact that, one day, I noticed
one of my daughter's friends was really cute, and her smile made me
have this ache inside. Her name was Sally, or something like
that. Amber, my daughter, is one of those girls who has more
friends than a man can keep track of, and they come and go like the ebb
and flow of the tides.
Actually, that's a pretty good analogy, come to think of it.
Pretty girls, with bright smiles, and teasing glances ... girls who are
fresh and unjaded by repeatedly having their hearts broken ... girls
whose bodies are right at the perfect place to do their genetic part in
replenishing the species ... those girls are as beautiful to watch as
the waves, crashing onto the beach.
And those girls have the same kind of force that waves have. They
can throw a man off his feet, and carry him away, tumbling head over
heels, unable to think, until he finally struggles to his feet with a
shit-eating grin on his face. He thinks "Fuck that was fun!" and
then hopes it can happen again. Being around those girls
can do that same thing to a man ... just turn his world upside down.
Of course there are people who hate sex, or seem to think they have the
right to determine when, where and with whom one is allowed to further
the species. I don't understand them. But somehow they have
made all these rules, and come up with the definition of what a pervert
Like wanting to make love with a fifteen year old girl. They say
that's perverted. It doesn't matter if she wants to make love
too. They all say she isn't old enough to make that decision.
Of course that's because they're afraid some asshole will come along and use her and dump her and ruin her psyche.
Which, by the way, is my definition of a pervert ... no matter how old the woman is.
But that's not the accepted definition, so I'm stuck with the fact
that, by definition, I'm a pervert. I suppose, in mathematical
terms, I'm a pervert squared.
Maybe I should just tell you what happened, instead of beating myself
up for something that I believe Mother Nature actually meant most men
I didn't know it at the time, but it all started with a slumber party
Amber told me she was having. I know that might sound a bit
off to someone, a teenager telling her father what she was going to do,
rather than asking if she could do it, but our situation was different
than most. My wife was gone, you see, and Amber had, since she
was eight, been the woman of the house. More or less.
I'm not telling this story well. It's all jumbled up. But
that's just because my own mind is all jumbled up. Let me start
over and see if I can do it chronologically. Maybe it will make
Heather and I met when I was in my last year at West Point. I was
all gung ho about being in the Army and we worked hard and played
hard. Heather was finishing up her bachelor’s in education,
and she had a part time job at this local eatery called Boss Hogg's, a
barbeque joint that had it figured out. Their slogan was
"Terrifying vegetarians since 1965." She was a babe, and she had
this way of flirting, but only with her eyes. It drove me crazy.
Anyway, I invited her to my graduation, and was astonished when she
agreed. We went out that night and she was as proper as the day
is long. Nothing happened. Well, nothing except good
conversation. She was a farm girl from Kansas, and she was one of
those "good girls" you hear so much about from people with silver
hair. All I got was a kiss on the cheek when I took her
home and, to be honest, I thought that was it.
But then, the next time I was destroying a rack of ribs at Boss Hogg's,
she asked me if I wanted to go to her graduation. I did, and
afterwards she said she wanted to go home and change out of her cap and
gown before we went out. So I went with her and she left the door
open when she went in, so I went in too, and was standing around
looking at the way she decorated when she walked out of her room ...
Heather had long, blue-black hair, and she had, after leaving Kansas,
stayed out of the sun, so her skin was milky white. Her nipples
were darker than the rest of her skin, but so pale they were hard to
see. She apparently didn't go in for skimpy bikinis, because it
looked like she was all original down there.
"Have you ever wanted to fuck a teacher?" she asked.
Well, I was lost. It was like she owned me. I asked her to
marry me, and she complained that she'd been waiting for me to ask her
for over a year. It was like that. She never told me she
wasn't on the pill. When I finally got around to having that
conversation with her, she was already pregnant, and said "I always
knew you'd be the one to father my babies."
The wedding was perfect. I had the whole arch of swords thing
going on, with all my classmates there. My best man slapped her
on the ass with his saber. I got orders for my first assignment,
which was Fort Leonard Wood, and she networked through the placement
office and had a sixth grade teacher's job all lined up in someplace
Everything was perfect. I was going to be a father soon, and a general sometime later.
Then, exactly one week after reporting for duty at my first permanent
party assignment, I was heading into the company HQ building for a
meeting and had to pass by a scaffold a contractor had put up to do
some kind of work. A bolt snapped and the whole thing
swayed. The guy who was standing on top of it yelped, and I
reached to steady things. It turned out to be more than I
expected, and I felt something tear. The whole thing went down,
and me with it.
And just like that, I was unfit for military service, and was medically retired with a 30% disability.
Well ... I say "just like that." Actually, it took over a year.
But Heather had a good job, and they need engineers everywhere, even in
the Ozarks, so I thought everything would work out. What the Army
calls 30% disability doesn't mean you can't do a regular job. It
just means you can't be in the Army.
In the meantime, Heather had delivered me the cutest little girl I'd
ever laid eyes on. Amber was the light of our lives. She
was smart, even as a baby. And she was trouble ... even as a baby.
I kept in touch with a few of the guys from West Point. One of
them was Americus Tybernium Brown, who was the first person in his
family line to go to college, though not the first to serve his
country. Americus, or "Merry" as all the cadets called him, was
the descendent of freed slaves. His great-great grandfather had
fought in the Union Army, and various other men in his line had been in
the Mexican American war, and both world wars, Korea and Vietnam.
His mother wanted him to have a memorable name, because she knew he was
going to do great things.
Merry did two tours in Iraq without getting injured, and then, within
72 hours of getting back in the United States, he and his wife were
both killed when they took a wrong turn and drove between a shootout
between two gangs of drug dealers.
I found out when a lawyer called me and told me we were named in
Merry's will as Godparents and guardians for his three-year-old
So, suddenly, Amber had a brother who looked completely different than
any of the rest of us. He was as black as coal, not the cocoa
brown that most African Americans are these days. His hair had
that tight, impossible to comb kink in it. He was like a lost
puppy, and we all fell in love with him instantly. His father had
resisted doing the same thing his mother had done, simply naming him
Robert Alexander. Robert after me, and Alex after Alexander Hockenstone,
the third musketeer in our class at the point. His parents had called him Alex, so we did too.
This is where it begins to get complicated. Amber was two, and
Alex was three, and neither of them had any clue as to what had
happened in their lives. Alex knew something was wrong, because
he asked for his mom and dad for almost six months before that began to
fade away. Amber was fascinated with him, and followed him
everywhere he went. She was like his shadow, though it was a very
pale shadow. Eventually they thought they were brother and
sister. He asked a couple of times why he was different than the
rest of us, but I told him I'd explain it when he was twelve. I
picked that age out of a metaphorical hat, but events intervened and he
learned the truth long before that.
That's because Heather got sick. It was some kind of cancer of
the blood, and by the time they found a marrow donor it was too
late. Amber was eight and Alex nine when we buried her.
They were definitely old enough to understand then.
A loss like that can make you mentally ill. I'm sure it happens
in varying intensities, and that not everyone falls down the rabbit
hole I did, but I'd bet that in every case like that, there is a time
when you're certifiable. And, to be honest, when I got up one day
and discovered Alex and Amber asleep in her bed, arms wrapped around
each other, I understood exactly. I understood the need for
someone to hug, and cry with, and I was glad they had each other,
because I didn't have anybody. I would not wish that on my worst
enemy. If I hated someone that much, I'd just shoot him and be
done with it.
I'll tell you how sick I was. I was given a leave of absence from
my job, and just never went back. I knew my clothes had been
washed, but not how it had happened. I knew food appeared on the
table, but not who shopped for it, or prepared it. I saw the kids
come and go and I know I spoke to them, but I have no recollection of what was said.
Anyway, I think it was because I was in my own hurt locker that I
didn't parent much, if at all. By the time I did get my head
working again, six months had gone by and Amber had already taken over
as the woman of the house.
And she and Alex were still sleeping in the same bed. Sometimes
it was in hers, and sometimes it was in his, but I finally paid enough attention
to realize that, even though they were only kids, it probably wasn't
healthy for them to sleep together like that. Especially since,
somehow, they had gotten out of the habit of wearing pajamas.
What that means is that they slept in the nude.
And that is the point at which the first traces of my pervertedness showed up.
Others might blame this on my mental illness, which went untreated
until I just woke up one day and realized I'd missed six months of my
life. I don't. My kids were both stronger than I was, and
they kept things going. Both of them knew how to use a credit
card and they did the grocery shopping. Alex figured out how to set up
the online bill-pay option in our bank account. Amber later told
me that they knew I'd get better one day, and they were afraid that if
they called somebody, they'd get taken away by social services.
So they just did what they had to to go on living.
Anyway, back to my pervertedness. As I said, I woke up one day,
and it was like I had been asleep like Rip Van Winkle or
something. I realized a lot of time had gone by, but
couldn’t remember much of it. So I went looking for the
kids and found them in Alex's bed. They were asleep, hugging each
other. The contrast between her pale pinkness and his blackness
was startling. So I pulled the covers down. I swear it was
only to see more of that contrast, and not for any prurient
purposes. That's when I realized they were naked.
I wondered if they'd had sex. It just popped into my mind.
Then I paid attention to what had just popped into my mind, and it
freaked me completely out. I mean they weren't even ten
yet! Alex woke up and opened bleary eyes.
"What?" he asked. "Did the alarm not go off? Are we late to school?"
It was a school day. I didn't even know that.
Anyway, Amber woke up and they got up, like everything was completely
normal (which I guess it was) and there was my daughter naked, and my
maleness perked up and I suddenly knew I was a pervert.
I didn't do anything about it, of course ... act on the sudden interest
I took in her body, I mean. She was only eight, for Pete's sake.
But I remembered it, and it affected me. For example, I did tell
them they had to sleep in their own beds again. They wanted to
know why, and they argued, but I had finally rejoined the living,
started being a parent again.
Thank goodness the kids were smarter than I was. They'd done fine
in school while I was ... away ... and they seemed like perfectly
normal kids. Instead of trying to get my job back, I decided to
do some consulting. I was still a little gimpy, emotionally, and
consulting let me work on my own schedule.
It was at this point that they came into my bedroom one night, Alex in
the lead, and Amber following him, like happened so often.
"My parents are dead ... aren't they," he said. His face was solemn.
I nodded. Then I started crying.
I will always be thankful that my kids were so strong. They sat
with me until I could talk and then I explained what had happened to
his parents. There were pictures, in a box in the top of
the closet, and I gave them to him. Amber sat next to him, with
her arm around him as he learned all this. We ended up in a group
hug that lasted quite a while, and then he said "Thanks, Dad," and they
And life went on and I got better and better. The kids continued
to do well too. I was so proud of them. Amber got
interested in cheerleading, and Alex was in any play or musical they'd
give him a role in. All in all, we tried to live a normal life.
But the pervert in me loved watching Amber mature. She
entered adolescence with a vengeance, and her body blossomed. She
began to look more and more like her mother, which brought both pain
and exhilaration that was almost impossible to separate.
I had missed one each of their birthdays while I was sick. They
had just dealt with it. And the next couple were simple family
affairs, where we all went out to do whatever the birthday boy or girl
wanted to do. It was when Alex turned thirteen that I insisted on
a big party. He was entering his teens! He was becoming a
So we had a big blowout party and it was great.
Of course, the next year we did the same thing for Amber.
And it was at Amber's party, that I found an outlet for my perversion.
Both kids were popular in school, though I was clueless of that fact
for a few years. It was when a gaggle of absolutely
delicious looking teenage girls all stampeded into our house for
Amber's birthday party, that I learned this. They were like young
horses, frolicking in a meadow. Long, lean limbs, swelling
bosoms, slightly rounded hips, and a carefree attitude about
Thirteen-year-old girls are capable of outrageous flirting. They
can convince a man they are capable of doing ... and want to do ...
things society would normally reserve for an eighteen-year-old.
Like fuck a man blind.
This is not to say any of those girls came up to me and said "I'd just
love to fuck you blind, Mr. Carpenter." Nothing of the
sort. But their eyes said things, and the way they held their
bodies said things, and the way they touched me on the arm said
things. Of course a psychologist (or judge, for that matter)
would say I was "seeing" things that weren't really there. That's
what they say about perverts. They say things like "She didn't
really want you to suck her tender, pink nipples. She's not old enough to be able to form that kind of knowing intent!"
And of course I didn't do anything even remotely like that at that birthday party.
No, that came much later.
But let me explain, because I honestly think the psychologists (and
judges) are just flat wrong about what kind of intent a young woman can
As I said, I didn't do anything perverted at my daughter's birthday party.
Well, except fantasize a little.
But some of those healthy, energetic, sexy girls started coming back to
the house on a more or less regular basis. They came to do
homework together, and to form groups to go to the mall together, and
to have sleepovers, and to use the pool and the hot tub and the
sauna. And as I saw more and more of them, I got to know them
better, and they got to know me better, and they got comfortable being
... I don't know ... relaxed, maybe? By that, I mean relaxed,
socially, around an adult male.
What that means is that, during their frequent visits, over the next
year or so, if it was a sleepover, they didn't seem to mind if I saw
them in pretty revealing PJs. They also didn't seem to be averse
to plopping down beside me on the couch to watch a movie in those
PJs. And they eventually adopted the habit of kissing me good
night just like Amber did.
And if they came over to swim, they changed in Amber's room, but after
being in the pool they'd shower the chlorine off in whatever bathroom
was free and then just wrap a towel around themselves to get back to
Amber's room. Same thing with the hot tub and sauna.
Suffice it to say I saw a lot of thirteen and fourteen-year-old leg and even a little ass now and then.
It's a well known fact - maybe less known if you aren't a pervert
yourself - that girls like to explore and push the sexual envelope as
they work their way through puberty. This is not to say they're
sluts. I'm not saying that at all. It's just that they're
curious about things sexual. Boys are too. That's why boys
try things with girls. And the reason girls resist the boys is
because they are well aware there can be undesirable consequences when
you let a boy get away with too much.
I'm not talking about pregnancy here. Statistics alone will show
that girls don't think nearly as much about pregnancy as they
should. What I'm talking about is more complicated, and involves
adolescent politics. What I mean is that girls know that boys
blab, and a boy can really fuck up your reputation if you let him get
into your panties and he blabs about it. That is the primary
motivator for girls to resist the attentions of boys between the ages
of, say, twelve and about sixteen. Once they hit the sixteen
through eighteen years, things change and having a boy brag about
nailing you can actually be a badge of honor. At least in some
cases. And once they turn eighteen, girls do things like going to
Mardi Gras and showing their tits to the whole world.
But we're talking young teens here, and while they are very resistant
to experimenting with boys ... that's not so much true about
experimenting with the handsome, trusted, discrete father of your best
I know. The pervert's primary, mainstay excuse is "She seduced
me!" And the psychologist (and judge) then respond "She's not
sophisticated enough to seduce anybody. She might be able to spell seduction, but she doesn't know how to do it!"
Well, folks ... I'm here to tell you that's just, plain
bullshit. Fourteen-year-old girls, at least some of them,
are perfectly cognizant and
capable of trying to seduce a man. I'm not saying they're
sophisticated about it. Nor am I suggesting they understand all
the consequences, or what it will actually be like if it happens.
Not at all. But they're plenty old enough to fantasize about
sexual experiences, either partial or complete. And some of
them want to try things, to find out if the fantasy is real.
So who can they experiment with? Well ... maybe with the cool, single father of their best friend.
And how do they get him to provide them with this
experimentation? Well ... they seduce him. Actually, they
do what they think is seduction. The man knows the difference.
But who can turn down a horny teenage beauty?
Yeah. You're right. That fucking psychologist (and the judge), that's who.
Now, before I get to the good parts, I have to say one more
thing. Remember how I was arguing that girls are capable of
trying to seduce an older man? Well, that's what I thought was
going on. What I had no clue about was that there are other kinds
of males a teenage girl might be willing to fool around with on an
But I had no clue about that at the time I began to be a practicing pervert.
I pretty much fantasized about the girls from the moment I first saw
them. Especially two of them, named Brandi, and Sybil. They
were cousins, who lived with Brandi's father. Like me, he was a
single parent, having had to raise the girls after an accident took
Sybil's parents and Brandi's mother when the girls were very
young. Brandi was a dark-haired beauty whose body was lush even
when she was thirteen. She had braces, which she didn't mind
showing. That was just one outer suggestion that she had a pretty
good self-image. She also wore the most revealing bikinis, which
was another. She had a sultry, knowing smile, and from the very
first time I met her she flirted with me shamelessly. Sybil
was a year older, and was the taller, darker, even more lush version of
Brandi, except without the braces.
On that fateful night, when the doorbell rang and I opened it to see
Brandi and Sybil for the first time, I used the same line I'd used on
all the other party attendees. I said: "You must be here for
Brandi looked me up and down and said "Well I did
come here for Amber." She paused and looked me up and down again. "But
only because I didn't know you'd be here too." Sybil, whose name
I did not yet know, slapped her friend on the shoulder and said "Slut!"
in a loud whisper.
That was my introduction to Brandi and Sybil. They were almost
always together, which would become important later on. It sounds
very adult, and very seduction oriented, but just as soon as she said
what she said, she gave me a brilliant smile - and I don't mean her
braces gleamed - and said "I bet you're her dad. She says she has
the best looking daddy on the block." And just like that she was
just a teenage girl who was flirting just a little bit with a man she'd just met.
Of course I responded to her flirting, at least in my mind.
Remember, they were both thirteen back then, and all I actually
contemplated was a little naughty fantasy. I never dreamed of
actually touching either one of them. Not then.
And, to be honest, there were half a dozen other girls there that
night, all of whom were flirty and happy and interesting. It was
obvious they were good friends with Amber. Their speech patterns,
and the kinds of things they said made it clear they were very
comfortable with each other. I expected that. I knew Amber
was popular at school. What I did not expect was for them to all
be comfortable with Alex too. I knew he and Amber were
close, of course, but I had preconceived notions that teenaged girls
would not want to have a teenaged boy around them in a situation like
I was wrong about that. The first thing some of the girls did was
ask where Alex was and stampede to his room to drag him to the
party. He pretended to be irritated by all this, but even I could
see it was an act.
The party went off without a hitch, and they all had a great
time. But something happened that night that was a major pivotal
point for our family, though I wouldn't know it for two more
years. And it was my fault, because the pervert in me kept
looking at Amber, who was so beautiful and so much on the cusp of being
a young woman, that I made a toast to her.
It was actually the speech before the toast that caused things to
happen. I know there are both fathers and mothers out there who
are reading this and cringing. A father, toasting his
thirteen-year-old daughter at her birthday party? Horror!
Lameness! Embarrassment! But it wasn't like that at
all. I don't remember exactly what I said, but it went something
I actually banged the fork I was eating cake with on the side of my
beer bottle to get their attention. Okay, maybe that part was a
little lame, but it got the job done. And maybe it would have
been better if I hadn't had several beers. But they were drinking
soda and I gain weight like crazy when liquid sugar is
involved. Anyway I said something like this:
"I am sad, because my little girl is gone. I'm going to miss her
climbing up on my lap, and asking me to kiss her boo boos." I got
some "Awwww from the crowd, which encouraged me to go on. "But as
I see her now, becoming a woman, it almost makes my heart hurt from the
joy of it. She's so beautiful, and has so much to offer the
world, that part of me wishes I was a boy her age." That
last part was the beer talking.
And believe me, they understood every nuance of that toast. Then
I said "To the memory of my little girl, who has flowered into
There were cheers, and not even one of those sidelong glances that
suggests how lame someone has just been. And that's all I
said. I just kept the snacks and sodas coming, and was the
dad. Some of the girls gave me a hug after the toast, and told me
how sweet I was, but it wasn't anything more than that.
The paint didn't quite peel off the walls from the noise, but it was almost unbelievably quiet when the last one of them left.
I was tired by then, so I hugged my birthday girl, and her brother, and went to bed.
Now the reason this was all so
pivotal, was because when I went to bed and left them alone, they were
both still on an emotional high. Alex was on the high of a
fourteen-year-old boy who has been appreciated by a gaggle of
girls. It didn't matter that they were a year younger than he
was. They were cute, and they had made it clear they thought he
was too. And Amber was high on the remnants of my toast, which
she took seriously. So she expressed her emotional state by
kissing her brother.
Did I mention that, while they were in those sleeping together years,
they did all their exploration and experimentation with each
other? Don't feel bad. I wasn't aware of it either.
I wasn't aware, for example, that the first penis - both soft and hard
- Amber examined in great detail was her brother's, or that the first
pussy he touched and peered into was Amber's. I wasn't aware they
learned to kiss by kissing each other. Actually, I wasn't aware
of anything. Not then. But it was all pretty innocent in
those years. It really was just curiosity and experimentation.
But it was also part of what made them so close.
And on this night, when she kissed him, it was a kiss with meaning,
instead of merely an experiment. And it fired them both up, so
they kept kissing and basically made out until they ended up in bed ...
naked ... with him on top of her. They both swear neither of them
intended to actually have sex, but while he was rolling around enjoying
the feel of rubbing against a naked female, his long, black, adolescent
penis snuck into her juicy, pink adolescent pussy, and the next thing
they knew they were fucking like the big boys and girls.
I blame myself. Had I stayed up with them, it wouldn't have
happened. But as I said, what I know now I didn't know then.
And I didn't even see it the next morning, when we all got up and had
breakfast, sitting around the table. They insist they acted like
nothing had happened, but if I'd have been paying attention I'm sure I
would have seen signs.
Anyway, it's important to note that they did not engage in this
activity again for some time. While both had been very happily
involved in that initial tryst, both also knew that this new game could
get them in serious trouble. And both loved each other enough to
avoid getting each other in trouble.
At least to some degree.
But it's important for the reader to understand where they were in their lives before I go on explaining how I got to where I am in my life now.
Amber's birthday party seemed to unleash the girls. There was a
slumber party within two weeks, the first of what would be at least two
dozen over the years. We had a big house, with the pool, sauna
and hot tub, and it was perfect for entertaining. And both Amber
and Alex were popular, so there were always kids hanging around and
coming for sleepovers, both male and female types. Whenever Alex
had the guys over, Amber always slept over at some girl's house.
I didn't think that was odd. What girl wants to be ogled in her
own home by a bunch of guys?
But what I failed to notice was that it didn't work the other
way. When the girls came over, Alex stayed home, and often got
invited into the gabfest. It's not like he went into Amber's room
with the girls and stayed there. But he always seemed to be
engaged with one or more girls, somewhere in the house, or the pool or
whatever. Who knows? Maybe even if I had noticed that, I wouldn't have thought anything about it.
But it was important, because with Alex around, there was a constant high level of sexual tension in the girls.
And I benefited from that, as it turned out.
It manifested first when Brandi came to stand beside me at the counter
while I was making a peanut butter sandwich. She stood close to
me, with our arms touching, and hip-bumped me.
I remember she said "Move over or make me one too."
And I so I hip-bumped her back and said "Make your own!" and that
turned into a hip-bumping war, with her giggling and squealing.
Then she tried to grab for my sandwich, and tore a piece of it
off. She got peanut butter all over her fingers, and her braces
were full of bread and peanut butter. We stopped, and just
stood there, looking at each other. We were both breathing
deeply, which made her firm, round breasts move under her T
shirt. She looked at her fingers.
"You got me all messy!" she accused.
Then she reached and pushed her index finger into my mouth.
"Clean it off!" she ordered.
I was stunned. It had happened so fast I wasn't prepared for
it. I don't think I knew what to think, and I was kind of
Except that my lips closed over her finger and I sucked as she slowly pulled it out of my mouth.
She looked at me through lashes that were lowered, and examined her
finger. The one next to it was all messy too, but instead of
offering it to me, she sucked it clean herself. It was erotic as
hell, and I felt my cock just fucking spring to attention.
"Mmmm," she murmured. "That's better." She looked at me
with what was obvioulsy a come-hither stare, and said "Make me a
All I wanted to do right then was take her up to the bedroom and rock
her world. I know my eyes were skittering all over her
body. But then she said "Please?" in a little girl voice and
reality slammed back into me. I took a deep breath and turned
away. I just knew my prick was making my pants tent out. I
concentrated on spreading peanut butter onto a slice of bread.
She went to the fridge and got out the strawberry preserves that were
in there, bringing them to stand beside me again, arms touching.
She unscrewed it and stuck the tip of her index finger in, pulling it
out to suck clean.
I about came in my pants.
"I want some of this too," she said, setting the jar down.
Her actions, and words, for that matter, were almost exactly 50/50 in
terms of being normal teenager, versus hot, horny young woman.
And, of course, I reacted to them. And yes, I know it's no excuse
that she was fourteen by then, but she sure didn't act fourteen.
Actually, the problem was that I couldn't decide how much of it was an act and how much wasn't. That was the problem.
Maybe two months later, the girls had been swimming and Sybil had
decided to shower off in the master bathroom, which was accessed
through my bedroom. I was lying on the bed, reading at the
time. I had learned not to be up and around when the girls were
swimming, because some of them wore suits at my house that they
couldn't get away with wearing in public. And that was hard on
the pervert in me. So I usually read something in the
action/adventure genre, while they were running around in next to
nothing. It wasn't foolproof, but it did help me keep the lid on
things. By that I mean at least I didn't have to masturbate every
single time the girls were there and swimming.
Anyway, Sybil ran through the bedroom with a "Hi, Mr. Cee" in a thong
swimming suit that completely revealed her lush ass. She closed
the door and I heard the shower running. I adjusted my cock,
which was hard, by then, as I imagined her in the shower.
And when she came out, the towel she'd tied across her breasts
"accidentally" came untied and dropped to the floor like it weighted
My goodness she was pretty.
Sybil had proud, thrusting, round breasts, with coral colored areolas
and nipples. She didn't have a bikini cut. Rather, she had
simply removed every trace of hair from her genitals. Her pussy
looked like it belonged on an eleven-year-old, perhaps, but her breasts
were all woman. She stood, frozen, for perhaps four
heartbeats, and then said "Ooops!" and knelt to pick up the
towel. She had her suit in one hand, which apparently made it
impossible for her to retie the towel, because she just held it in
between her breasts, so it hung down and covered that bare camel toe.
Of course I just stared.
"Sorry," she said.
I think it was then I realized she wasn't really embarrassed. And I think that rattled me, because I said "How old are you, Sybil?"
Yeah. I actually asked her that question.
"Fifteen," she said, just as cool as a cucumber.
"That's amazing," I said, thinking about how completely amazing it was
that a fifteen-year-old girl could possibly look that grown up and
"Why?" she asked, still standing there with her breasts peering at me from each side of the towel.
I still had a shred of un-pervertedness in me. "Never mind," I said. "You should probably go now."
"Oh," she said. "Okay ... yeah." Then she said "Sorry,"
again and turned to walk out, showing me that luscious ass again.
The only reason I didn't just shove my pants down and beat off then and
there was because she left my bedroom door open, and within fifteen
seconds of her disappearing I heard one of the girls shriek "Sybil's naked!"
I actually expected one or more girls to come streaming through the
door, accusing me of being a dirty old man or whatever. I went
soft at the thought.
Actually, I think it was the guilt I felt that made me go
soft. I felt really guilty because I wanted to fuck
Sybil. Plain and simple. I wanted to fuck that girl and
make her squeal.
That's when I knew I was a full-fledged pervert.
Next Chapter >>