“Hi Terry, I brought a few things with me,” she passes me a bag which I take a peek into and see a six-pack of cider bottles, a couple of CDs, and some folded clothes.
“Are you old enough to drink alcohol?” I ask her.
“Well, I’m twenty-one, so I’ve been legal for three years now. I know I look young, though. I always get asked for ID when I go to the clubs.”
“Come to the kitchen and I’ll start cooking.” She takes the lead and I follow her. She’s wearing tiny denim shorts and a white tank top showing off her midriff, and I quickly take my eyes away and get my mind back to the business of cooking. A fear is building inside of me. I’m at a stage where I can’t look at a woman without thinking about what she looks like naked and what type of performer they would be in the bedroom. I hadn’t been this way since before I met Talissa, but I had been much younger then and not attached to a life of responsibility.
She offers to assist me, so I have her work on chopping the mushrooms, and she shows pretty decent knife skills. “Something I should know about you and knives?” I ask her.
“I once stuck a knife in a guy’s ball sack and then cut his throat.” Her look is stone cold, and for a second, I’m worried until she smiles and has a big laugh.
“You had me going for a second there,” I say to her as I place the bacon in the pan.
“Well, I think you would have been hesitant to leave your kids with me if it were true. By the way, they’re such beautiful little people. You and Talissa must be doing something right.”
Talissa, yes—not so sure about myself, though. “Yes, we do love them to pieces, and I have to credit my wife more than myself for that.” I crack the eggs and put the mushrooms in a pot with some butter.
“Give yourself more credit, Terry. I bet you’re a lot more confident when you’re selling a house to someone.” She leans on the table, her top falling forward, showing a little cleavage. A tall slim woman like her normally has a small chest, and Brittany’s no exception, but she knows how to use what she has.
“The professional Terry is ruthless and always striving to make a few more dollars, but the private Terry is like any normal guy. You haven’t even asked where Talissa is.”
“She called me on Friday night, making sure I was okay to work Monday. I didn’t ask why she went away for the weekend, though. Figured you would tell me if you felt comfortable enough. I hope you two figure things out.”
“So do I,” I say, but maybe I’m enjoying my freedom at the moment.
“I’ll do the toast,” she says.
I make us each a cup of coffee. She has hers a little sweeter than I do. Every now and then, when she would take a sip, those big eyes of hers would land on mine a little longer than they probably should have. It’s wrong of me, but I can’t help but find this fresh-faced young lady exquisite.
We make small talk and a few minutes later, brunch is ready. She grabs one of her ciders to wash down the greasy food.
“Wow, it’s not even eleven and you’ve started drinking.” I smile.
“Life’s too short, and I don’t have to drive.” She’s right on both of those points. I didn’t see who dropped her off, but I guess it was the same person who drops her off to babysit.
“What the hell, you only live once.” I stand up and walk to the fridge to grab a beer. I can’t remember when I last had a drink so early in the day, but I’d say it hasn’t been for about fifteen years.
“Geez, I’m a bad influence. You know I don’t drink around your kids, right?”
“Hey, I trust you. You came highly recommended according to Talissa, and I always trust her word.” Why wouldn’t I? I’m the liar of the couple. “So why did you come here today? Why my house out of everyone a girl of your age would know.”
“Boys my age are so dumb. I want to know how to find a good one.”
“Boys get their stupidity from their fathers. I know guys are stupid, and we do so much stupid shit you wouldn’t believe. I can see why so many women turn lesbians.”
“Oh, no. Not another man who says that. If it were the case, then pretty much every female friend I have, including myself, would be lesbians. You men have no fucking idea sometimes.”
She has a point. “Sorry, Brittany. Actually, a lot of my ex-girlfriends would be gay if what I said had any truth to it.” I just need to change the subject. Professionally, I could sell ice to an Eskimo, but right now, I was putting my foot in my mouth with everything I say—so much so, I think my big toe’s poking out my arse.
“It’s okay, Terry,” she says and puts a hand on mine from across the table.
“Truth is, you never know if you’ve found a good man when you first meet one. They may not be on a date purely for sex, but if they start a date with an itch, you won’t get any intelligent conversation out of them all evening.”
“Did you date many women before you met your wife?”
‘Date’ might not be the word I would use. “A few, Brittany—quite a few, in fact. You don’t want to know what sort of man I was back in those days.”
“Were you a bad boy?” Her hand is resting under her chin as she leans across the table on her elbow. She dons those doe eyes and stares at me.
“Yes, I was, and while it was fun, I’m not particularly proud of what I was back then. I’d hate for my daughter to one day be used by a guy like me, who used so many women.”
“Did it ever occur to you they were using you as much as you were using them? We women have desires, needs, and sometimes, we want it so bad we’ll hunt like a vulture to get a bit of action. We just have the advantage. We can be a hunter while appearing as the hunted.”
Looking at those eyes and her long body, I can’t see how she would have a lot of trouble hunting.
“Why don’t we go to the lounge. I brought some tunes along for us to listen to,” she says.
My beer bottle’s empty already so I grab a full one from the fridge and follow those artistically sculpted never-ending legs of the babysitter to the living room. She has her second cider bottle in one hand, the CDs in the other, and I see a little bit of butt cheek as those tiny shorts of hers rise even higher.
“What sort of music do you like, Terry?”
“I like rock, blues, and even a bit of dance music, but don’t tell anyone about the last one.”
She laughs, and as we make it to the living room, she takes a straight path to the stereo, and turns the power on. She ejects the CD from the deck, and I silently hope she’s one of those people like me who makes sure the disc goes back into the cover, rather than being placed on any rough surface. She doesn’t disappoint, and to me, she makes a true music connoisseur.
“Don’t you hate it when people just put the discs on the carpet or cabinet where they get the hell scratched out of them?” she asks.
I nod as I take a seat on the far right end of the three-seater couch. A sad sounding male voice leads into a song about lost love, which is hardly rare for an opening track to a blues album. I have to say this guy can sing and the slide guitar is smooth. “This is sweet blues,” I tell her.
“People my age don’t get my love for the blues. They think hip-hop and dance music is the real deal, but it has no heart.”
“You sound like someone my age, Brit.”
“Is that a bad thing?” she smiles at me and drains the rest of her cider. “I need another one.”
“I can get it,” I say to her as my second beer is finished, too. It’s not even midday.
Walking to the fridge in the kitchen down the hall, I smile. I’m drinking on a Sunday morning with a six-foot blonde listening to some kick-ass music without a care in the world. I’ve done no work all weekend, and I’m not missing it at all.
I get back to the living room with drinks, and I see Brittany sitting on the couch with a small plastic bag. On closer inspection, it looks like it has pot in it. I haven’t seen that stuff for years, let alone smoked any.
“Do you mind?” she asks, holding up a joint.
“I would never smoke around the kids either.”
I’ll have to make sure I spray a good deal of air freshener before Talissa gets home. “Not at all. Knock yourself out.”
What the hell am I doing here? She lights it up and takes a big toke on it, holding the smoke in for a few seconds. The smell of it fills the room, and I walk over to her slowly, accepting the offering.
It’s been a long time. I hold it to my lips, relighting it, and breathing in the fumes of the burning dried leaves inside the cigarette paper. I try to hold it in and find myself coughing up a lung with Brittany laughing at my expense.
“You haven’t done this before, have you, Terry?”
I try not to laugh, but the muscles in my jaw have taken control. “Not since I was your age.”
She takes it back from me and has another puff from it before passing it back. My turn again, but this time, I control myself better and draw the smoke back as far as I can. My head feels a little lighter already, and I can start to feel my body float.
“This shit’s good, hey?” Brittany asks. We take it in turns until the joint is nothing more than a half inch butt.
I feel my head spinning a little now, and the thirst brought on by the smoking needs to be quenched. I drain my third beer and look up as Brittany starts dancing to the music. It’s as if the sounds of the singing and guitar playing are using her like a puppet. Her arms are above her head as her hips sway to the beats, and from this moment, I can’t turn away. She starts wriggling her tight little arse, and her hands move down her body to the front button of her shorts, liberating it from the buttonhole keeping it in place.
Just when I thought she would undo her zipper, her hands travel to the belt loops on her hips, hooking her thumbs through. The song is nearly over, and she winks at me before stepping towards me. Standing right in front of where I’m sitting, she reaches over me and grabs her cider bottle.
When the music stops, she drains the contents and looks down at me. “I need another one.”
I nod and getting to my feet, I soon realise I’m not fully in charge of my faculties. I take my time, putting one foot in front of the other and head to the kitchen. I feel my lips shape themselves into a smile.
Only now the silence is freaking me out. What happened to the music?
Just managing to keep it together, I gather myself another beer and a cider for Brittany, and get back to the living room. She is changing the CD in the stereo with a grin as she presses play. A simple but catchy bass rift pumps out. Walking towards me to the beat, she dons her cheeky smile again and snatches her drink from my hand. She turns her back to me, takes a long drink, and leans into me, her body making contact with the front of mine.
“Sit down, mister,” she says and takes a couple of steps away from me.
The smoky female voice belts out an opening line about wanting the love of a good man, and I find a spot on the middle of the couch to place my bum on. What am I about to witness? I have a feeling I won’t be disappointed.
Brittany turns away from me again and then rotates her head showing me her pouty lips. I can only assume her hands are in front of her waist. Not being able to see what she’s doing is driving me insane, but before I can dwell on it for long, her thumbs loop through the belt loops again. She leans forward and pushes her bum out towards me. I notice her thumbs are pushing her tiny shorts over and then off her hips, falling down to her ankles.
Her cute arse is visible in all its glory, the white lacy G-string barely covering anything. She bends forward, reaching for her ankles and looking at me from between her mile-long legs—upside down. I feel a stirring in my pants as I see the small bit of material at the front of her almost microscopic underwear barely covering what’s beneath. Her eyes stare into mine, adding to the intensity of the cannabis-induced euphoria I can feel flowing through me. I feel for the button and zipper of my jeans and loosen them.
Brittany releases her grip on her ankles, grabbing the bottom of her little crop-top. With the assistance of gravity, she allows it to fall in a heap to the floor below. The white bra is tiny, but then, so are the breasts underneath—not that I mind. She lifts her upper body and spins to face me as she rotates her hips to the beat again. Signalling for me to stand up, she takes a couple steps towards me and tells me to take off my trousers.
Who am I to disobey? Already loose, they fall down to the carpet, and I step out of them and kick them away. She dances and moves my way, eventually making contact with my body, and grinding herself against me. Her hands wander up to the bottom of my T-shirt, grabbing the sides of it and moving the fabric up until I take over and pull it over my head.
“Mmm, chest hair,” she says, moving her hands up from my navel to my chest. “Boys my age either don’t have it or wax it all off. But I find it… sexy!” She lets go of me and takes a step backwards. She puts her hands behind her back and unclasps her bra. Her perky little breasts have pierced nipples, and I am now incredibly hard.
She walks back to me, and I’m in the weird position of facing up to kiss her sweet lips. For the first time, I notice her tongue piercing as it massages my own ravenous tongue. I press my lower body against her, and due to the length of her legs, her crotch is pressed to the area somewhere between my navel and groin area. Geez, she’s tall, and soon, she’ll be all mine for the afternoon.
She withdraws the kiss and whispers in my ear, “I’ve never had a guy make me come yet.”
“I might have to do something about that,” I whisper back. I put my fingers on the sides of her miniature piece of clothing and get on my knees. Pulling the garment to the ground, I put my face into the smooth baldness between her legs, parting them so I can kiss her deep inside. Within a few minutes time, her body shakes, as I become the first man to give her true satisfaction.
* * * * *
I’m worn out. After giving Brittany oral sex, we screw three times within an hour, she making sure I use a new condom each time. Now, I think about the other three blondes I’ve had sex with and the lack of protection used. I hope to hell they were at least on the pill or have an IUD inserted, so I don’t end up with any bastard children.
Brittany walks to the kitchen completely naked to get us each another beer and cider. On her return, I can’t take my eyes off her. She sits right next to me on the couch, our skin touching each other, and we each take a long drink. She gets on her knees and kneels on my leg, and I feel myself getting hard again.
“Let’s get baked before we fuck yet again,” Brittany says and reaches for the table where she put her bag of marijuana and papers. She carefully rolls another joint, smacking my fingers as I fondle her nipple piercings, giggling as I do it.
“I feel kinda creepy now. You’re nearly half my age,” I say.
“Terry, the only reason I came around today was because I wanted to get naughty with you. The first time I saw you I knew you would be able to make me feel like a real woman. It’s not that guys my age don’t want to perform like a sex god, they just don’t have the experience you do.”
“Thanks. You know it will be awkward now when you come around to babysit the kids in the mornings.”
“I’ll be okay. But we can never do this again after today. I hope you understand.” Brittany lights up the joint and inhales deep.
I take it from her and take a big puff myself.A lightness washes over me as I blow out the smoke. I wash away the dryness with a big gulp of cold beer, and I look at all her naked glory. I feel like I’m in heaven with the daughter of Satan. We smoke the rest of the joint, and we both have a giggle about nothing in particular.
“Lay back on the couch, Terry. I want to return the favour you did for me earlier.”
I do as ordered, and she leans over to take all my length inside her soft, wet mouth and does her magic. It takes just a few minutes before I fill her mouth, and with my energy spent, and the beer and pot wiping me out, it didn’t take long before I fell asleep.
* * * * *
The sound of the front
door slamming wakes me from my slumber, and Talissa is visibly pissed as she sees me open my eyes—as naked as the day I was born.
“Kids, go to your rooms,” she calls out to them before they step inside and see the mess Brittany and I had made in the lounge room. “Terry, what the fuck happened here?”
She never swears, and I sure hope the kids didn’t hear from behind the closed doors of their rooms. “I fell asleep,” I say, which technically, isn’t a lie.
“No shit, Terry! There are empty bottles of beer all over the place and it smells like,” she takes a couple of sniffs, “pot and pussy in here.”
Oh, shit. No disguising any of those smells, and for a woman, especially the latter. “I was watching porn and having a little smoke and a few drinks.”
“Do you think I’m so stupid I would buy that shit?” She spots something on the carpet near the couch. “Well, then, what the fuck are these?”
Brittany’s G-string—irrefutable evidence a female was here. I can’t tell her they belong to the babysitter, but it’s impossible to totally deny a woman had visited. “I hired a massage therapist, the type who takes their clothes off while they rub you down. I’m sorry. I had been down, and you wouldn’t answer your phone, and I needed some type of release.”
“You sick fuck, Terry. I give you what you need at least twice a week, and it’s still not enough? My mother was right about you.”
“I don’t care what the stupid bitch says about me. You know she’s fucked in the head, right?”
Talissa walks up and slaps my face, the contact stinging like a bee. I did say too much then. I know it, but the effects of the beer and pot are still with me, so I put the blame there to ease my conscience and deny personal responsibility for my words.
“You can sleep in here tonight or your office. I don’t care where really, as long as it’s not in my bed. We’ll talk about this more tomorrow. I don’t want to see your face again today you arsehole!”
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