The 19 Year Old Virgin Next Door

by Sean Brandon

  The 19 Year Old Virgin Next Door

  By Sean Brandon

  © copyright 2013 Sean Brandon

  Published by Sexual Improv Publishing at Smashwords.com

  www.seanserotica.com

  View all of Sean Brandon’s books at Smashwords.com

  A French Virgin, Part One

  A French Virgin, Part Two

  A French Virgin, Part Three

  Kauai Getaway

  Rules of Service: The Customer Comes First

  Rules of Service: The Customer Comes Second

  An Office Virgin

  Dirty Business Anthology

  My Cousin’s Wife, Part One: Amy

  My Cousin’s Wife, Part Two: Amy and Jeni

  My Cousin’s Wife, Part Three: Amy, Jeni and Livia

  Tied Up in Barbados

  Billionaire Sex: The Office Affair at Smashwords

  A Jilted Virgin in Maui

  Airport Orgasm: Revenge Sex

  Love and Sex in Uruguay

  Sean Brandon Author page on Smashwords.com

  Disclaimer

  This adult reading material is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. This book contains explicit material, strong language and sexual references intended for mature audiences only. All sexual acts portrayed or suggested are between consenting adults over the age of 18.

  All Rights Reserved. This book may not be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in whole or in part by any means, including graphic, electronic, or mechanical without the express written consent of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Adult Reading Material

  The 19 Year Old Virgin Next Door

  By Sean Brandon

  I’ve lived at the beach for over ten years and have gotten used to all manner of strays and flotsam washing up on my doorstep. Friends will use my place as home base when they bring their kids to the beach and almost all of them bring food. As long they’re friends I am all for it and welcome them to my home. The strays usually want to pee, use the phone, drink my alcohol or just hang out on the beach.

  So the other day when I returned home from Boston and saw a young woman covered in a mass of brown hair and crying on my sidewalk I was not thrown but I was curious. People are usually happy when they come to the beach, not crying. I could hear her sobs and started to walk around her, but the closer I got to her the more familiar she looked.

  It wasn’t what she was wearing because she wore normal beach girl attire; soft cotton shorts in a loud orange color and a white bikini top, with orange striped white gym socks on her legs and white sneakers.

  As I walked up she turned her head to look up at me, and even through the tears and mussed up hair I knew her. She worked at the local grocery store, Darla was her name. She was a good girl who was normally happy, so seeing her crying was unsettling. Her parents lived not too far away from me but I didn’t know them more than the occasional ‘howdy neighbor’ now and then.

  “You’ve had the same hair color for a month now, isn’t it time to change it?” I asked. It was our personal joke. She said I was one of the few guys who noticed whenever she “adjusted” her hair color, even though it had been neon red as often as it had been blond.

  She laughed but then began to cry again. She was the plain sort of pretty girl who changed her hair color more often than she did her socks, more to experiment than to call attention to herself. In the time that she had checked me out at the grocery store her hair had been blond, green, red, five shades of blue that I remembered, purple, and several combinations of color too shocking to remember the exact combinations of.

  “It hurts when I laugh, Mr. Brandon, so stop it,” she said as she slapped my leg.

  “But you’re on my ten square feet of grass so I can crack jokes if I want to,” I replied.

  It was then that I saw her skateboard beside her and it was pretty banged up. “Are you okay? I’ve never seen you upset, let alone crying,” I said, getting serious again.

  She didn’t reply for a while so I wasn’t sure what to do. Then she twisted around on the ground so that she was facing me and showed me her left side. The skin of her left leg was covered in scrapes, some of them bleeding pretty badly. One sock was badly shredded and her shorts were all but torn off on her left side.

  “I’m hurt,” she said, tried to stand, and fell back on her ass then tried her best not to cry. She lost that battle and tears streamed down her cheeks.

  She was a tough young lady and I knew it. She had once played softball with a broken arm, was bruised regularly from falling off her skateboard, and played volleyball like the only way she could continue to breathe was to never let the ball touch the sand. I knew that she was a tough one and tears were not a part of her regular day.

  “Let me to take you to the hospital and get you patched up,” I said.

  “Hospital?” she glared at me. “It’s a flesh wound,” she said then broke out laughing which turned into more tears.

  The year before I’d turned her on to Monty Python and since then she had watched them all. And she quoted Monty Python whenever I saw her.

  “It is certainly a flesh wound,” I said with a laugh.

  “It looks worse than it really is. Can I come in and clean up a little?” she asked.

  “You need a doctor,” I said.

  “Look, I have a great doctor who will look at it later on today, but for now I need your help, okay?” When she wanted to be direct she certainly was.

  “Um, I’m not sure that’s the best idea. Let me call the paramedics, they will help you for free.” We live at the beach and have world class paramedics on stand-by all the time. It seemed ridiculous not to call them and have them work on her.

  “I’m 19,” she said, her voice soft. “I won’t sue you for giving me medical supplies to patch up my ass, okay?” Her face was firm and determined as I looked at her and I decided to let her have her way.

  “Okay, come on in,” I said.

  I put a hand out to pull her to her feet and she took it. She pulled, gasped, moaned, and started to cry again when she started to walk. So I picked her up. She was all legs and arms and was easy to pick up.

  “How did you do this?” I asked, our faces inches apart.

  “Tommy and I were racing our skateboards down sixth street and I hit a patch of gravel. Now some of that gravel is embedded in my leg and Tommy kept on going,” she said. She was very matter of fact about it.

  I remember several of my own epic skateboard wipeouts and felt sorry for the girl. I was proud of the scars on my legs from skateboarding, trail running, skiing, water skiing, trying to barefoot water ski and more. Scraped legs were a status symbol in some crowds.

  Once inside I had to carry her up two levels to the kitchen then looked around for a place to set her down. The living room, dining room, kitchen and my office are located on the top floor of my house where you get the best views of the ocean.

  She’d bleed on the couch or bed, so the only place to set her on the kitchen counter. As I lifted her up to set her on the counter it brought h
er face closer to mine. She leaned forward and kissed my cheek. “That’s for rescuing a wounded girl. I really am 19, by the way. Is that what you were worried about?”

  “Well, yeah, and you’re hurt, you should have a professional look at it,” I said.

  She reached into her back pocket and pulled out her driver’s license. It said that Darla Green was 19 years old. Of course the hair in the driver’s license picture was screaming fire engine red, so I laughed. “I’m 19 and legal. And you’re too nice a guy to hurt me.”

  She jumped down off the counter and started hopping on one foot over to the sink. I stopped her and picked her up again. I grabbed a nearby towel to go under her then set her back on the counter again. “Look, stay up there and I will clean you up. You want something to drink?” I asked.

  “Vodka, straight,” she said and wincing as she did.

  “No,” I said. “What else do you want?”

  “Screwdriver would be nice,” she said.

  I poured us both a glass of orange juice and went downstairs to the bathroom in my bedroom for supplies. When I walked back into the kitchen she was standing at the wet bar in the living room, a bottle of Grey Goose in her hand topping off both of our drinks.

  “What?” she asked. “I poured it myself, it’s not like you’re trying to get me liquored up.” She downed her drink then hobbled back to the counter and set mine down.

  “I knew this was a bad idea,” I said. “Let me call the paramedics and have them clean you up.”

  “No, we can do it, Mr. Brandon,” she said.

  “Sean,” I said. “Please call me Sean.”

  “I actually like calling you Mr. Brandon,” she said with a smile that made me pause. Her face had a certain look to it that said she was thinking something sexy. What a tease. I looked at her to see if she was fucking with me but she was serious.

  “Okay, call me what you want,” I said.

  “Okay, let’s play doctor for real this time,” she said as she gave me a smug look and let me help her back up onto the counter.

  “Okay, let me look at your…”

  “Ass.” She said. “My ass, thigh, and calf I should add.”

  “We’ll start with your ass,” I said. “It seems to have taken the worst of it.”

  “These were my favorite shorts.” They were also my favorite shorts at that moment. They were the tiniest orange shorts that only a 19 year old girl’s ass can wear. Even the outline of her driver’s license pressed through the fabric they were so thin and tight. “I’d better take them off,” she said as easily as she would ask for more juice.

  “Good idea,” I said, figuring she was fucking with me.

  Nope. She jumped to the floor, kicked off her shoes, stepped out of the shorts, and I watched as they fell to the floor of my kitchen. I slowly looked up her insanely long legs as she painfully removed her socks. She was wearing the briefest white lace thong and my face had a huge grin. My cock began to push hard against my shorts. I knew this was where I should send her home and probably call the paramedics for myself.

  “You don’t mind do you?” she asked. I looked into her eyes, looking for any evidence of a tease, anything that would tell me that she was pulling my chain. She simply looked like she was doing what needed to be done and was comfortable standing in front of me in a bikini top and thong.

  The white thong and the white bikini top were now a very sexy combination. Her eyes met mine, her shoulders were back, and at that moment she was a strong woman again. Her breasts were not much bigger than an "A" cup. But what she had she proudly pushed out, her shoulders thrown back with confidence.

  “Okay, back onto the counter,” I said. She looked down at my crotch and could not have missed the erection pressing out. She didn’t say anything as she slowly pulled herself onto the counter and my eyes followed every move.

  “Okay now, I’m going to clean this up. This will hurt,” I said.

  “Can we wait?” she asked, a plea in her voice.

  “The longer we wait the more it dries, which means it hurts even worse when we try to clean it up. We also have to kill off the germs…” I said until I realized she was laughing quietly.

  “You have a hard-on for a wounded girl, Mr. Brandon,” she said while looking me straight in the eyes.

  “I do,” I said. She was not used to guys being direct with her and smiled, then settled into the counter.

  “But you’d have a hard-on no matter which 19 year old ass was sitting on your kitchen counter, is that it?”

  “Darla, let’s patch you up before we try and define exactly what turns me on, okay?”

  “We could be here a while I’m sure,” she said with a sly smile.

  “No, my wants are pretty basic,” I said, because they are.

  I opened up a second towel, watching closely as she lifted her ass up enough for me to slide it under her but not high enough not to touch her.

  “This is going to hurt,” I told her.

  “Go for it,” she said acting brave.

  When she was situated I poured some sterile saline solution over her wounds to wash out the smalls pieces of grit and rock lodged there. She let out a scream and punched my arm so I stopped pouring.

  “Why did you stop?” she asked.

  “Because you screamed and punched me,” I said.

  “I’m not a pussy, I just have a pussy, get the difference?”

  This was a whole other girl from the one at the market. When she was at the market she would never use the word pussy. The stereotype of the good girl/bad girl dream I’d had so often. I poured more saline onto the wound and this time she tried to tough it out. I could see tears welling up in her eyes but she didn’t make a sound.

  Next I picked up some tweezers and started removing chunks of pavement embedded in her flesh. Then I had to cut away some of the skin that had been scraped aside. She stopped me, hopped off the counter and hopped over to the wet bar again. She added some vodka to her glass then hopped back and climbed back onto the counter where she took a very long drink.

  “Ready,” she said as she set the glass down.

  I kept picking bits and pieces of gravel out of her wounds. She clenched her teeth and tried to pretend she was tough, but after a bit she screamed again. As she screamed she arched her back, threw her chest out, and tensed up her entire body. As I washed away the blood and grime again it became clear that she had a collection of small cuts, all of which had bled quite a bit but were now just oozing.

  “Stop squirming,” I said and I dabbed some of the cuts with gauze, making sure they were as clean as I could get them.

  “Stop making it hurt,” she said.

  It took a few more minutes and several more cries from her lips, but soon I had the worst of it cleaned up.

  “I think you’re okay for now, but let me inspect it once more to be sure,” I said.

  I had the best of intentions as I moved in for a close look at her ankle, touched the flesh around each scrape, and slowly worked my way up her leg, pouring more saline onto the wounds that needed it and removing flecks of dirt when I found them. When I got to the top of her thigh she rolled fully onto her right side facing away from me

  “Go ahead, Mr. Brandon, you’ve earned a close up view of my 19 year old ass,” she said trying to sound in control.

  My hand arched out and I gave her ass cheek a healthy slap which echoed off the cabinets and she cried out.

  “Ouch, you bastard!” she said as she rolled back toward me, her arm swinging out to hit me, but rolling too far and falling over the edge of the counter. I had pulled back to avoid being hit but when I saw her falling to the floor I leaned down and caught her. My hand found itself filled with her one remaining unscathed ass cheek and her face turned to mine.

  “I’ll let you grab my ass. You don’t have to force me off the counter to do it, Mr. Brandon,” she said.

  “I, it, I…” I was speechless. I was trying to help and found myself in an uncomfortable spot.

>   Her eyes held mine for a few seconds then her lips reached out and kissed me on the cheek again. “You’ve saved me twice in one day, pretty good record, Mr. Brandon.”

  I lifted her up and set her on the counter once again. “You are the biggest cock tease around,” I said. My voice sounded angrier than I felt, though I was kind of over this whole thing and wanted to move on. The trials and tribulations of a 19 year old would get old pretty fast.

  “How do you know I’m teasing?” she said with a smirk. “I might want to do you right here.”

  There was a moment when I almost laughed, but I knew it was the wrong response no matter what. I looked into her eyes and saw that there was no deception hidden there. “I need to put some antiseptic on your wounds. It will hurt. Then you are free to move on to your next adventure.”

  “I’m not a tease,” she said. “I just keep guys at a distance unless I really like them. I wouldn’t want them to get the wrong idea.”

  “Whatever,” I said. I was over the drama and ready to move on to the next thing on my list. Still, it was nice to think about as my cock strained my shorts

  “You’ve always been nice to me, Mr. Brandon. Remember, I’m just fucking with you, except when I’m not,” she said. Before I could reply, before I could breathe, she used both hands and pulled her bikini top up and off and flung it onto the floor next to her ruined shorts.

  My eyes went right to the two hard nipples standing upright, the curve of the breast as it melted into her ribs, the outline of the muscles in her stomach, and all the way down to the top of her lacy thong. I enjoyed it, but then leaned down and picked up her bikini top and handed it to her. This was a change that I wasn’t sure I wanted to deal with.

  “If you feel the same way tomorrow or the next day, drop on by and I would love… to see your boobs. But today let’s get you patched up and on your way,” I said as I turned my head away

  She reached out for the bikini top, took it from me and threw it even further away. “I’m always naked at home, so why can’t I be naked in your house. You want me to feel at home, right?” she asked.