This story was co-created by Despotic Desire. All characters are over 18.
"The only good thing about being 'downsized' in June is the opportunity to enjoy summer, for once," he thought, stretching out his legs and rocking slightly on the porch swing. Despite school just getting out, the neighborhood was pleasantly quiet. That had been a selling point when he and his ex-wife had bought the house ten years before. Her mark was still all over what was now his property -- from the perennials in the flowerbed to the ridiculous cement goose that stood guard over the steps to the porch.
Only the girl on the bicycle provided any distraction from his drinking and reading. "Right on time," he thought, glancing at his watch. She was circling the block once every ten minutes. In the distance he could hear the silver jingle of the bell on her handlebars, signaling that she was turning the corner.
She was the loneliest girl in the world, or at least that's how she felt. Erika was "special," and she knew it. Her mother had always told her that. Her father had another word for it that he used to spit venomously at her before he left her life forever, "retarded." She preferred her mother's word. Erika had a difficult time learning things and remembering them. This frustrated her, often to the point where she'd break her favorite things. But, more often than not, she was sad, not angry.
She was the only girl her age in the neighborhood. She occasionally would talk to the younger girls down the street but they had ostracized her once they realized that she was special.
The breeze blew through her kinky red hair, the world slightly obscured by her smudged glasses. She rang her bell as she neared the corner of the block, resentful that she couldn't cross the street without her mom. It'd be another five hours before she came home from work, leaving Erika with little to do other than go around the block again.
He'd watched the girl (Erika?) growing up over the years since he'd been in his house but it wasn't until today, seeing her pass by, that he'd noticed that she'd changed from a gawky girl a young woman with, frankly, a pretty figure. He watched her pale legs pumping the pedals of her Schwinn, eyeing the way her t-shirt rode up her back and hugged her blossoming breasts.
He shook his head, trying to clear it. What was he thinking? She was the slow girl from down the street, not a sex goddess. Yet, to his embarrassment, he realized that he had become aroused, wondering what she looked like under her play clothes.
Ching-Ching! The bell woke him from his racing thoughts as she rounded the block again. Before he could stop himself he called out, "That's thirsty work!"
She slowed down and stopped her bike in front of the house next door, turning to him and scrunching up her face in confusion. "Huh?" she shouted across the lawn.
"Riding your bike all day. That's thirsty work. Do you need something to drink?" he heard his own words with a bit of distance, as if it were someone else speaking. Someone who was up to no good. "I've got some cold lemonade here," he shouted, holding up the condensation-beaded pitcher.
He watched her lick her lips and start to move before hesitating. "It's Erika, right? I'm Arthur," he said with as much friendly openness he could muster.
Lemonade overcame bad judgment. She walked her bike to his porch and came up to join him on the porch swing, enjoying the shade from his awning.
"I just need to grab another glass and fill this up, " he said, grabbing the pitcher.
He ran inside, his heart fluttering. He grabbed the glass and started adding more water to the ice-filled pitcher. His eyes were drawn to the liquor next to the sink. "Maybe I could use a little help here," he thought. He shook his head, trying to rid it of the idea just as soon as it entered his head. Yet, his eye strayed back to the vodka.
He began doing arithmetic. She couldn't have even tipped the scale at even a hundred pounds. How much vodka would it take in one glass to get her tipsy enough to… No, he couldn't do that. Even as he was trying to deny his thoughts, his hand was unscrewing the top of the bottle.
Back outside, she took the freshly poured glass and drank thirstily. He wanted to tell her to slow down, afraid that she might pass out.
He watched her throat work as she drank, emptying the glass with a loud lip-smacking "ahhhhh" and wiping her mouth with her arm, wetting the downy red hairs. She teetered a little bit before she tittered, sitting down on the porch swing next to him, her legs splayed unladylike. She held the glass in her lap and he noticed the sweat from it leaving a wet spot on the crotch of her shorts.
It took every ounce of self-restraint to not reach across and put his hand on her bare leg, muscled from her hours of daily biking.
He was troubled by a strange noise. It took him a few seconds before he realized that she was humming to herself. Was she drunk? Then he finally figured that the poor girl probably hadn't had a bite all day. The alcohol on an empty stomach was hitting her hard.
"Would you like me to make you a sandwich?" he asked. Her face lit up with a goofy grin.
"Do you have baloney?"
"Sure do!" he chirped.
"And American cheese?"
"Yup!" She squealed, clasping her hands to her chest, nodding, like she had just won an award. As he got up to go inside he wondered if she'd still be there when he returned. Wanting to take no chances he suggested that she follow him to the kitchen.
"Want to come in?" he asked. Seeing her hesitate, he quickly added, "It's okay. After all, we are 'lemonade buddies' now." He smiled.
She entered his house tenuously and, unexpectedly, she squealed when she saw that it was a carbon copy of her own house. Her eyes were everywhere in the living room and then kitchen while he made her a sandwich and poured her another glass of (spiked) lemonade. She took the food, greedily. Once her mother left for work in the morning, Erika wasn't allowed back in the house, much less the kitchen. Her mother figured that Erika was in less danger of harming herself that way.
She wolfed down the sandwich and followed it up with a gulp of the lemonade. "Woopsy-daisy!" Erika exclaimed, a little too loud, after accidentally dribbling a bit of lemonade onto her shirt, her mouth just not working the way she was used to. Her face was a little numb and this felt silly. She smiled, not caring about the wetness spreading over her t-shirt. Arthur cared about it very dearly as it served to highlight her apple-like breasts and the strawberry-colored nipple the white t-shirt exposed. He gulped, not knowing what to say or do next to get this young girl into his bed. Luckily, she was about to help him out.
She squealed, as if suddenly being pinched and ran past him to his den.
"This is my room!" she said as he trotted in behind her. "My bed is here," she held out her arms as wide as she could, "and my drawers are over there, and my hamster habitrail is over there," she swiveled her arms around, pointing to the corners of the room. "And I've got posters all over the walls, not books."
She yawned, wiping her eyes, and looked down, wishing her bed was really there, where she stood.
"I'm sleepy," she said plaintively.
"Do you want to take a nap?" he asked, his eyes dipping again to her shirt.
Another look of revelation washed over her face, quickly followed by a mischievous glee. "Can I sleep in the front bedroom?" she asked shyly, expectantly.
"Why sure! That's my bedroom and I've got a big bed in there!"
She moved closer to him. He felt her breasts brush up against his chest, her nipples evident against him. It took more self-control than he knew he had to not grind his hard cock against her. Instead, he merely put his hand on her shoulder to see if she'd shy away. She didn't.
After she released him, he found it difficult to walk to his bedroom with her in tow. Her eyes grew wide as she looked at his California King. It was the biggest bed she'd ever seen.
"I usually just sleep in my panties. Is that okay?" she asked, already taking her shorts down, revealing her yellow panties with little pink balloons on them.
He studied the swell of her hips, the shape of her perfect bottom with the little moons of her butt that the bottom of her panties revealed. He watched as she carefully folded her shorts and ritualistically put them on his night stand. He stood, his mouth agape, in awe of her shape, her youthful bloom.
She looked down, seeing the spots of lemonade on her shirt. He followed her eyes and croaked out the words, "We should get you out of that wet shirt. I can throw it in my drier and it'll be ready by the time you wake up." He hoped she didn't freak out from the suggestion; this was the moment he had been truly waiting for, and hating himself for. Did he really want this girl to undress in his bedroom? He didn't want to admit it, but he did want that. And, for that reason, he held out his hand to her, wanting her to hand him her shirt.
She looked from the wet spots on her shirt to his hand and back again before reaching to the hem of her shirt and lifting it straight above her head revealing her pert bare breasts. He secretly thanked his lucky stars.
She handed it to him and he hung it over the door knob. She was too tipsy to notice that he didn't run it to the drier as promised.
His cock jumped and he quickly asked, "I'm kind of sleepy, too, do you mind if I nap with you?"
She looked him up and down, as if appraising him, before saying, "Sure, but your clothes aren't dry either." She pointed at his crotch. He looked down to see that he'd leaked enough precum to leave a wet spot on the inseam of his shorts.
"I'll put these in the dryer later, too," he said, pulling them off.
She was already in the bed, her glasses on the nightstand, her body under the covers. He snuggled up next to her.
"I've never been in bed with a boy before," she said. "Sometimes I see my mom in her bed with the men she brings home." Nearly inaudibly she added, "I've watched them together. I want to be a grown up like that."
He reached down and pulled off his underwear, hidden by the sheet. He snuggled closer, pushing his hard cock into her thigh, taking her admission as an invitation.
The room was silent except for their breathing and the occasional chirps of the birds outside his bedroom window.
Her breathing got deeper and faster. She whispered, "I want to do what grownups do. Can we hug like they do?"
"I can help," he said. "But it's got to be our little secret, okay?"
She nodded solemnly.
"I'm just going to take these off." He slid her underwear down over her blossoming hips and down her silky legs. He could smell the innocent aroma of female and wondered, "Is she a virgin?"
"How can I even be thinking of doing this? " he asked himself. He was seducing an innocent. He hugged her to him and the way she moved against him was too much. Lust overcame guilt; all sense of right and wrong departed. The world became the two of them. He needed her, needed to be inside of her, to possess her.
"I'm going to make you feel good," he said, brushing her hair away from her face, tracing a line of freckles on her forehead, allowing his fingers to go down to her neck where he replaced his fingers with his lips, kissing her there and feeling her pulse under his mouth. His fingers continued down, down, finding her breasts and squeezing them, one after another.
He felt her nipples harden under his palms and slightly pinched one of them. She moaned and arched her back. He smiled.
He slid down, taking the other nipple in his mouth and sucking it. It got even harder under his tongue. She moaned again and he felt her legs instinctively open.
She had dreamed of this day when she laid in bed at night, rocking back and forth with her favorite stuffed animal between her legs, its button eyes looking up at her coldly as she matted its belly with her wetness. Now it was a real man, her new friend, Mr. Pimsleur, between her legs, his warm breath on her freckled skin, moving down her.
Kissing his way over her belly, he found her mons lightly covered with silky red hair in contrast to her kinky red mane. He moved further, positioning himself between her legs where he lightly bit her thighs. Her odor was gentle and fresh, unsullied. His mind recognized the scent of musk and "Love's Baby Soft" immediately taking him back to the back of his car learning the ropes with his high school sweetheart, making him ache even more.
He spread her labia and put his face between the pink folds, finding the pearl of her clitoris there.
She tasted sweet. He moved a finger into her and found her sex soaked with excitement. Pushing in, he found resistance and knew that she was still a virgin. He lapped at her clit, feeling her grow harder under his tongue. She fisted his hair, pulling him closer. Wanting it. Wanting sex. Wanting him to treat her like a woman.
He raised up, moving over her body, feeling her writhe under him. "We're going to do more of what grownups do," he said, looking into her eyes. At this distance, he was the only thing in focus for her. Everything else was a blur.
She felt him pressing into her... down there. She wanted more of his kissing but, more than that, she wanted to feel grown up. Tiny tears trickled out the edges of her eyes, yet, she nodded vigorously. He wiped away her tears with his thumb, smiling down at her.
"This is going to hurt... a lot... but only for a minute and then it's going to feel really good. Okay?" he asked, not wanting to surprise her. The last thing he wanted was her crying out with alarm.
He positioned himself at her entrance and she managed to spread her legs even wider, her body tense now. He leaned into her, finding her lips under his, kissing her as he pushed himself with one forceful thrust into her, past her resistance. She cried out. He moved over her, kissing and muffling her with his mouth.
He was in her now and he felt her body quake, trying to adjust to the intrusion, feeling her internal muscles grasping his cock while she gasped in his ear, whimpering, whining, "Yes...?"
"Yes," he hissed in response, pulling back and thrusting into her a second time. Her body quaked again, her nipples drilling into his chest, her hair spread about his pillow, the fresh scent of girl filling his nostrils. His eyes rolled back into his head as he withdrew and thrust a third time, their copulation lubricated by her vaginal secretions and her virginal blood.
She looked up at him and squeaked out, "Am I pretty?"
His eyes returned and he looked down at her, thrusting again, "Pretty? You're beautiful."
She felt a wave of pleasure ride through her.
"Am... am I a good girl?"
He thrust again. "Girl? You're a woman."
Another wave hit her, taking away her breath like the waves at the beach.
"Am I sexy?" she inquired with a voice so meek he could barely hear it.
With one final thrust he came inside of her, "Yes," he groaned, "You are so sexy."
Whether it was the confirmation of her long-held desires or the flood of warmth from his orgasm, something filled her up and over the brim. She exploded in her first orgasm. It felt like she had lost control of her body. For a second she was afraid she was going to pee herself. She unleashed a long, low moan that sounded more like an animal than a person. It was as foreign to her ears as the feelings that rushed through her limbs and into her torso.
Seeing her spasm around him lifted a weight from his heart. The guilt that had been present lifted from his heart like a bird in flight. His final inhibition gone, he began to cum inside of her, filling her tight young hole with his spunk.
She held on tightly to him, gasping. He was gasping too. He collapsed onto her, his weight uncomfortable but comforting. He rolled off of her, his cock slick with an obscene mix of fluids. She held onto him, burying her head in his chest, not wanting to let go; always wanting to be sexy for him.