It is raining miserably here so I thought I would try to write a few paragraphs.
I was lucky, I suppose, to be a somewhat handsome and athletically gifted young man. Even though I fit in well with the jocks, I also made the highest scores on standardized tests, which led to accepting an academic scholarship to a well-respected university. I did well and entered graduate school. After obtaining a doctorate degree I was offered a good job in the large city about 65 miles from my childhood home. Within only a couple years I had purchased an impressive house and three sports cars, and had dated several beautiful young women.
One a pleasant Spring weekend, I was visiting my family in my hometown when my younger sister asked me to give her a ride to the park for her softball game. While observing the game from a seat at the end of the bleachers, my eye caught a glimpse of something moving in the parking lot beyond the outfield fence. It was exceeding long blonde hair flowing behind a girl riding a bicycle, like a waving flag signaling the arrival of a parade. I watched, mesmerized, as the blonde pennant floated around the parking lot and the girl pulled up and stopped right next to me. The hair fell to below her waist, brushing the seat of the bike between her legs.
She was slender but very athletic-looking, about 5'2" and 90 pounds, and she already had a deep midsummer tan, much of which was exposed by a tight sleeveless tank top and a pair of tiny white shorts. Without hesitation she turned a supermodel's young face toward me, and flashing a genuine smile, asked which team was winning. Suddenly I didn't know. I had to force myself to look away from her for a moment and gain some measure of composure. Catching my breath I managed to ask, "Why aren't you playing on the team?" "I'm not any good at softball," she replied. "I do gymnastics." That explained the legs.
After waving to several of the girls, including my sister, blondie chimed "Bye!" and kicked her bike back toward the parking lot. I noted that she had made a girlish fashion mistake by wearing dark bikini panties which could be seen through the thin white shorts, and I studied the outline of them until her butt wiggled out of sight. I delivered my sister home and decided to linger with the family a while longer. When the opportunity presented itself, I slipped into my little sis's room and pulled her school yearbook off the shelf. Thumbing through it frantically, I found her. Seventh grade cheerleaders - there she was standing on the shoulders of two other girls, in a short cheer skirt. She was 12, I was 26. I slipped the book under my arm and took it straight to the bathroom and masturbated.
Continuing, part 2:
In the next months I took every opportunity to leave the city and go back to my old home on weekends. I justified it as being a dutiful son, as my father had died unexpectedly several years before. I could see that small repairs were done at the house and that our farm and orchard were being cared for. But there was, of course, other motivation. I could not stop thinking about her. All distraction I tried had failed. I no longer had any interest in dating the attractive young women in the city.
The middle school calendar listed a recognition awards program on the final day of school. I took a day off work to attend, with the stated reason being to see my little sis get her certificates for having participated in softball, chorus and the drama club. I was at the auditorium early to get a seat with a good view. My anticipation was justified when the cheerleaders meandered into the forum in uniform. Each girl started a routine of stretching exercises. After tucking each elbow behind her head and doing a few other unremarkable moves, the object of my attention turned toward the wall, leaned her hands against it, and stretched her tanned legs. Then she ever so slowly reached her hands toward the floor, her head and shoulders following. From my viewpoint in back of her I watched as the long mane of blonde hair inched up her back, and the little pleated cheer skirt lifted higher and higher, slowly revealing all of the tanned legs and her bright cheer panties. Her hair spilled over her shoulders and head and splashed on the floor in front of her white athletic shoes. Then she was looking back toward me with her head between her knees, and little white strips of firm untanned butt cheeks peeking out both sides of the stretched tights. I quickly glanced around to see if anyone had seen my awestricken face, but could only tear my eyes away from her momentarily.
The students and teachers filed in, parents and grandparents arrived, and the program commenced. The band played the school fight song, the cheerleaders did a couple cheers, to which I paid rapt attention, catching a few additional glimpses of panties. An administrator then dutifully handed out certificates for academic achievement, sports and other activities. When she was called forward for having perfect grades, cheering, and gymnastics I learned that she was not known by her eastern European given name that I had seen in the yearbook, but by the nickname "Sunny". A more fitting name I have never known anyone to have, for she seemed to light up all space around her.
My sis found me after the program and we headed for the door, but we were stopped by a voice close behind. It was Sunny, asking Sis if we could give her a ride home. Seems her dad was working and her mom had taken grandma to a doctor appointment. I quickly interrupted my sister's reply by blurting, "Certainly, no problem." I introduced myself, and Sis explained that I was her brother. Sunny remembered me from our meeting at the softball park. Out in the parking lot they both climbed into the back seat as I spent a few moments pretending to check my seatbell and rear view mirrror, tilting it down to get a good look far up that little pleated skirt. As I turned the mirror back up to a normal position I caught her eyes looking directly into mine. Busted. She knew what I had done.
On the short drive to her house, I tactfully quizzed Sunny about her plans for the summer. Gymnastics workout every day at the YMCA, where her older sister was to start working, and hanging around the pool there. It was next to the bowling alley and video games. She was also planning to study the high school biology text and some medical books from the library, annoucing that she expected to be a doctor. It was clear from her vocabulary and manner of speaking that she was super intelligent (I later learned that she had an IQ of 180 or so). Her 13th birthday was coming up in a few weeks, just days after my 27th. I suggested that we celebrate our birthdays by all going to the amusement park near the city, and that idea met with enthusiasm from the girls. To add to the odds of the outing happening, I offered that Sunny could also invite her sister and older brother.
do go on...
OP here. If it is wanted, I will continue tonight if I have some time to write.
part three:The next weekend I suggested to sis that we take a ride the six or so miles to town to get an ice cream at the Dairy Queen, and afterward I headed for the Y. Behind the counter in the building fronting the swimming pool was a 15 year old girl who was clearly Sunny's older sister. A bit fuller face and figure, acceptable looks but not the stunning beauty that was her little sis. After exchanging polite hellos, I asked if Sunny was around and she pointed toward the gym next door. It was easy to spot her standing by the balance beam wearing a robin's-egg blue leotard, and eyeing the apparatus with a concentrated stare. She approached the end of the rail, placed both hands on top, and leaped astraddle of it like a cowboy onto a stallion. One foot swept up on the beam and she stood up in a smooth motion. Prancing a few sure steps along the four inch wide strip, she spun around on the ball of her foot and extended her arms gracefully. Then she tilted her torso slightly forward and smoothly lifted her right foot upward and upward until it made contact with the golden tresses at the back of her head. Oh my god. Her foot found its way back down to toe the beam, and she turned toward us. She sees us, and her mouth flashed a quick grin. Turning to her left, she smoothly slid down into a split, glancing her eyes back toward me again. Showing off, I think. The thin leotard slipped up her cheek on one side and tucked itself into the crack of her behind. Seeming oblivious to the exposure, she shifts her torso to face us and rolls her trailing leg over to a full middle split, looking me squarely in the eyes as though to gauge my reaction. I felt as though my chin had surely fallen onto my chest. Straddling the beam again, she then regained her feet and deftly slid one finger under the elastic of her leotard, dislodging it from her cheeks. Three quick steps to the end of the beam and she somersaults off to a landing, but doesn't stick it. A look of embarrassment mixed with anger flashes across her face.
Bouncing toward us, she wipes a bead of sweat from her from her forehead. The leotard clings to her as though spray painted on. Every detail of her smooth little bra is visible, but it is not much more than a training bra. Not even A cups yet, as her rigorous exercise routine has tolerated zero body fat. Her legs, though slim and shapely, look as smooth and hard as steel. And she clearly is wearing no other undergarment underneath the thin fabric. Was it my imagination, or could I actually see through it? A hint of pubic hair was present. (I later learned that it was a dance leotard rather than a gymnastics leotard, and that she had cut the lining out of the bottom with a scissors because the seams rubbed against her when she straddled the beam. But still, it was extremely inappropriate for a girl of any age, and on a subliminal level I loved it.)
Sunny eagerly asked if we were still going to go to the amusement park and said that I needed to call her mom and ask her. I promised I would, and that afternoon I gathered my courage, calmed my nerves, and dialed her home phone. A man answered, and I stumbled hesitantly to explain that I was calling for my sister, Sunny's classmate, to invite her and her siblings to go to the amusement park. Before I could get that far, the voice on the other end told me to hold on while he got her mother on the phone. I had forgotten that Sunny said to ask her mom. A very business-like and mature female voice said hello, and I was able to more coherently state my case as she listened, having had the benefit of the false start just moments before. I was not terribly surprised even, when she replied and said that she knew who I was, for the town was not so populous, and perhaps most people knew whose families were whom, whether they actually were on greeting and conversing terms with them or not. After all, I had been a fairly well-known student at the school only ten years before. Mom said she would discuss it with her husband, and let me know. The next day my phone rang, and when I answered a soft girl's voice whispered excitedly, "We can go! We can go! My mom is going to call you!" Sunny's early warning system.
Ahh, now that I begin to write this the memories of her are flooding back, intruding on my consciousness throughout the day. I fear that I will soon think obsessively of nothing else. There is difficulty in placing each of the circumstances in chronologic order of their happening, but will at least add to what I have already told.
The day soon arrived for our trip to the amusement park. During the week I had traded one of my sports cars for a white Mercedes-Benz sedan. It was ten years old, but had seen little wear as the vehicle of a doctor's wife. She had used it primarily to drive to the malls or shops and spend his money. After divorcing her, he somehow ended up with the car, and as a newly single middle-aged man, wanted a sports car to recapture his youth and chase younger women I supposed. Almost anyone I knew couldn't tell a ten-year-old Benz from a new one, and the swap seemed like a good deal. I also thought it would be better to appear conservative and pragmatic when I arrived at her home, rather than a flashy type in a flashy sports car.
My sister and I arrived at Sunny's house at about 11 a.m. and I was formally introduced. Her parents were only a little more than ten years older than me. Her father was an extraordinarily handsome man I thought, and realized that I had never before that moment made much of any judgment regarding the looks of any male. At some other time and place he very easily could have been a Hollywood leading man. In addition to his last name, she had clearly received an ample share of his genetic material, including the clear blue eyes. He examined me very directly, extended his hand with a pleasant "Hello, nice to meet you", and then never said so much as another word. Her mother, a lady of German descent, took over and greeted me in a more business-like manner. She was not at all unattractive, but more resembled the older sister. The youngsters were clearly eager to get on the road, so mom sent us off with an admonition not to be too late coming back home, as the road was known to have a tediously boring stretch of about 20 miles where it seemed people often fell asleep at the wheel at night.
The older brother, 17, sat in the front seat while the girls took the back. As we approached the city, they began to debate which fast food stop we should make for lunch, as the local Dairy Queen was no longer the only option. McDonald's won the vote, and we piled out of the car and went in. Sunny was wearing a pair of ripped and tattered jeans short-shorts, a halter top sans bra, and lime-green Converse All-Star high-tops. As full of energy as always, she was the first to the door, and I was a few steps behind. A building was under construction next door, and I observed through the glass before we entered a line of about twenty construction workers waiting for a single cashier. As Sunny pushed through the door, the two men nearest, having an animated conversation, glanced toward her and simply froze in mid-sentence with mouths agape. Within 15 seconds or so the rest of the group realized that the atmosphere had changed somehow and all had turned toward her. Each one then stepped aside, like the parting of the Red Sea, motioning for her to go on ahead to the register. I, and my other three companions, were invisible. When Sunny ordered a sandwich and was handed a drink cup, one of the younger workers cleared his throat and meekly asked whether he could fill her drink for her, averting his eyes as he spoke in her general direction. As the men formed up again in line ahead of us her sister muttered a soft "Dammit".
>mfw this story
The amusement park was a collection of thrill rides strung out haphazardly along a midway, a video-game filled penny arcade which, of course consumed quarters by the handfuls, and vendors of ice cream, cotton candy, and other tempting delights. There was a large Ferris wheel, one particularly popular teeth-jarring old-fashioned wooden roller coaster, and a several of a more modern style. For the most part I let my sister entertain her classmate and enjoy the fun, as I knew that I would be nauseated by being spun dizzy. But on the log ride Sunny sat in front of me between my legs, and I slipped one arm around her waist, holding her as close to me as possible, my nose inhaling the smell of strawberry conditioner in her hair. I scanned the faces of other males for obvious indications of envy. You can have anything else in the world, but I win. At the first opportunity, she dipped her hand into the water and splashed flirtatiously back in my face.
Of course, at the end we all got splashed, and Sunny's wet halter top was plastered to her little perky breasts. I was becoming a master the art of avoiding overt reaction to her, but a man walking past was distracted and bumped into a lamp post, almost falling down. She addressed the issue by pulling the bottom of the halter top up and tucking it under the top like a make-shift bra, giving extra coverage to her nipples but exposing her tummy. Her sister scolded her, saying, "I told you not to wear that." I began to see that her older sis was much like a disapproving second mom, and somewhat jealous and resentful of the attention given the younger girl. Her brother spent much of his time checking out the other girls passing here and there, though he managed not to wander off too far. My little sister stayed dutifully near and enjoyed herself as much as a twelve-year-old usually does at an amusement park.
In the parking lot late that evening, Sunny broke into a sprint when she spied the Mercedes, arriving at the front passenger door and exclaiming, "Shotgun!". The others protested but ended up sharing the back seat. Sunny and I had a duel over control of the radio. By the time we hit the boring 20-mile stretch of road, the exhausted trio in back all appeared asleep, despite the music. Sunny leaned across the bench seat and placed her head on my right thigh for a pillow, tossing her hair into my crotch so as to not be laying on it. As she did so her hand brushed near my zipper and I felt a sudden twinge. Glancing down, I saw two clear blue eyes peering back upward innocently, as though oblivious to the response she had caused.
Knowing the road's reputation, I tried to keep my eyes toward the highway. "Do you know any blonde jokes?", she asked. I couldn't think of any. "Well, what does a blonde call a tilt steering wheel?" she continued. I didn't know. "Headroom!", she giggled. I felt a second, stronger twinge, but I couldn't judge quite judge for sure whether she just thought her joke was funny or intended it as an invitation. That beautiful face and mouth were only inches away. But Damn, she was just barely 13 by a few days, her sister and brother were in the back seat maybe not too asleep, and I was determined not to go there. Well, at least until I was more certain of the risks and consequences.
I put my right hand on her head and brushed her hair for a minute with my fingers, then traced her ear, chin, and lips with my forefinger, and continued down her tanned arm to her tummy. She pulled the halter up to clear her ribs and ordered, "Tickle me." Hmm. I wrote an exaggerated "S" on her hard flat tummy above her belly button. Her lids fluttered open and I tilted my head down to see her staring quizzically, as she wondered what that odd movement meant. I outlined the letter "U" and could see that she was trying to process. Two large "N"'s, and a sudden satisfaction filled her face. Quickly adding a "Y", resulted in her smiling and mouthing her name.
Two fingers walked down her abs to the button at the top of the tattered jeans shorts. Her hand moved quickly over to grasp mine. Holding my fingers tightly, she hesitated in thought momentarily, then let her hand fall to the side. I traced the zippered seam of the shorts to its origin, and felt her shoulders rise sharply as she inhaled. Instantaneously my eyes were flooded with blinding multicolored flashing lights. A State Trooper. My hand shot back to the steering wheel and I braked to coast to the shoulder of the highway. As I stepped out of the car, I silently reassured myself that he could not possibly have seen into the car and know that I was guilty of criminal lust.
After viewing my license, the officer asked if I had had anything to drink. "No. I don't drink any alcohol. I was an athlete." Immediately I flashed back to a drunken aftergame party, like a war veteran revisiting his experience. So I added, "I took some kids to the park." and pointed toward the Mercedes. No heads were visible. "They are asleep." After a scolding about driving erratically, I was issued a order to get the kids home safely. Climbing back into the car, I finally exhaled. The trooper blazed off ahead. A wake-up call and an omen, I thought. I had better behave. Depositing her head back on my lap, Sunny closed her eyes and fell asleep within a minute or so.
When I pulled up at our destination, I woke the passengers, and the syblings headed toward the door as I watched. Sunny wheeled about and sleepily stumbled back to tap my window. "Here's your birthday kiss. Happy twenty-seventh." Leaning in she placed her lips softly against mine, and let them linger there longer than a birthday wish required. Pulling back out onto the highway, I checked to see my little sister sleeping in the back. I unzipped my pants to address the matter. Erratic driving or not, after a day with Sunny I needed relief.
In a way I'm gratified to know that at least one person has read my story. This seems like a board with few visitors. But you really should remove your pic please. Do you know that there are ways that your pic might allow someone to find your facebook page or otherwise be able to identify and locate you? Unfortunately there are more than a few crazy people in this world. So check the box by your pic then go to the bottom of the page and click "delete" ok? And if you come back here and continue reading, don't get the idea that you should do the things that anyone writes about here. Be a girl as long as you can. There will be lots of time in the future for you to experience adult life, so don't be in a rush to do so.
Well.. thank you for that, mr OP but I must have done something wrong because the whole post disappeared, haha but its fine the idea was for you to see the picture.. and that was done. And I will be checking to see how far this story goes. Just so you know, since I am just 14 I cant have a fb page, and anyway, I live on a little island in the pacific that has really bad internet, I have to go to a cafe to sign on to read the chan, So I do not think they could find me anyway, As to lots of time for growing up, here if by 13 or so most of the girls are having regular boyfriends, or foreigners who come here stay and we work after school as helpers in their rentals. What it means is that we cook clean and have to provide a lot of favors to them. Its not bad, when we are 18 we can marry them and they treat us really well. I know to you where ever you live that sounds horrid, but its not, most of our families live in grass and bamboo native homes and survive on a few pence a day, as helpers we can take back to the family enough money to build a brick house for our sisters brothers and mom and dad, and if we get married then of course its even better. I have had a lover since I was 12, he has been gentle, caring and supports my family, and sends me to school and wishes me to attend college as well.. I get 90 percent in school in all my subjects, Many of my friends are in relationships like me as well, they are all treated well. So please do not be shock or sorry for me. Also know that your story is read by many of us here, and we cant wait for more.. thank you OP
We are looking for the next part.
Will work on part six tonight. You can't imagine how surprised I am that my audience seems to be 14 year old girls here. Not at all what I would have expected. Anyhow, here is a pic that could have been with part one.
Am I the only one who cannot open the pics in /CON?
Over the hot summer months I looked forward to each weekend like an addict having to have a fix. I first prevailed upon my sister to issue invitations to Sunny to go with us to the Dairy Queen, where we would loiter for a couple hours over an ice cream and then meander through the Dollar Store or drug store, examining the magazines, plastic toys and candy. Sunny avoided sugar intake, only sometimes allowing herself a small scoop of ice cream. Empty calories that she would have to work off, she said. "I would be very happy to help you burn off those calories, and some more besides." I thought, without saying it out loud. Once, I picked up a Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue, and my little sis tried to prevent me from looking at the models' photos in it. Sunny shouldered her aside and thumbed through the entire spread with me, declaring her opinion of each of the tiny bikinis, whether cute, hot, or awful. When we got to one that was just body paint, she expressed a soft, thoughtful "hmm", but didn't seem at all embarrassed. My sister hid her blushing face.
We regularly hit the bowling alley to bowl and play video games. I won a bet when I proved on the very first attempt that I could bowl a strike left-handed, but couldn't collect it there in public, and had to settle for an IOU kiss sometime in the future. Occasionally while sitting and keeping score, Sunny would just plop down on my lap like it was completely natural and unremarkable. And oddly, the only person who seemed to think she shouldn't be there was my little sister, who would try to make her get up and move to a seat. It only occurred to me later that I was somewhat of a father figure to her, and what 12 year old wants to see their friends snuggling up to their big brother/father?
(Let me add this thought: once somewhere online I read a comment which referred to a young girl's bottom as "soft and feminine" or something like that -- well, when Sunny sat down on me it was like having two 45 lb. boulders dropped on your thighs, nothing soft at all about that behind. As pleasing as it was mentally, after a while sitting on my lap became real physical discomfort.)
We also would meet up at the YMCA pool sometimes. It was part of Sunny's routine to swim some laps after gymnastics and then to enjoy laying in the sun a while. The only problem with the pool was that her sis worked there and kept a watchful eye on her. I have to admit, she had some awesome bikinis for a girl her age, which were greatly appreciated. Big sis was a constant critic of her attire, or perceived lack thereof, but Sunny simply ignored her as well as the attention of others. Seeing her in a any bikini was an absolute feast for my eyes, but torture for certain other parts.
After a few weeks I cut out the middle man, so to speak, and started calling Sunny directly to ask if she could go with us, and it was just wonderful to hear her pure, still-little-girl voice on the other end of the phone. I am sure I invented "phone sex" before those late-night pay-for-chat-with-a-hot-babe lines were advertised. I feared she could hear my breathing on the other end of the line.
For the Fourth of July Sunny was allowed to go with us to the city for the scheduled events, a parade, outdoor concert by the symphony orchestra, and fireworks at dark. I didn't invite her brother and sister. When we arrived at her home, we were asked inside for a few minutes because she was still in the shower. She came out wrapped in a damp towel and sat down and brushed and dried her hair. There was something incredibly sensual about her beautiful glistening face and graceful brushing that I still vividly remember these many years later. I knew she was naked under that towel, and expected her mom to send her to put on clothes, but mom just continued to chat with us. Sunny then disappeared to her room and shortly emerged in the snug, tiny white shorts that she had on when I met her on her bike at the park, and a red, white and blue striped tshirt.
A highlight for me later that day was when she climbed on my shoulders to better see the parade. I felt her cool thighs on my neck and ears, and on the side of my face. Her long blonde tresses fell across my eyes and tickled my nose, and I tried to blow the strands aside to see. At one point she clenched my hair to avoid falling backward, and snuggled as far forward on my neck as possible. I thought about how, just a couple months before, I had watched those shorts pedaling away on a bicycle, inspiring such lust, and that now here they were wrapped snugly around my head. How I wished I could just spin my head around to face the opposite direction! My hands found their way along those calves and knees and smooth femoral muscles. I realized that she had shaved her legs. Just for me, I thought.
We later enjoyed the symphony's program of patriotic music, and found a warm grassy spot to lay back and watch the fireworks. Somehow during the explosions our hands found each other. Holding hands just felt completely natural to us at that moment. It didn't matter that I was more than twice her age. Distraction of the fireworks insured that my sis wouldn't see. It was not so late when we returned after the fireworks, and to my great disappointment Sunny and sis stayed awake the entire trip.
>Am I the only one who cannot open pics in /CON?
Nah, you just have to delete the "http://c00b3399.amy.gs/url/" in front of the pic's URL
I making a book with your posts, so I can read later, since I do not have internet all the time. So come on get me to a nice part :) kinda need it :) get it?
I apologize if this is too long or boring. Know that I have never written about this before, nor told any of the details to my even my closest friends, including those who met Sunny at some point. And I would like for you to understand some of the context in which it happened, so please forgive if I don't get to the "good" parts soon enough, or find that I cannot adequately express the circumstances in words when I do get there. You may have to fill in the gap with your imagination. Or a vibrator or suitable object. (Sad joke I know.)
I am able to sleep only fitfully these days, and feel so tired and confused when I try to write that I can't make much sense. Or I start reminiscing about our time together or thinking about the future. You may understand when I get to the end of the story. (And I know how it ends.) I suppose I could just skip ahead to the end if I really tried but that is not the way it is in my mind. So here goes.
Later in the summer I stopped unannounced at Sunny's home and rang the bell. There was no response, but I could faintly hear music coming from the back yard. As I rounded the corner of the house, I saw that she was stretched out on a large beach towel, face down, with her feet pointed toward the house. In apparent imitation of the Sports Illustrated magazine we had critiqued, she had pulled her swimsuit bottom as far up as she could, to mimic a thong swimsuit. I had previously enjoyed a few glimpses of slivers of her untanned butt cheeks, so her minimized coverage was a treasure found. I examined every centimeter of her little ass for two or three minutes, thinking that I could almost bite into those two beautiful smooth white humps and they would be as sweet as apples, and then I would lick her to oblivion.
The music kept her from hearing me approach as I crept up slowly to within arm's reach. I could smell tanning lotion and see a few soft tiny white hairs and freckles on her low back above the elastic stretched across her crack. Suddenly she realized someone was near, and flipped over kicking and screaming. I was sent reeling by a forceful foot to the left shoulder and suddenly glad to be out of range with my face and gonads intact. When she saw that it was me she covered her mouth with one hand and began sobbing loudly. With her other hand she alternately tried to cover her little breasts and explore around in search of the bikini top. I tried to apologize for scaring her, but she just shook her head, "No. No. It's not you. Not you." And she held me and cried for another five minutes while I dabbed at her streaming tears with my tshirt. Then she got up, made a determined face, and marched to the house.
I would later learn that, at the age of ten, Sunny had been assaulted and molested. It had occurred while visiting an aunt and cousin who lived in a neighboring state, Mom, Dad, aunt and older brother had gone to the store. The girls had made a playhouse in the backyard out of a couple large cardboard boxes in which a refrigerator and freezer had been delivered. She had gotten spray paint on her hands and arms, and the cousin's 45-year-old step-dad offered to help her wash it off in the garage. There was a large wash basin and as she washed her hands, he stood closely behind, reaching around to put hand cleanser on her fingers. Then he suddenly pinned her against the basin with his body. He threatened her to be quiet or get hurt. With one arm around her chest and arms, he slipped his other hand down the front of her shorts and little cotton panties. After stroking her for a minute, he inserted a finger, but then withdrew his hand to unzip his pants. His zipper stuck. As he tried to address the balky zipper with both hands, she wiggled away and dashed out the door.
He caught her in a few steps and she fell to the grass. As he leaned to pick her up, her gymnastics training, leg strength and flexibility came into play. She kicked him squarely in the face, breaking his nose, and stunning him momentarily. She scrambled to race to the neighbors' house and rang the doorbell and pounded on the front door. To her good fortune, the neighbor was home and opened the door as an angry man with a bloody nose arrived. After everything shook out, they both ended up in the same hospital emergency room. And despite his verbal threats to her, she told the truth. An examination revealed evidence of the molestation to support her. As it turned out, unbeknownst to all, he had a previous record as a sex offender, and had been molesting the cousin as well. He ended up copping a plea for a five year prison sentence.
Of course, no mention of the incident was ever made in the local community, and it remained always a family secret. Sunny was sent to a psychiatrist and given medication to sleep, then regular visits to a psychologist for some months aferward. When I later learned of the secret, I often wondered to what extent the episode and the therapy were responsible for the independently fearless, ambitious, and somewhat exhibitionistic young girl she had become by the time I met her. She had beaten the man who attacked her. No one was going to keep her from doing what she wanted, or going where she wanted. It was as though she felt more grown up, capable of defending herself, adventurous, self-assured and impervious to peer pressure than anyone I could ever imagine at the age of 12. And for whatever reasons, be it intelligence, advanced maturity, or subconscious memory of her first sexual experience, she liked older men. She could be sweet, flirtatious and loving. But remember not to sneak up on her when she is laying on the grass. Then you might get your nose broken.
Oh, and by the way, Miss Amaakee, I also think that Sarah, the girl whose image appears with your post above, is really really cute. Here she is as an 11 year old. And she has a sweet voice. You probably do too, but like I said before, don't post your own pic.
Good story bro... and the b/w pic you used as 'sunny' is Estelle Yves... here is her site
Thank you very much for the ID on my OP pic. I chose that pic because out of the hundreds of thousands of pics I have seen, it was the one that most closely resembled the actual Sunny. I renamed the file for the purpose of easily finding it when I went to upload it, and didn't realize the file name would show on the site.
However, since your ID I have found another pic, <<< this one, which just blows me away. I have a photo of Sunny at 14 which could be superimposed on this one, and the only noticeable physical difference is the tip of her nose. That is, ahem, if she actually exists, and of course she would be at least 18 and not 14. (Must "maintain plausible deniability", to borrow a phrase from the Reagan administration.) And remember, all posts here are artistic works of fiction.
And cosmetically, Estelle is appears to be much less of a true medium blonde.
There was not much in the way of shopping in our town. Making regular trips to shopping malls in the suburbs of the city was a normal part of life. So it was that at the beginning of August we headed for the Summer Clearance/Back to School sales, with both her sister and mine. Along with some notebooks and school supplies, I bought my sis a pair of new shoes, and everyone got a couple graphic tees. Sunny chose one with the Beatles, and when I asked if she even knew who they were she related the details about Ringo's real name, and Pete Best and even Stu Sutcliffe. Her sister said, "Okay, you can stop now, Miss Know-it-all."
As we strolled past Victoria's Secret I stopped momentarily to admire a large display photo of a beautiful VS model in a bra in the window. My sister, of course, was horrified and began to drag me away. Sunny peered in the door for a few moments then caught up with us. We went on to most of the shops that sold girls' clothing. She seemed most interested in the swimwear in each shop, knowing that this was the time of year to get those half price. Only bikinis though. In the entire time I knew her I saw her in only a single one-piece suit, but I will get to that occasion later. She complained that the suits in GapKids and LimitedToo were for little children, with flowery prints and skirted bottoms dominating. As lunchtime arrived her older sister and my sis declared they were hungry, but neither I nor Sunny wanted to head for the food court just yet. I gave the two a twenty and sent them on ahead. Almost before they were out of sight, Sunny grabbed me by the arm and pulled me in the other direction. Back to Victoria's Secret.
She made a beeline for the swimwear. I didn't even know until then that VS had any swimwear. As a guy, even at 27, I had only admired the photos in the window but felt extremely conspicuous actually inside the store. She rifled through bikini bottoms with bold tags reading "The Sexy Little String Bikini." The suits looked scarcely bigger than a dollar bill. She ordered me to help her find any that were extra extra small XXS size. I also had no idea until then that VS made swimwear or panties that would fit a girl her size. Selecting a tiny hot pink bottom, she turned her attention to finding the matching XXS sliding triangle top. Then she motioned her head toward the back of the store and I followed.
She stopped at a table with "Candy Panty Thongs" (no, not the edible kind, just a marketing name) and didn't waste any time grabbing two XXS pair. We arrived at a door to a changing room at the back of the store and she went in. I turned back toward the displays wondering just what I would say if an employee asked if i needed help. Then I heard an impatient whisper, "Well?..." I turned to see her raise her eyebrows at me and continue, "We haven't got all day." With that as a invitation, I scanned for observers and stepped quickly into the cubicle. There was a sudden aura of furtive naughtiness, akin to flashing with your girl cousins in the living room as a kid when your parents were just through the door in the kitchen. (What? You didn't do that?)
She quickly dropped the bikini and thongs on a bench, and kicked off her shoes. Unbuttoning her jeans, she turned away from me and glanced back up at me over her shoulder. "I've already seen you just about naked," I tried to reassure her, as if it was just another uneventful day at the office for me. "Do you want me to turn around?"
"No, I would have left you outside. Tell me how they look."
She wiggled her jeans down to her knees, and pulled one leg through, then the other, leaving the jeans on the floor and revealing white brief panties with tilted block letters reading "CHEER" across her hiney. Pulling her tshirt over her head revealed the unadorned smooth white bra she usually wore, when she wore one. Her thumbs tucked into the sides of the panties and "CHEER" went down to her knees, then the floor. When I saw the tan lines on that little girl, I felt lightheaded. The penis imprisoned below my belt attempted a breakout, and I feared that it might somehow tear through a pair of Levi's.
She picked up the hot pink strip of cloth with a long pink string on each corner and slapped it between her legs, and holding it there, reached around to grasp the rear part dangling under her behind. I laughed, realizing that she should have tied the strings on the sides beforehand instead of while holding it between her legs. But of course she had no idea how she was supposed to put it on and tie the strings without letting go of the parts she was holding. "And you are supposed to be so smart."
"Well, help me, dammit." For the first time her sister's language crept into her vocabulary. I tied the strings on the sides and adjusted the elastic along the bottom and waist. Not that it needed to be adjusted. The touch of her smooth, cool skin was intoxicating, and I desired so badly to wrap her completely in my arms. "You had best not even try to swim in this," I said. "It would be at the bottom of the pool."
She then held up the two pink triangles and string and calculated that her breasts would easily be covered, and she could tie the strings tightly enough that it wouldn't fall off, and didn't bother to waste time trying it on. I was a little disappointed. She then pulled the string tied on one hip and let the bikini bottom fall to the floor. She chose one of the Candy thongs and slipped it on, adjusting the path of the thong between her cheeks with a finger and thumb. That little ass was created for thong panties. Well, DNA and years of gymnastics in combination.
If I ever decide to make a bucket list of things to do before I die, being in a changing room again at VS with a young beautiful girl, a string bikini, and xxs thong candy panties would be high on my list. By the time she got her jeans back on she had noticed the raging boner I was trying to hide and giggled at it. I limped noticeably to the cash register to pay for the items, holding a small shopping bag in front of my bulging crotch and feeling ever more conspicuous than I had when I first entered the store. Eighty-five bucks for a few slips of cloth. You would come out way ahead, I thought, if you just made bikinis out of ten dollar bills. As soon as we exited the store she threw the pink VS bag in the first trash can. Couldn't let her sister see it.
Love your story, u got talent as a wrighter. Couldn't stop reading intell the end lol
With the beginning of the school year, our time to just hang out on weekends was seriously curtailed. Sunny's first priority was always her academics, even before gymnastics and cheering. Her mother had told me about the occasion a few years prior when she had come home with a grade of "B+" on a quiz and had burst into tears. It was never to be repeated. Although she was a brainiac, she had an ingrained drive, as she did in gymnastics, not to let up. And she was taking honors classes, as well as bumping up to the high school for some subjects. When she had taken the college entrance exams in sixth grade and scored in the top few percent, her mom had approached the school administration about allowing her to progress at her own speed. She also had a neat photograph of a couple stodgy-looking university presidents presenting her with a recognition award for making that exam score.
On Saturdays Sunny cheered for the junior varsity football games, and when football season passed, for the basketball games. I brought my sis to the Saturday games, and found a suitably advantageous, but not too conspicuous, position from which to watch. Even though we acknowledged each other, there was from the beginning an unspoken understanding that we would maintain our distance when she was participating in school activities. Somewhat like her molestation secret, what was to develop between us would not be the source of scandal in the school or local community. Eventually she would be leading what amounted to a double life. An early version of Hannah Montana, but not rated Disney.
When the end of October rolled around, I was asked at Halloween to take the girls to the local version of a Haunted House, and then to cruise the streets of a couple of the nicer subdivisions to view the decorations and panhandle for treats. The girls had variously costumed, and Sunny had outfitted herself as a black cat by painting the tip of her nose with mascara and adding whiskers on her cheeks, and donning a sleek black dance leotard and ballet slippers. She pretended to be scared to go into the Haunted House unless I accompanied her, as though I was needed for protection from the ghoulish inhabitants. I remember escaping with only bruised ribs and ringing ears from the screaming.
I had expected to chauffeur only three girls, and had taken one of the sports cars. But we had two of their girlfriends join us, and there were five girls in only three seats. My sis sat on the hump between the two rear bucket seats, while Sunny straddled the console and gearshift in the front. It was unavoidable that my arm would rest between her legs in order that I could shift gears, and when I shifted into second or fourth gear, my elbow would nestle lightly up against the crotch of her leotard. She did not seem to mind. At all. And as the evening wore on, and the girls climbed in and out of the car, she seemed to inch a bit forward and spread her legs a bit more each time. We maintained innocent, stoic faces as best we could, but we both knew what was going on. At least she wasn't wearing that thin see-through blue leo that I had seen at gym practice, but still, I was glad that the State Trooper wasn't there evaluating my erratic driving. I stayed in second gear for miles.
LMAO dude I'd be in second gear skip third and go straight to fourth! Haha love your weighting style keep up the good work.
so what will it take to get you to write more..?? I am stopped in mid excitement.. lol... bad u are :)
I really would like to be able to think and write and hang out on the net all day, I realy do, but I have work and other responsibilities. And when I do start to write it always takes me a long time to put it into words. It doesn't just flow out. Hope to be able to do more tonight.
The next weekend my sister would celebrate her thirteenth birthday. Sunny and two other girls were invited to a sleepover on Saturday night. While I did not want to intrude too much on their activities, I did manage to engineer a banana-eating contest. My sis and one other girl who was still twelve did not seem to have a clue of how to win such an event. Sunny faired better, licking hers much like an ice cream cone, and giggling when I averted my eyes a couple times in mock shock. But the fourth, a sassy freckle-faced 'tween, easily claimed the title of champion when she promptly deep-throated her banana like a pro. Her awesome talent made me wonder just who her lucky boyfriend was. I wished for a moment that I could have had her demonstrate for the others how to best put that ability to use, but when you are a big brother you hope your little sister stays an innocent girl as long as possible. I brought them saucers of ice cream, whipped cream and cherries to make banana splits with the leftovers. Then I left them to their gossip and teen fashion magazines. And I didn't think I would get to sleep at all if I watched Sunny licking whipped cream off those lips while sitting in micro gym shorts.
At some time after midnight I was still awake, relaxing on a large sectional sofa and watching late-night television in the living room. The sound was turned very low so as to not disturb my mother, a notoriously light sleeper, whose bedroom was down a short hallway. I heard the refridgerator door open in the kitchen and someone pour a glass of water. In a moment a Sunny's voice whisper, "I can't go to sleep. Can I watch tv with you?"
"There isn't anything on worth watching at this hour." I replied, trying to resist temptation.
"Well, then teach me how to play."
"Huh?" I was both puzzled and intrigued by the request, until I saw that she was gesturing toward a chess board on the end table. As I rose to retrieve it, she assumed my spot on the sofa. I placed the chess board on the coffee table before her, hesitated for a moment, then pushed the table a bit to the side and sat on the carpeted floor. As much as I desired her, my conscience was still putting up a pretty good fight. My brain still knew how old, or young, this beautiful girl was, even if my body didn't give a damn. And I had lived by the rules all of my life, up until then.
I hadn't even got the chess pieces set on the board when she reached toward my face and placed her fingers lightly on my cheek. Stroking them down and around my chin she said thoughtfully, "Scratchy."
I whispered back, "I shaved this morning. Well, yesterday morning, now."
"I didn't say it was bad," she added. Then her hand went down to the top of my v-neck tshirt. Pulling it down a revealed some chest hair, which she curled around a few times with a finger. "That is so weird. Having hair there."
"And I suppose you don't have any," I said, reaching to pull at the top of her tank top with a finger. She intercepted it with her free hand.
"I don't have much of anything to look at." A hint of modest blush.
"Not everyone likes big floppy boobies. I happen to like little firm ones. You are wonderful just the way you are."
Then, assuming the tone of a doctor conducting a patient interview, she asked, "Are penises slimey?" I choked back a laugh, afraid to wake the woman sleeping in the next room.
"If you do it right they are," I almost snorted. Then, despite my conscience, "Would you like to see for yourself?" She shook her head no.
"Have you ever seen one?"
This time she nodded affirmatively.
"I swear I won't tell."
And she named her big brother.
"How did that happen?"
"I'm better at poker than he is."
That little bastard, I thought, playing strip poker with a little girl, and a little sister at that. Despicable. Almost wished I had thought of it.
Your a good writer. I like the poker idea,but I don't think it works for everyone. I also like the banana eating contest,i wonder if I could get my little cousins in on something like that. I bet one of my 12 year old cousins could deep throat a banana. LOL that would be a site. I also have some stories of my own,but I will share them on my own thread.Â
I also realized something,IM SO FUCKING LUCKY! I have TONS of cousins and it's funny, because once some of my cousins grow into teenagers i have other cousins that grow into beautiful loli's a couple of years later. It's almost like I never run out of loli's.Â
Sunny had leaned over onto an elbow. Slowly and almost imperceptibly, as we talked with the need to whisper, our faces moved closer. "I still owe you a kiss," she offered, reminding me about our bowling bet back in the summer. I couldn't hold out any longer. I had for months so much desired to kiss those sculpted lips that I felt a dizzying euphoria as our lips met. Then we kissed again, and she threw her mouth open as wide as possible. Well, she needed some kissing lessons, but I would offer them free of charge, with lots of practice.
Coming up for air, we both suddenly remembered where we were, and scanned the open doorways that led to the kitchen and the hallway. We listened intently for a sound of anyone moving in the house. She reached for a pillow and laid her head back on it, facing the ceiling. I peeled her tank top up and slipped my hand up to her breasts. Circling her erect pink nipples with a finger, I felt her chest heave as she inhaled and exhaled deeply. Just wait, I thought, this is only the very beginning. Rising onto my knees, I leaned over her and kissed her ribs, breasts and rosebuds. She exhaled, and pushed me away. Slowly she pulled her top down to cover her ribs and tummy, eyeing the open hallway fearfully, while I checked the other door.
After a half-minute of careful listening, we resumed. Moving her hair aside, I kissed behind her ear and along her neck, and my hand moved down her tummy toward her waist. Laying on her back on the sofa, the elastic waistband of her micro gym shorts stretched from one pelvic bone to the other, and her abdominal muscles were so firm and flat that there was a gap of almost an inch between the elastic and her skin that easily accommodated my hand as I slipped it down to her soft cotton panties. Tilting her head back on the pillow, stretching her neck as her chin reached toward the ceiling, her mouth opened to breathe in a light gasp, almost of surprise.
I was experienced with girlfriends and lovers, and I knew how to give woman pleasure. Soon she was wet as I teased her toward that goal. And I was astounded by how hard and erect my penis was. I could have lifted dumbbells. I took her hand and guided it toward my crotch. Her closed eyes suddenly opened wide. "You want to put THAT in ME?" she whispered emphatically. "NO WAY, JOSE'. Can't be done." (And that is how my penis got his nickname, Jose' - and her vagina became his hispanic girlfriend, Juanita). But she wrapped her hand around the shaft and squeezed. She had no idea what to do with it.
With my free hand I loosened her grip a bit and grasped her wrist, and I began to move her arm and hand to show her how it was done. As I continued to apply my touch to her, she and I both began to breathe in rhythm. The moment approached that I could feel her hips responding and she exerted more pressure against my fingers, I leaned to kiss her again, and inserted my middle finger into her. Despite her desire to maintain quiet, she emitted a whimpering moan, and thrust her hips in several sharp jerks. And she bit me on my face. Right on my cheekbone under my left eye. Damn, I thought, I've got to marry this freaky little girl. A moment later she learned that yes, dicks can be slimey, as I splattered the inside of my tshirt.
We stayed there immobile as statues for a minute, breathing hard, listening and watching the doors, then crept quietly to the kitchen and wiped off with a damp dish towel.
Having grown up on a farm, it was usual for me to arise early in the mornings. So despite the late night activity, I was awake long before anyone else stirred. I planned to make my usual inspection of the farm and orchard on one of the 4-wheelers parked in the large equipment shed that housed the farm tractors, insecticides, spraying devices, and other farm tools. On my way out, I peeked my head into sis's room to admire Sunny's face and do an exposed panty check. Two girls were sprawled on sleeping bags they had brought, but Sunny and sis were snuggled together in her bed, looking as completely angelic as young sleeping girls look.
I tiptoed out and spent the next two hours riding amongst the various crops on the farm and the trees of the orchard, noting which areas needed fertilizing or grass cutting, and looking for signs of disease or insect infestation. until I reached the woods stretching out a few more acres to the west. When I arrived back at the house, the girls had risen and eaten some breakfast, and were outside lobbing an old basketball at the goal I had erected some ten years before. Mother had gone to the store for some last minute goodies to go with the ice cream and cake.
I headed to the bathroom near my sister's bedroom to take a shower, and realized when I looked in the mirror that I would have to concoct some story to cover for the several small bruise-like teeth marks on my cheek from the night before. Luckily she hadn't drawn blood. I pulled the shower curtain and stepped in to a nice hot spray to wash off the dust from my tour of the farm. Within a minute there was a knock on the door. It was Sunny, and I told her to go to the other bathroom, but she just wanted to get a twistie to tie back her hair, and they were in the drawer in this bathroom. So I stepped out and unlocked the door and quickly returned to the steamy environs behind the curtain.
I was washing my face when the water suddenly turned ice cold. A stealthy arm had reached in to shut off the hot water. As I let out a yelp, I heard giggling and quick footsteps out the door, and I threw aside the shower curtain in pursuit of the little culprit. Half-slipping, dripping and naked, I stormed down the hallway, and I cornered her in sis's room. She was helpless with laughter but tried half-heartedly to escaped across sissy's bed. I pinned her like a wrestler and was trying to use her as a towel, when my little sister's angry voice interrupted. There was a wet and naked man in her bed on top of her friend, and she didn't like it one bit, brother or not. Sis did not speak to me again until Christmas, when she allowed it was the season of forgiveness.
Some years later I would understand that Sis wasn't just jealous of someone snuggling up to her big brother and maybe taking away some of his attention. It seemed that I wasn't the only member of the family to be overwhelmingly in love with Sunny. Those two thirteen-year-old girls in my sister's bed that morning were not as angelic as they had looked.
Part 13 PART 13!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Threesome action plz
I was wondering, does this story take place in the past? U said that she didn't talk to u till summer. Or is the story current and progressing as soon as ur weighting it?Â
And in the story u hinted that the girls that spent the night are in love with sunny. Are u also saying that they fooled around at night to? Ur stories got so many different plots that it's getting me more intrigued as it goes along. Marcelouse wrighting skills -clap clap- :)
Love it, thanks for giving me the best O in a while :)
I only wish I could have delivered it in person. :>)
OK what is going on the post previous to this is talking about a girl S who has mention of similar situation as you mention going to vS and etc.. but she is disgusted.. what is this???
Just to let you know that I am working on several additional parts that I will probably post all at the same time. Coming up soon. Meanwhile, a pic taken in an elevator. The t-shirt reads, "Trouble".
>what is this???
I think you are waiting for some incentive to continue this story, so I took a little vid of me very short to entice you to post more haha.. no face .. but I think you will like it
I finally got a decent night's sleep last night. Somehow I feel that if only I can finish writing this I will be released from the intrusive thoughts that have been preventing my rest. So here goes. Sorry about so much wordy background info, but this is how it comes out. To me this is much more about personality and relationship than about sex.
Sunny had been an extraordinarily beautiful child from the moment she was born. But it was at the age of seven that she came to the realization that she was different or, maybe more accurately, that people reacted to her in a manner differently than the norm. She had asked her parents why it was that no matter where she went, EVERYONE looked at her, and had been told simply that people thought she was pretty. Not that it was a good thing or a bad thing, necessarily, but just a fact of life.
At seven, when adults would ask, "Do you know how beautiful you are?", as they regularly did, she would naively reply, "Yes". But Sunny had by age 10 become somewhat resentful of the constant feeling that she was in a spotlight when she wasn't performing, even furious at times about unwanted attention. She could understand that people were supposed to watch gymnastics or cheering, but not the staring that was so pervasive when she was just waiting for her ride home. She took to wearing baggy pants and sweatshirts, tucking her hair down into her clothing and donning a hat or cap. But when people saw that face and those eyes, they would they would reactively blurt out something that, if they had been able to contemplate, otherwise wouldn't have been said. If she had a dollar for every time someone looked up to see her and exclaimed, "Wow!", she could have retired as a teenager. Her brother and sister from time to time even called her "Wow" as a satirical nickname, often rolling their eyes as they said it. That really pissed her off.
By the time I met her at 12 however, she seemed at peace with the way that she looked, and with the reactions of others, and completely ignored her syblings. Again, maybe this was to some extent attributable to the professional therapy after her assault, but she had also matured to an age where she understood that boys looked at girls, and she and her girlfriends were eyeing the boys or, in her case, men. People were going to look and there wasn't much she could do about it. She was no longer angry about the intrusive behavior of others, but tolerated or even accommodated it to a great extent, when she couldn't just ignore it. I more than once saw a group of younger children form a line to request her autograph, even when they didn't have a clue who she was, and Sunny patiently accommodated them.
As a young teen it was not uncommon for her meal to be interrupted other diners, both male and female, who just had to tell her she was the most beautiful human they had ever seen, or teen girls bent on embarrassing their dates or boyfriends with similar revelations. When we later attended sports events, often the people sitting next to us or in the general vicinity would ask to take her photograph (or just shoot pics without asking), or request that she pose with them, I suppose just to show friends or family who wouldn't otherwise believe them without proof. If the event was televised, it was almost guaranteed that tv cameras would find her.
Whether extreme beauty was a blessing or a curse, she learned to live with it, and accepted it, and when she wanted to, flaunted it. Once, in Yankee stadium, a tv crew was sent to our seats a few rows behind the Yankees dugout, and she was asked permission to be put on their broadcast and the giant screen television in the stadium between innings of the baseball game. When the break came, she stood and danced to the piped-in music, tossed her hair a bit provocatively and waved, receiving a much greater ovation than the team had gotten. Several thousand people in nearby seats stood and applauded enthusiastically. I don't think anyone realized she was fourteen. The remarkable thing, in my view, was that by then she thought of herself as mostly normal, and that everyone else acted a bit wacky. I truly believe that one of the things that attracted her to me was that I never even once tried to tell her she was beautiful. I didn't have the words, and it just seemed clear that she didn't have the need to hear it.
At Christmas time I delivered chocolates to Sunny, and a box of the same to her mom and sister, so it might seem that I was not singling her out for special attention. Everyone else was in the kitchen when she pranced into the living room to greet me. "All I got was lumps of coal in my stocking," she said, with an exaggerated frown. "I wasn't on Santa's 'nice' list." She pulled her t-shirt tight across her breasts for me to read the script "Naughty" . I also suddenly realized that she had on a new bra, and the makings of new boobs to fill it.
"I hope Santa didn't blame that on me," I replied, remembering our late-night encounter at the sleepover. She gave me a knowing look and whispered, "You will get a present from me, but not right now." But we just both had to suffer until the next opportunity.
That night she called surreptitiously and whispered that she was thinking of me, and that she was about to go take another bath. I pictured her in the tub naked.
"What do you mean 'another' bath?"
"I really really need it," she whispered. "Thank you, thank you, thank you."
"It was just a box of chocolates."
"Not for the chocolates. For showing me how.... you know, how to C-U-M."
Dammit girl, I thought, don't be telling me this.
"I'm going to take a bath now, and I'm going to let the water run on me, 'cause Juanita likes it." I imagined her laying back in the tub with her hair floating up behind her, her fine, smooth legs stretching up the wall toward the ceiling, toes pointed, while the water spilled between her legs. To this day, whenever I hear bath water running, I see that vision.
A few days later we again headed to the city with our sisters to catch a movie and stop at the mall to spend some of our gift dollars at the post-holiday sales. As we entered the mall an attractive middle-aged woman headed in the opposite direction stopped in her tracks, exclaimed, "Oh my God.", and gathered herself to approach Sunny. "Please tell me that you came to audition."
She was a television producer for the city's CBS Network affiliate. They were looking for a "Kids' Correspondent", and were having auditions at the mall. The chosen girl would do short feature segments shown at the end of weekend news broadcasts, encouraging a healthy lifestyle and safe, fun activities for children. Safety advice like wearing a helmet and protective gear to skateboard or ride a bike, and activities like going to the zoo or playing frisbee in the park.
Sunny replied with the magic words, "How long would it take?"
"You can go first," said the lady, taking Sunny by the arm and escorting us to the center of the mall where studio lights had been erected in front of a backdrop, flanked by television monitors and a reflector to block out sunlight from the glass roof. A chubby, balding man was apparently the director, aided by a twentysomething young woman. A cameraman was perched on a tall stool behind one of those large studio cameras reading the sports section of the local newspaper.
The lady took Sunny to the front of a line of about 50 girls all studying a slip of paper with three sentences on it they were supposed to memorize. She spoke quickly to the director and the assistant handed Sunny a slip. She read it once and handed it back. Ready. The director brought her before the backdrop and the assistant alerted the cameraman, who looked up and through the viewfinder, and when he saw Sunny's image blurted, "Jesus Christ!" (Apparently that day she was more of a religious experience than a "wow".) Then he stepped out from behind the camera to look with his eyes, as though he thought she may have been some tv special effect.
Sunny delivered the lines flawlessly and smiled. The director made a little small talk while the camera kept rolling, asking her how long that hair was, did she do any acting or plays, and noting that she did cheerleading and gymnastics and could ride a horse. He took her name, address and phone number and thanked her. The producer lady waved goodbye to him and left. They went through the motions with the others, to be sure of a backup, I suppose, but they already knew. In about 6 weeks Sunny would start going to the city on weekends to shoot the tv spots. They would be shown on the weekend news broadcasts, and then sent out for replay on cable access and the surrounding area's public schools' closed circuit television. This would result, the next Fall, in Sunny's write-in election as Homecoming Queen in at least a dozen schools she never attended, until the schools banned write-in voting.
Six weeks later, I was invited to attend a wedding of one of my old high school buddies on Valentines' Day, a Saturday evening affair to be followed by a reception at the community center, where I had worked for the recreation department a couple summers while in college. The building was essentially a basketball gym with a large stage behind one goal and long bar on one side with ice coolers and a kitchen with commercial cooking appliances. On the other side was a hallway that led to restrooms, an office and two storage rooms tucked behind the stage for recreational equipment and arts and crafts supplies. Since there was not a lot of night life in the town other than a few seedy bars, wedding receptions in the community were considered prime entertainment opportunities, with music, dancing, and someone else footing the bill for your drinking and eating. The ladies generally dressed their best, and most men wore coats and ties. This reception did not disappoint. Sunny was there.
Slowly over the past months she had grown, but I was hardly prepared for the vision that walked in that evening. She was now 5'4" and 100 lbs., but for the first time I was seeing her in high heels, which boosted her height to 5'8". She was nearly as tall as me, and several inches taller than her mother. She had a new elegant body-hugging black dress with a scoop neckline, and was it my imagination, did she really have those boobs? Even a new Wonderbra needed raw material to make breasts look like that. Her blonde hair fell down her back in sharp contrast to the black dress. Absolutely stunning.
After congratulations to the wedding party, everyone soon was enjoying the live band on the stage, though the volume often prevented genteel conversation. The facility was not a huge one, and a few hundred people made it just a bit crowded. I danced with my little sister, my mother, and even with Sunny's older sister. These events are those somewhat rare situations where even grandpas can dance with teen and preteen girls without anyone thinking it is remarkable, except for perhaps the grandpas. But I managed to avoid Sunny. I feared losing control and being seen acting foolish in public.
I had sampled the food and sipped a couple refills of Jack Daniels when she cornered me. A slow, romantic song was in its first few notes, and though I tried to avoid her, I could never reject her. Soon I was holding her in my arms as we swayed to the music. As she moved closer and closer to me, I peered around her head to see if her parents were watching but couldn't locate them in the crowd. As the song progressed Sunny pressed closer to me, and soon her high heels were astraddle my right leg. As we moved my knee and quadricep slid lightly against her inner thighs. She leaned to me and said, "I drank some Champagne." I could tell. She looked up into my eyes and bit her lip. "You are making Juanita twitch." As the song ended she was wrapped around my leg. I peeled her away with a polite "Thank you" and hoped her mother had not seen. She quickly disappeared toward the hallway and the ladies restroom, and I wondered whether I had somehow offended her.
A couple minutes later Sunny reappeared and approached me with her right hand clenched in a fist. I thought at first she was angry, but she slipped the hand under the lapel of my jacket, felt around for the inner pocket and tucked something into it. She moved close to my ear. "Merry Christmas. It's a present, but don't open it here." I went to the men's bathroom, into a stall, and closed the door. My fingers felt what I thought was a napkin in the pocket, but when I removed them I was holding a pair of thong Candy Panties from Victoria's Secret.
Clap clap clap u have outdone your self again. Leaving me wanting more you BASTERD ahaha
I gave this advice to another writer in confessions:
You should post this story on SOL (Storiesonline) - This is a website for erotic stories and practically anything goes. The readers there would love it; seriously. You don't have to provide any 'real' details to join as an author; just an email address and a 'nom de plume'
You will get a wide audience, and there's nothing better to encourage further writing by an author than positive feedback from readers. I wrote a story based on true events named 'Runaway'; itâ€™s about a 17yo girl who had been abused all her life and who I discovered one night at a roadside in a bad part of town. That was two years ago - she's 19 now, has a job, home, goes to college and has a bright future. Sheâ€™s also my lover and close companion, but thatâ€™s the icing on the cake (for me!).
Anyway, the point I'm making is I decided to write about the last two years; it ended up being a 400,000 word novel and I posted it on SOL, expecting little response (there was minimal sex scenes, but it is romantic and erotic). Anyway, I posted it two months ago and now have over 20,000 downloads!
Spread your story 'Anon'; this is seriously good stuff you are writing my friendâ€¦
Picture is 'Ella' from Teenmodeling - she looks a lot like the girl in my own story, 'Runaway'
I will look into it. I of course did not realize when I started this thread that it would take me so many words to tell about my infatuation with an incredible young woman. I thought it would be a few paragraphs. Thanks for the encouragement.
The thought of her panty-less under that slinky black dress was almost more than I could bear, but the restroom was busy with men who had been indulging in beer or liquor. I contemplated for a moment whether we could sneak out to my car. Then it hit me. On my key ring with my car key, house key and office key was an old fourth key that I had never given back to the recreation department. A key to the office and storage rooms in this very community center where I had once worked.
I hurried back out to find Sunny, and when I did her face exploded in a mischievous grin. She knew she was teasing me into sexual insanity. I motioned to her with my eyes and a nod of my head, much as she had done when she wanted me to follow her to the changing room in Victoria's Secret. She scanned around to see if her parents were watching, then rose and headed in my direction. I strode down the hallway past the restrooms and the little office, to the door of the far storage room. The office wouldn't do; it had a large window to the hallway. Sunny paused by the door to the ladies' room, and watched as I tried the key and the door opened. When there was a clear hallway she walked quickly toward me. I stepped into the darkness of the storage room, and she joined me seconds later.
We attacked each other like two hungry cheetah on helpless prey in the Serengeti. As the reverberations from the band filtered through the walls we dampened each others' faces with kisses. My arms engulfed her, one hand pressing her hips to me while the other ran under her hair to massage her back and shoulders. I unzipped her dress and pulled it off her shoulders, kissed her neck and clavicles and continued kissing as I pulled the scoop neckline down past her bra. Reaching down to the front hem of the dress, I pulled it up to her naked hips. She spread the high heels apart.
She fumbled with my belt buckle, and I quickly assisted her with it and my zipper. We didn't have time to be leisurely. Despite her parents being in the building, I was more concerned about her sister missing her and instigating a search. When she tugged my underwear down, she felt my cock leap out toward her like a springing jack-in-the-box.
"Boing!" she laughed, expressing the common term for erection in use by the local 8th grade girls.
We resumed kissing and mutual masturbation, with intermittent gasping for air, until she pushed me away and dropped to her knees.
I could feel her hot breath as she contemplated what she was about to do. After a few seconds that seemed like an eternity in limbo, I felt a wet lick, then hesitation, as though testing a new ice cream flavor. Like every man would, I placed both hands on her head and impatiently pulled her toward me, but she resisted.
"No, let me do it." She was never going to let any man force her. It had to be her choice.
I felt her wet mouth slowly test an inch, then two. She pulled back, gagged and coughed, then went back at it with determination. Like she attacked academics and gymnastics, she was determined to excel.
In a short time she could sense my increasing pleasure and pulled away to issue an order. "Don't shoot it in my mouth." Just her sweet voice saying that almost ignited me. "And not on my new dress," she added.
Even in the midst of her first blowjob she was smart enough to be practical, but suddenly I was faced with an extreme dilemma. My brain wasn't in charge anymore, and what I really, really wanted was to shoot in her mouth, on her face, her hair, her shoulders, those fresh new tits, and all over that slinky new dress. She reached up and felt in my jacket pocket for a handkerchief. I didn't have one. Dipping her hand into my inner pocket, she pulled out the thong panties. Stepping to one side, and stroking me faster, she held her panties as a target. But she still had to shake a few drops of semen off her fingers. "Ick."
In the darkness I quickly helped her replace her bra and zip her dress while she held her sticky hand out away from the fabric like the doctor she would later become, who had just sterilized for surgery. We embraced again and engaged in a long kiss, and I wondered if the taste of her mouth was how I had tasted to her. Cracking the door, I peeked out until the hallway was clear, and watched as her hair swayed back and forth against the back of the slinky dress as she headed to the ladies' room. Tomorrow she would be in front of a television camera encouraging other kids to play safely. In my mind I pictured her telling them that everyone should carry a large handkerchief in case of emergency, because extra extra small thong panties just would not do.
The schoolbus pulled out of the parking lot and the girls varsity gymnastics team settled in for the 150 mile trip to the state capitol. Sunny was the youngest member, as eighth graders were allowed to participate in varsity sports. Even at 13 she was one of the leaders of the team, for the others saw her work ethic and mental competitiveness, and she already was the most capable gymnast on the squad. A couple of the senior girls openly despised her, however, for stealing their thunder, so to say, if not their boyfriends' attention. Girls can be so catty.
A number of the parents would carpool to the competition the next morning, but the coach had prevailed upon the school principal to put the team up in a hotel the night before. She did not want them to have to shake off a long early morning bus ride and go straight into competition, as she felt that this was the year her team could compete for the championship. She had a new secret weapon.
I had booked a room in the hotel, hoping that she might be able to slip away to be with me, if only for a few moments. I wasn't sure how we could accomplish that under the circumstances, but just the slim possibility was enough to justify it in my mind. Late in the afternoon I managed to casually run into a couple of her teammates, and asked if they knew where she was. I wasn't sure what excuse I would offer if they asked why. The girls were forbidden to leave the confines of the hotel, and one of them replied that she thought Sunny had said she was going to the pool. If I had been thinking straight that should have been the first place to look. But I arrived at the pool too late. She wasn't there. Re-entering the hotel, I pondered how to accomplish my objective. As I passed a door with a sign reading "Exercise Room" I heard a humming noise. Pushing the door open and peeking into the otherwise unoccupied room, I found a beautiful young girl running on a treadmill machine, wearing a dripping wet, hot pink Victoria's Secret "Very Sexy String Bikini". Awesome.
"Shouldn't you have saved THAT for the cheerleaders' car wash?" I needled sarcastically. She sneered and continued running until the timer rang and she climbed off the machine. I approached her and she glanced toward the door before giving me a quick kiss. Then she put her hand flat against my sternum and pushed me away.
"I just want to get in a little workout." She deposited her damp behind on an exercise bike and began pedaling.
"You better not do too much," I observed. "Then your legs will be dead tomorrow."
"I know that. Duh."
In a minute, she stopped and began pedaling in reverse. After several sequences, she hopped off the bike and stepped onto the scale by the door to weigh herself. Then she stepped off and back on again, hoping for a different result. She wasn't entirely happy to have hit 100 lbs. and was disappointed not to have dropped back down to double digits.
"Can't you read?" I asked, pointing out the sign on the wall before her. "No one under the age of 14 is permitted to enter the facility without adult supervison."
"Well, aren't you an adult?" she countered.
I pondered momentarily whether the answer to that was constant or variable. She had made me feel as giddy as a 6th grader holding her hand.
"But I wasn't here when you entered the facility."
"Maybe another man was here when I entered. Ever think of that?" I found even the momentary thought of her with another man in any circumstance more than a little unsettling.
"No. I know that is not true." No man would have been able to leave of his own free will.
She heaved a sigh and pushed open the door. I followed as she strolled barefoot through the hotel lobby in the wet bikini as though it was a ball gown.
In the elevator I began to ask, "Do you suppose...?"
Before I could get any further she shook her head negatively. "Tomorrow I have to win State."
I could tell that Sunny was in full competition mode. Maybe she knew some secret of concentration or self-hypnosis, for she didn't acknowledge me, or for that matter, anything at all outside her immediate sphere of control. Which is good for gymnastics competition. When she stuck her dismount from the balance beam, a back layout with a full twist, she knew that she was State Champion on beam, and momentarily flashed the brilliant smile that I was accustomed to. Disappointingly, the team was edged out of the team title by the slimmest of margins, but it was by far the highest team finish in school history. So there was a good measure of satisfaction, and immediate optimism for the next year.
To my surprise and chagrin, I had found myself sitting next to one of my old university professors, a crusty old bastard whose granddaughter was competing. I had despised him as an academic instructor, as he was particularly demanding and unforgiving. He acted, however, as though I was a long lost family member or his best buddy, chatting and laughing like I had never imagined he could. After a while I realized why he was so happy - he was into the young girls. What a creep! A truly classic dirty old man. I felt so ethically superior. After all, I was only into one girl, not all of them. On a couple occasions I had to restrain myself when he commented about Sunny, not realizing that I knew her. I could hardly believe this was a Professor Emeritus gushing, "What a delightfully built young lady!" This unbelievable gem: "Now I know what I want to eat for lunch. Yum." And "Wouldn't you give your left nut for some of that!?" No, I will keep both nuts, thank you, and I hope she won't demand one in payment.
Hello? what happened? you got me going here and then every day I check back for the next part but nothing.. come on baby, I need to finish here.. and I dont just mean reading :)
Okay, this is just a little difficult for me. I saw them today and it is in a way very disturbing. Hope you will understand when I get to the end of this whole story.
The city's most successful modeling school and talent agency had a brilliant marketing idea. It began hosting "fashion shows" at local schools as a fundraising event. The agency would provide the setup: a portable 60 ft. runway, spotlights, sound system, and a half dozen models. For a reaonable fee, students from the school could sign up to receive a few hours of basic runway model training and rehearsal after school in the week leading up to the event, and would walk the runway too. The schoolgirls enjoyed the opportunity to glam up and pretend. Tickets would be sold and the money split with the agency. This arrangement usually provided fundraising for the schools' cheerleaders, dance teams and girls' athletic programs which, unlike boys' sports, seldom generated their own revenue.
The local schoolgirls, to support their programs, would enthusiastically sell tickets to their parents, family, neighbors, boyfriends. Most would go to see their child, teen or girlfriend be a model for a night, but some wanted to see the models brought in by the agency, which generously provided flyers with photos of agency models, at least one wearing a small bikini. Like I said, brilliant marketing. The agency would collect fees for the instruction, and half the gate, and also give out gift certificates for retailers in the city. But they really made their money when many of the students would be encouraged to sign up for more extensive instruction programs with the agency and expensive portfolio photographs by the agency photographer.
Late in the Spring the school did the fashion show fundraiser, and of course Sunny participated. She modeled a casualwear red top, paired with red jeans and red tennis shoes (too much red if you ask me), and had her hair pulled up in somewhat of a gymnast's bun. At a break in the runway sets, one of the agency's model-talents sang a popular song while another performed some dance entertainment. This gave the girls time to change into their second outfit. The auditorium was connected to the school and one entrance door led into the hallway directly across from the administrative offices. Seeing that there was an overcrowded changing area, Sunny slipped out into the school intending to change in the bathroom. But seeing the lights still on in the offices, she tried the door and found it unlocked. She changed quickly in the office, checked her lip gloss, and hurried back to the auditorium.
Her second outfit was a nice dress, a combination shade of light mauve and hot cinnamon with spanish influenced ruffles. For some reason it made me picture her breaking into a flamenco dance at any moment. When she reached the end of the runway she pulled her hair down out of the bun and shook her head to great effect. The blonde mane bounced down past her waist and danced around her as she twirled back toward the stage. Hair or not, the agency had of course taken note of this 13-year-old on first sight, and recruited her regularly by letter and telephone over the next couple years. While she eventually did a few things for them, she had no real interest in being a model. The idea conflicted with her underlying desire to be recognized for her mental performance, her diagnostic ability rather than her appearance. She saw it as boring, a waste of her time, except to make a little money to put toward college expenses. And the next year at 14 she topped out at five foot six and didnt reach fashion model height. Not that it would have made any difference to her whatsoever.
After the show ended she realized that she had left her purse in the administrative offices, and I followed her into the school, only to find the lights off and the door solidly locked.
the suspense is killing me!!!
The principal of the school lived a number of miles out of town, near our farm, and was a long-time friend of my family. Still, I was a little surprised when I telephoned and asked for the keys to the school offices, in that he did not hesitate or question the need to retrieve a student's purse -- one of the benefits, I suppose, of having a long-standing reputation for having been a "good" kid, and now a responsible adult.
I really hadn't felt like going through a lot of trouble over the situation, but Sunny was insistant that she could not wait through the weekend to get her purse on Monday. So while I drove out to get the keys, she sat with elbows on knees on the front steps of the school and watched as everyone else meandered away to their vehicles and left. By the time I returned, the place was utterly deserted and the night which had fallen was eerily still and silent. She was clearly more than a little relieved to see me.
The principal had given me literally fifty keys on a metal ring about five inches in diameter. And I had no idea which ones to use. So for what seemed like an hour but was only a couple minutes, the jangling of keys echoed across the quiet lawn and street while I nervously tried one at a time, trial and error style, until the bolt in the glass door turned and we entered the lobby of the school. For some reason, the quiet, dark building was much more scary than any Halloween haunted house, and Sunny held onto my arm with trembling hands. For some illogical reason we stopped at the corner and peeked around it before proceeding, as though we fully expected someone or something to be in the hallway.
We tiptoed the few feet to the administrative offices, where I handed the keys to Sunny with a whisper, "Pick a number between one and fifty." She selected a key and tried it, then attempted another, but her hands were shaking so badly that the noise bounced down through the empty building like a beacon call to anyone or anything that might inhabit the place at night. She sighed and gave up (the only time I ever saw exasperation from her), shoving the key ring back into my stomach. Her nervousness was contagious, but repeating the same method as before, I managed to open the door after numerous attempts.
Upon entering the administrative offices, one was confronted by a long counter, beyond which students were not ordinarily allowed. Beyond the secretaries' desks there were three doors to the offices of the Principal, Vice-Principal, and Guidance Counselor. I found the switch on the wall and flooded the room with light. Sunny had been behind the counter before, when her mother had come to meet with the superintendant about her accelerated studies program, and earlier that evening when she had slipped into the counselor's office to change into the dress. As I stood there, I recalled having been sent to the Principal's office once as an elementary school student, when another boy had thrown a rock at me and I had retaliated in kind, and how I had sat on the large couch in his office dreading the spanking I expected to be administered, but only getting a stern lecture.
As she found and retrieved her purse, I perused the office, and spotting a yardstick on one of the secretaries' desks, picked it up. At that instant I fully intended to accuse her of deserving some corporal punishment for having forgotten the purse and causing inconveniece. Hmmm, a couple whacks on that firm behind with a ruler seemed in order. But when she emerged from the office, something about the look on her face prohibited me from speaking. She stared at me, but at the same time stared through me, one forefinger inserted between her lips, biting the fingernail and in deep thought. I could almost see the wheels turning in her brain. Then she turned silently to the door of the Principal's office, opened it and went in.
I followed and watched as she proceeded to the desk and pulled the chain on the lamp, softly illuminating the large office, desk and chairs, and a newer couch along the same wall where I had sat many years before. Placing the purse down on the desk, she turned toward me and said, "Can you put out the big lights?", but it wasn't so much a question as it was an order. I obeyed, retracing my path to the front door and returning the outer office to darkness, and felt my way back toward the lamplight in the office.
Apprehensively approaching and standing before her I began to demand, "What do you think you are do --" She swiftly placed her fingers on my lips.
Then she stroked my face with her fingers as she had at our sleepover encounter.
"Scratchy," I recalled, and she smiled.
She dropped her hand below my neck and unbuttoned the top button of my shirt, then the second and third, by which point I placed my hand over hers, looked earnestly into her eyes, shook my head slowly from side to side, and whispered, "You mustn't."
"Please." Flattening her hand against my chest, she ran her fingertips through the soft curls of hair. I could see her breathe deeper.
"You can't do this yet." I telepathically knew what she was thinking, or maybe it was just obvious. Some things don't need to be verbalized be communicated.
"Why not?" Then with a slightly disappointed tone. "Do you think I am still a little kid?"
"You are a wonderful young woman, but this is something that you have to be very careful about. It is not something you should do on impulse, without proper precautions."
She turned away, but continued, "I have thought about it. A lot. And I want it to be with you." Reaching into her purse, she removed an item, and turned back to me, hand extended, exhibiting a package of small pills. Birth control pills.
Seeing my incredulous look, she quickly explained, "It was to help me not have complexion issues, you know, zits. And to be regular with my periods. A lot of the girls take them. And accutane. It works."
Modern medicine, I thought. Sigh. No more normal teen years.
"We can't be in here too long," I argued. "Suppose someone notices a light on in here and the cops come. That would be my ass." I remembered why I was nervous about being there, and that was before being busted with an underage lover came into the equation.
"Hurry it up, then." She turned and pointed over her shoulder at the zipper of the dress. I still contemplated it for a few seconds before reaching to pull it down. Once her beautiful shoulders and back were revealed, and I unhooked her bra, I was done. Resistance was futile.
She stepped out of the dress and placed it on the desk, her bra and panties neatly on top of it, and reclined on the large couch while I kicked off my shoes. I left my shirt unbuttoned, socks on, and my pants and underwear around my ankles, I suppose just in case. But even with clothes on it would have been impossible to explain away a naked girl.
There is a great difference between sexual intercourse as an expression of love, and sexual intercourse as an expression of lust. I don't know if I can explain or express it. What transpired that still and quiet night was purely love. It really wasn't about fulfilling any selfish desire to feel good, to orgasm. In fact there were no orgasms had. It was purely a ritual bonding of two lovers. We proceeded slowly. I was concerned about hurting her, and did not want it to be an unpleasant experience for her. When the moment occurred that she became a woman, we both knew it instantaneously. She began crying softly, for she was saying goodbye to childhood. And I held her and wept with her. Through the tears she smiled and reassured me that all was okay. She was ready to move on to the next part of her life.
There was a strange sound in the building, and seconds later we were hurriedly dressing to get the hell out of there.
It was difficult to comprehend that only a year had transpired from the moment she first rode up to me on her bicycle and turned her flawless face in my direction. In suddenly transforming from a beautiful child into an exceptionally stunning young woman, she had grown and changed, but she had also changed me. Prior to our meeting, I would have been in any relationship for ME. Now I was in a relationship for HER. I desired to teach her about all the little things I had found that made life richer. I also wanted to help her reach her goals, and I agonized over whether our relationship was wrong for her. That it would prevent her from having a "normal" life, or from pursuing her ambition to be a doctor.
On her 14th birthday she asked her parents' permission to go out on real dates, to be allowed to go singly with a suitor to the movies, concerts, or wherever. Her father may have still been in the dark, but I have no doubt whatsoever that her mother knew exactly what she meant, and who she meant, and what it meant. Mothers just know some things. Her young daughter wanted to be with a man who was twice her age, and her Mom had a tough decision to make.
She may have considered the pool of young men available in the town, most of whom would go to work straightaway in small family businesses or on farms, or start at bottom-of-the-food-chain shift work in local industry. I suppose a man with education and already some measure of success, was preferable by comparison, even if a bit older. Knowing that her daughter tended to somehow get what she wanted, even if temporarily denied, her mom gave her assent, and her Dad as usual had no real say in the matter.
Without it being said, Sunny and I both knew that we would keep our dating lives under wraps. Although her brother and sister soon knew, as did my sister eventually, there was nothing said of it around the community or school. As I previously mentioned, she began to lead a double life. During the week she was a somewhat-not-so-ordinary teenager and student, and often on weekends she was in the city with me. There was very little to do for entertainment in the small town, not even a movie theatre, so when we first started dating I usually made the drive to her home to pick her up, then back to the city to catch a movie, dinner or concert. Then I drove her back home and then usually back to my house near the city. Three hundred miles or so on average for a date.
Even though we had been so passionately hot for each other when we had to sneak a few moments together, we did not immediately expand our sexual relationship. We really enjoyed the dating part of dating, finding entertaining things to do together. Even though we often kissed passionately, I was afraid to let it go beyond that, and tried to keep it at that level for as long as I could. I didn't even take her to my house for a few months, was satisfied just to share time and activities with her, even if meant suffering a considerable case of blueballs.
When Sunny first saw my house, she asked incredulously, "You live here? All by yourself?" I did have a pet cat, but a number of empty unfurnished rooms that I had seldom gone into. Still pretty much a bachelor pad. I had inherited some money from my father and bought a house in the suburb of the city which had the highest average property value. The house across the street had 10 bedrooms and 5 baths. I was on the poor side of the street, half that size. Over the next three years, one of the things we enjoyed doing together was furnishing and decorating the house.
Two of my old college buddies, Jim and Martin, always hosted a popular mid-summer evening party. I brought Sunny as my date, and she wore a cute flowery skirt. Jim greeted us at the door. A minute or so later, when she excused herself to the ladies' room, he hustled over to me and clasped his hands tightly on my shoulders. Staring into my face while emphasizing each word separately, he slowly uttered, "Who....the....FUCK....is....THAT?!"
When I just stared back, he continued, "Does she have a sister?"
"How old ..."
"Her sister is seventeen." I wasn't going to reveal Sunny's age.
"Damn. Too young."
I then realized that he actually thought Sunny was older. Maybe he was a little affected by the alcohol, but in the next three years I would take her to many venues with age requirements of 18, and she never got carded even once. I suppose that was attributable in some part to the fact that she was with me holding my arm and I was very clearly of age as I approached thirty.
A traditional feature of the summer party was a huge punchbowl, spiked with rum. Sunny sipped punch and we danced and socialized. She was well-spoken and intelligent, and always seemed completely comfortable, not out of her element at all, in a large groups of older people. In fact, as young as 13, she observed that she felt as though she was an older person in a young body. Their annual gala was always a heck of a party. At some time long after midnight, Martin fell down the stairs and literally bounced unconscious on the floor. Someone promptly called the nearby hospital, which dispatched an ambulance. Without hesitation, Sunny ordered us not to move him while she checked his respiration and pulse. She announced that his vital signs were stable, and within a few minutes he was being loaded into an ambulance and had regained consciousness. The EMTs asked him if he was okay, and he replied that he didn't feel any pain. He had been drinking the punch.
We left the party shortly after the ambulance pulled away. Walking back toward the car parked a block away, Sunny stopped on the solid white painted centerline in the middle of the street. She began to do some of her balance beam routine along the stripe. She took off her shoes and did a handstand, her skirt falling down over her face.
"You shouldn't do handstands in a skirt," I admonished.
"Oh, right," she replied, and unbuttoned the skirt and dropped it on the street. I picked up the shoes and skirt, and watched her do back walkovers in pink panties all the way to the car. It doesn't take much rum punch to affect someone who weights a hundred pounds. She had just treated her first emergency patient while under the influence.
Dawn was breaking as I walked her to her door. She had regained sobriety, at least enough to slip her skirt back on, and to smoothly slide the key into the door and say, "Good night."
"Good morning," I replied.
She tiptoed in.
I stopped a few miles away at the farm to crash. I didn't want to become another sad statistic on that stretch of highway while driving back to the city. I was worried that Sunny would be grounded or have her dating privileges revoked, but it didn't keep me from quickly falling sound asleep.
I must say, I have never read a piece of writing as enjoyable as your story. You truly are a great writer and please continue on with the story! I'm dying to find out what happens next. By the way, thank you for sharing.Â
My sister shook me awake shortly after noon.
"Mom says come and have some lunch with us."
"Uhhh", I replied, and turned away from her. She persisted, placing a hand on my hip and rocking me back and forth.
"Beep. Beep. Beep. BEEP. BEEP," she continued, imitating an insistant alarm clock. At thirteen, she did not yet comprehend the effects of a hangover.
"Don't rock me, please! And stop all that noise."
I cocked one eye open to see if the room was really moving.
"No. Mom said wake you up and come have lunch."
She paused. Then in a calculated and suspicious tone, "Oh, ...and Sunny called for you."
At that I sat up, and pushed my hair off my forehead. My hand continued slowly to the back of my head, as though to verify that there wasn't damage to the exterior that matched what was felt on the interior. I silently cursed rum punch and swore it off forever.
"What did she want?"
"To find out if you were here 'cause she called your house and you didn't answer. So I think she sounded worried about you, -- or something." Sis was connecting the dots.
"Soooo...., WHERE were you, huh?"
"Nun ya," I replied. "Nun ya business."
She punched me in the kidney, too hard to be playful. More like anger. More like jealousy. But as I said earlier, I also at that time did not comprehend something -- her feelings for Sunny. I just pushed her away.
"You are way too old," she accused, "WAY too old for her!"
My addled brain had to muster its resources to deal with the issue.
"Let me talk with you for a minute, okay?"
"Because we have something to talk about, and I usually listen to you when you have questions to ask or when you talk about something that happened at school or whatever, don't I?"
She thought for a moment. "Usually. Some."
"Well then it is your turn to listen, just for thirty seconds. Then you can say whatever you want to me, okay?"
"Don't you think that LIKING other people is better than HATING them?" No visible response other than folded arms.
"Well, I think liking other people is a much better way to go through life than hating other people. I hope that you will know a lot of people that you like. Most of them you haven't even met yet. And believe it or not, even when you are really, really old like me, you will STILL meet people that you will like, and it will be perfectly okay for you to like them, even when you are an old old grandma it will still be allowed."
"I like YOU," I continued, "even though you ARE an annoying teenager." I forced a broad smile, but she still glared. "And good thing I do, because if I didn't like you then maybe I wouldn't love you so much." She put one hand over her face, but continued to look and listen through her fingers.
"Well, I will be honest with you also and say that I do like Sunny, even though she IS an annoying teenager like you. But if I like Sunny, or some other girls, it doesn't mean that I love you any less than I always have."
It did not seem to me that reassuring her of my love was having much effect.
"Now, when you do things that you like to do, go to the movies or bowling, or see concerts, the symphony, ballet or opera, isn't it more fun to do those things with other people that you like, rather than alone by yourself?"
"I don't want to go to the symphony, the ballet, or the opera," she answered.
"Well, maybe you want to do other things, those are just examples. I want to do or see those things, and Sunny wants to do and see some of those things too. So if I invite her to go with me, and if she wants to go, then we might both enjoy it more than if we were alone." Well, maybe not the opera, I conceded to myself.
"Also this, YOU will like some boys," I added, still oblivious then to her sexual orientation, "and I bet you like some already, and some of them like you. Whether I like those boys or hate those boys, I might tell you, privately, like we are talking now. But that will be between us, and I will not talk about you and who you like or who you kiss, to everyone else, because it is none of their business who you like or who you kiss. If anyone asks me, the answer is 'Nun Ya. None Ya Business'. And I expect for you to do the same for me, and the same for Sunny. It is no one else's business if we like each other, right?"
"So you won't talk about me and Sunny to other people, and I will never talk about you to other people. Agreed?"
She understood perfectly. Even at thirteen, she knew a secret about herself, and who she liked and who she kissed, that she didn't want outted in public, and it also involved Sunny. Sis was never going to approve of my relationship, but she knew how to keep secrets.
Over lunch my mother did not waste time interrogating me. Like I said before, mothers just know things. I was in my late 20s and she was beginning to expect me to find a suitable wife and provide her some grandchildren to dote upon.
"Can't you find someone your own age?" she asked, disapprovingly. "Young girls are nothing but trouble. Serious trouble."
Mentally I agreed with her assessment. I had never been attracted to anyone young, even when I WAS young. But something about Sunny, or maybe everything about Sunny, was just so irresistable to me that it was like the force of gravity, a law of my universe. Mother could have said it a million trillion times, but it would have had no deterent effect.
I knew that I would not have to ask my mom to keep it quiet. She didn't want anyone to know her grown man son was cavorting with a young girl.
After lunch I anxiously called Sunny's home. Even though my sister had told her where I was, I felt it was polite to return her call, and I wanted to see if she was in hot water. Her mother answered and informed me that she had gone to the YMCA to work out. I was relieved to think that she had not suffered ill effects from the previous night. Ah, the resilience of youth, I thought. Then her mom invited me to come down to the house to talk, and my anxiety flooded back, multiplied. I wondered if I had blown everything by keeping Sunny out until dawn.
I showered and shaved, and having made myself as presentable as possible, I arrived at my destination, all the while reminding myself to be contrite and apologetic. I was prepared to beg forgiveness, to do whatever penance was required. What if Mom had changed her mind, and forbid me to see her daughter at all?
After a somewhat formal and uncomfortably stiff greeting, I was welcomed into the house. I assumed a seat on a stool at the kitchen counter, while Mom went about preparing to cook the family's evening meal. Minutes passed without anything being said, and my nervous anticipation grew. The room seemed to be getting colder and colder. Finally Mom reached a point in her activities where she could pause and she looked up at me.
"I was very worried last night," she started.
"Yes ma'am, I'm so sorry. We lost track of the time. I will bring her home whenever you say from now on. I promise."
"It wasn't so much the time as it was not knowing if she was alright," she continued. "You should have called me. Even if you think I am sleeping, I'm probably still awake. You know what happened to the Griffin girl."
She was referring to a popular and promising teen who had recently lost her life when the car driven by her boyfriend ran off the highway and into a concrete monument on the way back from the city. The official report said he likely fell asleep at the wheel. Rumor had it that he was distracted by her oral talent and that her head was found still in his lap, crushed against the steering column.
,"Yes, ma'am. That was so sad. I will be very, very careful driving. And I will call you if we will be delayed for any reason."
"You DO know that she wants to be a doctor."
"Yes, of course."
"Seriously, now," she paused, "and search your soul for the truth. Can you promise me that you will NEVER DO ANYTHING, not any single thing, that might keep her from going to college, from going to medical school?"
"Yes," I replied solemnly.
"Do you?" She expected a more thorough commitment.
"I want her to become a doctor. That is her ambition. I would not take that away from her." Then, I did search my soul for the truth, and for the first time said aloud, "I love Sunny."
I thought that revelation might be reassuring, but Mom frowned. "When you have your own children, THEN you will understand what love is."
She looked me over and sighed.
"Do you love HER, or do you love having her WITH you? There is a difference. She will leave us soon. If you love her you will let her go, and give her wings. If you love having her with you, you will try to keep her."
"I will not keep her. I give you my word."
She returned to her dinner preparations momentarily, and I was left hanging, wondering if I sounded sincere enough to pass her test. Then she spoke again.
"I don't want to see something happen to her, or to you, driving on that road late at night."
I nodded. I was prepared to settle for daytime dates only.
"Even if you are a good driver, someone headed the other way could cross the center line."
I was beginning to wonder where this was going.
"I know you have a nice house."
Then she surprisingly offered, "If it is nighttime, she can stay at your house overnight, and you bring her back in the morning, ok?"
I was shocked. Surely there would be millions of parents who would disagree with her giving permission for her 14-year-old to stay overnight at a man's house. But her decision was made out of concern for our lives. She had seen other mothers bury their children like the Griffins had. She had weighed the risks.
"Will you stay for dinner?"
While I was mindful of the promises I made to Sunny's mom, her permission for overnight privileges was to me essentially a green light, an all systems go, and a get-out-of-jail free card. After all, she didn't even specify which bedroom Sunny could sleep in or restrict it in any other way. I had a professional business conference coming up in New York, and I proposed that Sunny could come along. It was the end of summer, but school had not yet started. She was granted permission, without even questioning about accommodations. I imagine that her mother knew the price of hotel rooms, or contemplated whether she would prefer that she be in a hotel room alone. Or maybe she knew that we would leave one room empty and paid for, while occupying the other. I wasn't going to offer to pay for airfare and expenses for a chaperone.
The New York trip was essentially a honeymoon for us. Sunny was clearly excited to fly in an airplane for the first time. We arrived at about 11 p.m. and she fell asleep in the taxi, but I woke her when we reached the light show in Times Square. After unloading and checking in at the hotel, we both were very hungry and found a little diner still open around the corner from the hotel. When we got back to the hotel room it was 3 a.m. Despite our prior sexual encounters, and her adventurous and inquisitive nature, she was still inexperienced, and suddenly a little adorably shy. She changed in the bathroom and emerged in Spongebob pajamas. I was already under the covers, in my usual sleep attire, underwear only. She crawled in and snuggled up next to me and smiled weakly. I could tell that she was so utterly exhausted as to be near unconsciousness. I kissed her goodnight and in a moment was admiring her face as she slept. Then, like the first day I met her, I went to the bathroom and took care of things myself. We still had four more nights.
I never made it to even one of the meetings. We went sightseeing. And shopping. For four days. Out on a boat to the Statue of Liberty, and on the subway up to the Bronx to the Yankees game in the afternoon, which I have previously mentioned. She particularly loved the shopping, having come from a small town where Walmart clothing was the norm. I did not hesitate to buy her many of the things she admired. Four large boxes were shipped back home, along with a substantial credit card bill, but I loved to see her smile.
On our second night, I got us great seats for Phantom of the Opera, and she wore the black dress that I remembered from the wedding reception, with a pair of newly-purchased rhinestone-studded high heels. I had brought a surprise for this occasion -- several items of very fine jewelry that I had inherited and had intended to give to my sister when she was older. So Sunny had a pearl necklace with a brilliant 2-carat ruby pendant, and a ruby and diamond ring and earrings. I had never seen anyone in my family actually wear the jewelry as it had always been kept in a safe. I don't know what the value of it would be now, but back at that time the appraisal was in excess of $65,000, which I imagine might be $100,000 in today's dollars. Walking through the lobby of the theatre with her so beautiful made me feel like a billionaire, or better. I could not imagine there could be two happier people on the planet than us.
Back in our hotel room after the musical, I unzipped the dress more deliberately than I had in the storage room almost six months earlier. Borrowing from the musical, I gestured theatrically and announced, "I am the Angel of Music, sing for me Christine, SING." She giggled, then stood motionless, as though in a trance, while I removed her bra and pulled her panties slowly down to her feet. I left the pearls and rubies adorning her naked body. I moved her hair back off her breasts to fall behind her shoulders to her butt, and stepped back to admire her naked perfection.
"Is this examination over, doctor?"
"Don't call be 'doctor'. I am an Angel."
I moved closely behind her and stroked one hand down her neck from her ear across her breasts and nipples and down her flat tummy to run my fingers through her light pubic hair. Her head tilted back onto my shoulder. Then I scooped up her hundred pound body and laid her in the sheets. Leaning over, I whispered in her ear, "I am the Angel of Orgasms, cum for me, Christine, CUM."
She giggled, and in an insolent tone challenged, "Make me."
Wow thanks for continuing this, you write well, and you take a break to go to the next chapter at the worst places.. lol...Â
>>168682 - ah, but, Charmaine, he does that on purpose, keeping the suspense going, a â€˜cliff hangerâ€™, to make sure you come back for more!
And to OP, have you taken my advice and posted this on SOL yet? This is truly a great story - it will be very much appreciated on that site, I can assure you!
I have not posted on SOL. Somewhere I saw a comment that the site was no longer allowing content depicting anyone 14 or younger, which would ban this entire story. Is that true?
I suppose I could just go to the site and look for myself huh?
And Charnain, I mentioned before that you may have to fill in the gaps with your imagination. I grew up in an age and place where people didn't talk very explicitly about their sexual experiences. One might tell a friend he got lucky, but not all the details. So I have difficulty writing about sex in much detail. (And in my humble opinion, one description of a female swallowing a huge throbbing cock is usually one too many). Now it wasn't the Victorian age, but I can't imagine being a teenager now with all the ultra-explicit stuff that can be found on the net, and video chat and skype and whatever I probably don't have a clue about.
Well dont worry girls do not like to hear the biology type details.. none of my friends do either, but we do like to know what happens next always, a simple we made love for 3 hours does it for me, but when you end it with a description of jewelery its like ha? get to the good part hahahaha... oh and I use my imagination and I have been wondering if I do this too much will I go blind like my mother said once when she caught me? haha.. and my lover said a pearl necklace you said she was wearing is actually something else, but he would not tell me.. so my older anon what is that in reference to?
>>168693 - actually OP, that is true about the new age restriction on SOL - damn! My stories are all based older girls and I simply forgot. But, you could always apply some artistic license and raise Sunny's age so that it complies with SOL rules. However, I realise you may not want to do that, as the story may lose some gravitas.
- Charmain - a 'pearl neckalce' in sexual terms is slang for when a man sits astride you (you would be laying down) and he then comes all over your chest and neck ;)
Does OP really need to say her age? Can't it just be re-written without any direct age-related information? Just describe his sister as a certain age, grade in school, etc., and just say Sunny is her best friend.
If SOL doesn't accept OP's story, there are tons of mommy porn sites out there anyway. Not everyone likes "biology" in their erotica. One site is:
Sssh (dot) com
It is a site "for women, by women," though probably most readers and writers are men. I don't think you will find "dripping cocks" or anus kissing featured in any of their stories. Women don't want to acknowledge they have anuses.
OP, you have talent and you might try your hand at writing romance novels, there is money in that.
>>168699 - Of course, OP can do what he likes, I wasn't trying to coerce him, merely offer him a suggestion fo an outlet for his excellent story to a wider readership. Altering Sunny's age is an easy task of simply using 'find and replace' in Word and upping it by a couple of years. The story will still appeal to those after a teen/adult story. To remove Sunny's age altogether and only hint at it requires far more editing by OP.
I'm also aware there are plenty of erotica sites out there, but I believe SOL to be one of the best, with a diverse range of stories for all tastes and fetishes. They are not all 'deeply biologically descriptive' (=stroke) stories either. I've read some truly excellent stories on SOL that have no sex featured in them whatsoever.
OP..... I love you
I really do appreciate the encouragement. Thanks. And I may later try to edit it to raise her age and post elsewhere, but to me that would seem like a story about someone else that I didn't know. Right now I would just like to get to the end of the story. I keep thinking that I only have one or two little things to say before ending it, but when I start to write, more comes back to me in more detail, and it takes more words to explain than I thought it would.
Romance novels? The problem is that I don't know if I really could make this stuff up.
Anyhow, whle I am writing this I will add this item: sometimes she would wash her hair with Downy Fabric Softener...and I never saw more beautiful hair than this, age 16, 5 foot six, hair 30+ inches.
Just posting the Estelle Yves photograph which was originally with the first post of this thread. I do intend to continue to the end of the story soon. OP
I feel excited and sad at the same time that the story has to end ):
Sorry to take so long to continue.
Over the next two and a half years our relationship flourished. After our New York trip, school began and Sunny resumed her advanced studies program. She was a freshman in name only, as she was already taking a mostly junior level classes. On Friday nights in the Fall I went to the football games and watched her cheer. The health and safety television spots had started to air in the schools, and in addition to the attention she usually garnered, she began to attain some measure of cult celebrity status among the students of other schools throughout the metropolitan area.
The cheerleaders had a tradition of going over to the visitors' side of the stadium at halftime of the games and introducing themselves, one at a time, by shouting, "Hello, I'm (name)!" and afterwards collectively doing a cheer. Well, it just so happened that the television spots opened the same way, with her greeting, "Hello, I'm Sunny. And today we're going to the park to skateboard!" or something similar. Well, I suppose you might guess what began to happen after a couple months. By the time she began to introduce herself, she would shout, "Hello" and the crowd would shout back "I'm Sunny!" along with her, as though it was a cheer of its own. She had such a brilliant smile and personality that could influence people even from distance.
It became common for boys to hang over the fence during the games to look at her or try to talk to her, to the point where the deputies on duty made regular sweeps to get them to move along. I watched from at a distance, and saw men even much older than myself photograph her and even videotape her cheering. But I knew that her school books and clothes for the weekend were in my car, and after the game she would meet me in the parking lot and we were off to my place for the weekend.
There were occasions after a game when she slipped off her cheerleader panties in my bedroom and jumped me, still otherwise in uniform, pinning me down and chanting her demand softly, "Gimme a 'D', Gimmie an 'I', Gimme a 'C', Gimme a 'K', Gimme it. Gimme it now, I said", while I of course obeyed her instructions. We were seriously in love, but were not so serious as lovers. She was extraordinarily playful and creative (anyone who will turn the hot water off on you in the shower at 13 has a mischievous streak). While I knew I was lucky to be with her, sometimes when I look back I think that I did not fully appreciate exactly how rare it must be to have a real-life young teen cheerleader as a lover. How much would I be willing to pay now just to experience one night with her again?
She would call her mother on Sundays to check in and tell her what concert, musical, movie or sports event we had gone to see. I introduced her to a wide range of music in the nicer clubs in the city. I remember that she fell sound asleep on my shoulder in the middle of the 4th movement of Beethoven's Fifth Symphony just a few rows in front of the orchestra, and anyone who is familiar with that musical work knows that it is definitely not for sleeping. When it seemed she needed to recharge, I would let her sleep until noon on Sundays and bring her breakfast in bed. At six a.m. on Monday morning I would drive her back home so that she could catch the schoolbus like the other students.
Nice to see you continuing the story, I was waiting patiently, but ohhh do not spoil it with the wrong ending ha? The tone is already sounding down and that would completely spoil it. Remember I am a young girl in a relationship with an older man, and there are a lot of us who read these posts let me tell you. For us our relationships just get hotter... remember... kinky is better hahaha
Well, my young friend Charnain, the ending was, and will be, as I knew it to be when I started to write. Or maybe the ending was, and is, actually a beginning of a new story that hasn't yet been. That is what I am agonizing over, and you may understand why so when I write it. It was and is neither tragic nor kinky, and in my view not a "wrong" ending. But you shall see soon enough.
My home was in a development anchored by a fine golf course. I was a reasonably good golfer, and found that I could hit an 8-iron from my front yard onto the 11th green. I bought Sunny a nice set of clubs and taught her to play, and we would sometimes stroll out to the golf course late on pleasant evenings with a wedge and a putter to practice while watching the sun go down. I don't remember the details, but somehow this evolved in the spring and summer to sneaking onto the golf course on moonlit nights, throwing beach towels down on the sand in a deep green-side bunker, stripping off our outer clothing down to swimsuits, and pretending we were on a beach getting a "moontan".
Usually I would be a friendly "stranger" who she would ask to put lotion on her back and shoulders, but who didn't recognize appropriate boundaries. I did have some trepidation about this game at first, remembering the incident in her back yard, and wondering if I ran the risk of being kicked in the face if she were to momentarily forget it was play. Of course, as a gymnast she was strong enough to put up a real defense had she wanted to, as she had proven once before at a much younger age.
As I applied lotion, and inappropriate touching, she would squirm, repeatedly push my hands away and half-heartedly implore me to stop. Eventually she would end up with her bikini bottom dangling on one leg while getting held down and fucked by the stranger while resisting ineffectively. I wrote previously that there is a great difference between sexual intercourse as an expression of love, and sexual intercourse as an expression of lust. These occasions were not at all like our first coupling, but fueled by lust, and that is why i use the term "fucked". Generally this game resulted in her having the most violent orgasms imaginable, and on reflection now I am sure it all was rooted in her early molestation experience. Like a considerate golfer, I did remember to rake the sand in the bunker afterward.
Raked the sand in the bunker afterwards.. lol...too funny...
In starting to write about this it was never my intention to tell every event or detail, and I won't, but I will add a few miscellaneous items:
One of the few times Sunny did anything through the model and talent agency was a photo for a billboard campaign. Nothing spectacular, just being part of a typical family shown in an ad for a new housing development. A father and mother with a young teen girl and a boy standing in front of a model home and looking like a happy typical family of new homeowners. The photographer had to try to dress and pose her so as not to distract attention away from the adults in the photo. I had to pass one of the billboards on my way to work and would wave at her image plastered about 40 feet high.
The photographer who took the shot offered her $5,000 to pose for artsy nude photos. She declined, and he upped the ante to $7,500 and then later $10,000. But she already had full university scholarship offers and it didn't feel right to her, after all, she was 14. As comfortable as she was in bikinis, only one man other than her father had seen her completely naked.
There was also a 6 foot high poster of her for a designer clothing store, in a great dress and heels, on the side of many of the bus stop shelters in the city. We once stopped and sat on the bench to see if people would realize that she was the girl in the ad. Some did, usually because of the unmistakeable long blonde hair, but others were oblivious to the ad completely.
The car in which Sunny first learned to drive was my Porsche, and teaching her was a lot of fun. We also learned that the passenger seat could be moved back and reclined sufficiently for activities other than driving lessons. One beautiful Spring day we parked about a quarter mile up a lonely lane through some woods and managed to get completely naked before the sound of a farm tractor suddenly reached our ears. As the tractor turned into the end of the lane, I scrambled into the driver's seat and we drove away laughing at ourselves hysterically. Good thing my friend the State Trooper missed that one.
Sunny led the gymnastics team to the state championship in the Spring. A few weeks later, we celebrated our birthdays with trip to Mexico and had a wonderful time staying in a plush condo on the beach. We toured Mayan ruins, rented jetskis, and went snorkling and scuba diving.
For the first time we saw women wearing thong swimsuits on the beach, and when we went shopping, Sunny had to get one. She selected a canary yellow one-piece suit that looked like a typical speedo-type suit from the front, but completely backless from the rear (very similar to the one worn by Katherine Heigl in the film "My Father the Hero"). Devastating. As if she didn't already attract enough attention. Much of the time her back was mostly covered by her hair, down to her butt. Then there was that butt. We did hear a few old familiar exclamations ("Wow!", etc.) as she passed by walking on the beach. It was her only one piece suit, if you would call it that. I'd call it a one-half piece suit, only a front.
In addition to our nocturnal outdoor fantasy romps on the golf course, we found that we enjoyed shutting ourselved in my large walk-in closet, in absolute total darkness. There we would make love, hearing only sweet whispers and heavy breathing, binding our souls inseparably for eternity.
On her darker side, she did have a thing for implied force, though not actual pain. She seemed to like when I was dressed in a suit and tie, and would approach me as a young girl to an older male authority figure, such as a school principal to whom she had been sent for punishment. Violation of dress code - failure to wear a bra. Her excuse, "I just forgot, because I never used to need one." Of course I would have to investigate the allegations accordingly. She also once produced a pair of handcuffs, which she, at the age of 15, had convinced one of the local deputies from the football game to let her borrow.
Me and my three gf, thank you for the updated story. So if someone likes to be restrained, why is that a dark side? I just like the feeling of not being able to assist in getting an orgasm, and dragging it out .. its then stronger. Hmm.. didnt know I might have a dark side :)
So? are you going to update this... lol..your fans are wondering :)
Fans? Plural? You mean there are more than one?
I have fully intended to complete 2 or 3 more parts to end this confession, but can only offer this one at the moment.
After the trip to Mexico Sunny attended summer school, in order that she would meet the requirements to get her high school diploma after what would ordinarily have been her sophomore year. Late in the Fall she was cheering at a basketball game at a rival school when she suffered a severe knee injury. Two surgeries later her gymnastics career was over. Through the following months her wardrobe would include crutches. The inability to come back from her injury caused her much unspoken anguish. I could see how badly she wanted to defend the state gymnastics title and support the team and other girls. But when the state meet came around she couldn't bear to attend and just watch. We stayed home and, to distract ourselves, played poker just to pass the time. No one lost their clothes. It was a somber day.
Only once, very early into our relationship, did Sunny and I have a half-serious talk about a possible future together. She pointed out that she was 14, and at 28 I was 100 percent older than she was. But when she would be 28, I would then be 42, or only 50 percent older. And continuing into the future, when she would be 42, I would be only 33 1/3 percent older. So, she concluded, at some point the age difference would be negligible, as the gap between us would continue to grow proportionately smaller and smaller to infinity, if we could only live that long.
But we both knew in our hearts that it was not the difference in our ages that mattered at all. We were completely compatible despite it. Destiny was what really mattered. Her destiny was calling her elsewhere. At that time I saw no possibility that she could achieve it unless she was free to give it all her attention and efforts. Attempting to maintain a long-distance relationship with me would just be excess baggage for her to bear on her journey. Her mother was right. I had to let her go.
When you are young sometimes you feel the future will never come, but inevitably it does. Sunny graduated from high school a week before her 16th birthday. For graduation and birthday gifts I gave her two small boxes. One held a beautiful sapphire pendant. In the other was a set of car keys. The next day she left for the university in the Porsche.
where'd the rest of the story go?
The board went down a couple weeks ago and everything from July on was lost. If you want,I can recreate or repost parts 34 through final 36 and the post-script and maybe a couple others' comments, when I have time. I saw Sunny today, btw.
Oh no. This is not the end. Sorry about taking so long to get back to the story, though.
As the weeks and months passed, I purposefully fought the constant urge to call her, or to call her mother for information. I poured myself into my work and in my down time became a dedicated golfer. Each round at my local course, I would ritualistically rake part of the greenside bunker that we called our beach, sometimes getting quizzical looks from my fellow golfers. I waved to her photo on the side of the bus stop shelters and was somewhat saddened to see the housing billboard replaced by a politician's ad for the November elections.
One cold evening in December there was a knock on my door and I opened it to find my Sunny before me, ever more beautiful.
"Is there room at the inn for a stranger?"
"Always. You know that."
She threw her arms around me and squeezed for half a minute.
"Why isn't your Christmas tree in the window?"
"I've just been very busy, having to work on some weekends."
I didn't want to tell her that I hadn't felt much like decorating.
She promptly picked up my phone and ordered a pizza, tuned some Christmas music on the stereo, and pulled out my boxed artificial tree, lights and ornaments, and we set about erecting it. The cat, Mr. Meriweather, seemed pleased to see her, constantly nuzzling her leg to demand attention.
When we were finished she opened the curtains to let the festive colored lights shine out onto the shrubs and front lawn and we plopped down to catch our breath and finish a slice of pizza. Despite the passage of six months, we were as comfortable with each other as ever. Eternally connnected by our shared intimacy. After a while, Sunny went about dragging the boxes back to storage. She reappeared wearing a long red ribbon from one shoulder across her breasts like a beauty queen's sash - only the ribbon, nothing else.
She led me by the hand up the stairs.
"I really wouldn't mind a few lumps of coal from Santa."
A truckload might be what I will deserve, I thought in anticipation.
I began to direct her toward the walk-in closet, one of our favorite dark places for love-making, but she pulled me to the king-sized bed. "I want to see you," she whispered, while flipping all the lights on. "I haven't seen you for more than six months." The lights stayed on all night, and the cat curled up in a ball on the foot of the bed while we intermittently made love and slept. At one point she cracked open two windows to let the cold air blow in and through the room, explaining that it would allow her to "appreciate the warmth" of my body. I'm not sure that Mr. Meriweather cared much for the idea.
In the morning I prepared her favorite "big breakfast". She traded the Porsche for my red Alfa Romeo Spider convertible (Holiday color, she said) and blew me a kiss as she pulled away to go to her parents' for Christmas.
After that first Christmas break, I saw Sunny only once in the next year, as she dedicated herself to her education. She returned for her brother's wedding, in the same community center where we had sneaked off to the storage room when she was 13, but this time we just smiled at the memory. I attended with no expectations of leaving with her panties as I had three years before. I knew she was in town only for a day or two and allowed for her to see her family.
I received a warm hug from her mother who, upon my asking, reassured me that Sunny was doing very well at the university, though wishing she was a little closer to home and her family. "And I know she misses you. Thank you for making it easier for her," she added, looking sincerely into my eyes. She knew that I was in the position of an addict trying to go "cold turkey" in giving up an addiction.
Sometimes when writing this story, these events have felt as though it happened last week, but the truth of the matter is that twenty years have passed since my fresh 16-year-old Sunny drove away to the university. She received an undergraduate degree and was admitted to medical school at 19. She studied chemistry, genetics, and all the interesting and demanding subjects. Through those years I pictured her winning the Nobel Prize for having cured cancer, and thought my sacrifice would be worth her achievements.
When she finished med school, she married a doctor. I did not have to ask to know he had to be somewhat older than her. I received an invitation to the wedding, but knew she would understand that I could not attend. A bit similar to her not being able to watch the gymnastics championship when she was injured. Just too much to handle.
Sunny's brother had gone to work after high school at a popular local bar. In a few years he bought it from the prior owner, installed a new kitchen and began offering a pretty decent menu of sandwiches for lunch and dinners styled after his mother's cooking. It became the most popular eating place in town and launched his career as a successful businessman. My mother sold our farm and orchard to him and retired to the city.
You may note that the first post in this story was made on Saturday, November 26, two days after Thanksgiving. I attended our yearly holiday dinner at the home of my sister and her significant other, a pretty young woman with long blonde hair of course (in case you haven't noted her orientation). After the meal, my sister pulled me aside and whispered, "She's back."
Sis had from time to time kept in touch with Sunny, but knew that I never wanted to hear any details about her, so after fifteen years or so of not mentioning her this must be important.
"She wants to see you."
"Tomorrow, if you can. Four o'clock or later would be good for her."
"She is staying at the farm for a few days."
So maybe after this final part you will understand why my sleep has been so disturbed for these months since last Thanksgiving.
After a fitfully sleepless night, the next afternoon (the day before the first post in this thread) I drove to our old farm, thoughtfully contemplating what I might say and ask. I didn't have any answers. I chose comfort over style and leisurely drove my sedan. Sports cars had begun to feel cramped and my knee ached with operating a clutch to shift. Arriving at a few minutes after four, I parked where the old basketball goal had been. Sunny was sitting in one of the cushioned chairs on the back porch, gazing toward the forthcoming evening sunset over the orchard west of the house.
With her personal and professional interest in diet and exercise, she looked as though she was still in her twenties, and not the thirty-six I knew her to be. I felt very conscious of my age for a moment until she threw her arms around me in a warm hug and gave me a quick greeting kiss on the lips. Suddenly I felt much younger, especially the parts below the waist. Almost inspired, you could say.
"Sit down and relax," she ordered.
The evening was turning crisp and cool, and I accepted her offer of hot chocolate and a granola bar, wishing it was pizza, while trying to hide the twenty-five pounds I had gained. I asked how she liked the field of medicine, and that started our conversation. She told me about where she had gone to medical school and her internship, then a little about the hospitals and clinics and cities where she had worked. We laughed when she recounted that the item on her resume' which easily got the most questions in job interviews was being a state champion gymnast, far away and above any of her considerable academic achievements.
As we spoke, my attention was drawn away at one point by the sound, and then the fleeting appearance, of two figures zipping along on trail motorbikes through the orchard where I used to ride the 4-wheeler years before. Sunny nodded toward them. "My kids."
"Oh, how many do you have?"
"Just the two, Danny and Ronnie."
At least she didn't give them too old-fashioned Eastern european names I thought.
The youngsters flashed through the trees again, and I caught a glimpse of black leather jackets and motorcycle helmets decorated with red flames.
"Ahh, boys." I wonder if they have any idea how hot their mom is.
Her face broke into the knowing, mischievous grin I had seen many times before.
"Hang around and you can meet them."
I wondered momentarily what she was up to, as she quickly added, "They will run out of gas and have to be in at dark soon anyway."
"I was married, you know," she continued.
"Yes, recently divorced. I know from your sis that you married also."
"Yup, and also divorced. No kids, though."
"I'm moving back here. I've accepted a research position at the Biomedical Research Institute." BMI is our city and state's crown jewel, and one of the most advanced genetic and nutrition research facilities in the world.
"That is absolutely awesome. I am so happy for you." Oh God, she will be living near me.
"The funding for it does not start until next July, so I won't be moving until June, after the kids finish the school year."
"I don't move pianos, but I will be glad to supervise."
She laughed. "It would probably be a help if you could just take care of the kids for a few days or weekends while I get settled in."
"Sure, you know I will. I can maybe show them a little something about throwing a baseball or football, or shooting a basketball." I didn't add that I had won the basketball shooting gold medal at the Senior Olympics, for which I was now eligible at the age of 50.
"I am sure they will find that very uh, ...interesting," she replied, as though searching for an accurate descriptive word, and once again smiling broadly.
"Here they come now. Come meet my Danny and Ronnie." She grasped me by the hand and pulled me eagerly down the steps and toward the equipment shed as the two riders appeared in the lane and idled to a halt on either side of us. They unbuckled the chin straps and pulled off the helmets. From each spilled a sudden cascade of long flowing hair, glowing golden blonde in the setting sunlight. Two young supermodel faces turned toward me, and without hesitation, flashing genuine and brilliant smiles, first one, then the other, spoke.
"Hi, I'm Danicka! But you can call me 'Danny'."
"Hi, I'm Veronicka! You can call me 'Ronnie'."
Stunned, as when I similarly met their mother on her bicycle more than two decades before, I had to look away, catch my breath, and gain some measure of composure. Sunny laughed at my reaction, but somehow I did not view it as funny. This was serious, very serious. I was instantly and completely addicted to the thought of them, their bright eyes, soft beautiful lips, long slender legs, and the brilliant inquisitive minds that I knew they must have. Gymnasts, cheerleaders, ballerinas, bikers and brainiacs all in one package. Well, in two, no, make that three. I am so completely in love with them. Damn.
Continuing repost: (other posters comment)
Anonymous 07/30/12 Mon 11:12 am No. 168861 168861\n');" href="/con/res/168257.html#i168861"Quote
so it is now the end of July, does that mean they have now moved back? That Sunny is now working @ the research company in town? That you are helping her watch the twins while she gets settled in to town again and works? Are there any new current happenings to add to this story? One of the most captivating and encompassing stories I have ever read. I yearn greatly to be in your shoes(place) in the past and in the present both. Bravo. IF this kind of relationship could actually be the norm rather than the exception to the rule, I think the world would such a better place for it.
Continuing repost: (other poster's comment)
charmain 07/31/12 Tue 10:13 pm No. 168864 168864\n');" href="/con/res/168257.html#i168864"Quote
Oh wow.. your back !!! and you made our day here, all I can say is its the best
salamat sa iyo Mahal kita
Continuing repost: (other poster's comment)
Anonymous 08/01/12 Wed 09:15 am No. 168865 168865\n');" href="/con/res/168257.html#i168865"Quote
Oh my god... ccontinue uupdating. I'm inlove withthis sTory
Continuing repost: Post Script
Thank you for the compliments. Yes, Sunny has moved here and bought a house less than 3 miles from mine. At the research institute she is known professionally as Dr. B---- (last name of ex-husband), but has already has heard the nickname "Dr. Bombshell". She decided to have some work done to the house and, since it is summer, the girls have been staying for extended visits at their grandparents' or at their uncle's farm while the construction work is finished and school starts. She did not want the construction company workers to see them and know where they live.
The girls are fantastically interesting and different. Dani (as she spells it) is outspoken, brash and fearless like her mom and the gymnast/cheerleader. Roni (as she spells it) is much quieter and introspective by comparison and a promising artist and dancer, having already performed with the professional ballet company in the city of their former residence. Both are brilliantly smart, and I can't think of a adjective superlative enough to describe them in swimsuits (somehow it now seems perverted to use the word that first comes to mind: "delicious").
At this time I do not expect to continue to add current happenings. It was difficult for me to write this much and complete the story up to the point when I started to post it, and also a bit emotional for me at times. In a way I think it is better if I let the reader wonder, as I do now, what happens next.
Oh, by the way, for what it is worth, consider this story copyrighted property of Lee Kim Sem Lo, LLC, though I give permission for users here to copy and save it for personal use. Not to be re-posted, printed, sold, transmitted, etc.
Continuing repost: (other poster's comment)
Anonymous 08/12/12 Sun 12:07 pm No. 168894 168894\n');" href="/con/res/168257.html#i168894"Quote
bummer - was hoping to find out if the twins were as wild and take charge kind of girls like their mother was @ that age and hopefully hear of some new adventures - oh well - memories from the past were quite good - if you ever feel the need to share any current happenings - we will be waiting here with baited breath :)~
Continuing repost: (other poster's comment)
Anonymous 08/31/12 Fri 03:04 pm No. 168902 168902\n');" href="/con/res/168257.html#i168902"Quote
The text on this site is so terribly unconducive to extended periods of reading I had to tweak it in Chrome temporarily just to read this story.
So far I have only got to part 6 but I just wanted to say, if you are still reading this thread OP: you have a fantastically vivid and engrossing prose style. My initial impression was that this story is surely a recollection of prior events because few it seems could write so viscerally if it were not something they themselves had consciously experienced. I am the same age now as your story's protagonist and have already had one or two experiences which agonisingly and deliciously hinted towards developing in similar ways, but I was too cautious to allow them to progress, one of these moments will haunt me and fill me with regret for the rest of my days.
Reading stories like this always makes me ponder that life is so short, and given that our time when such things are possible is even shorter, there are surely situations where it is worth all the risk; "Gather ye rosebuds while ye may".
I don't know how this tale will unfold but it's immediately obvious to me that revisiting it was something of an emotional burden, so thank you for sharing your tale with us. I'll certainly be reading onwards when time permits.
Continuing repost: (other poster's comment)
Anonymous 09/01/12 Sat 09:34 am No. 168904 168904\n');" href="/con/res/168257.html#i168904"Quote
I have just finished reading your so called confession (I perceive it to be more of a profession or declaration of love, and I feel this would be a more appropriate label; there is nothing requiring of contrition or repentance in this piece, save perhaps for the final few stirrings). I will just empty my brain and thoughts after reading from part six to thirty-six in one sitting.
Whilst accompanied by some suitably beautiful background music (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VUgC6215Gko), I find this tale has evoked a cacophony of discordant emotions; I feel as though I have lived through the events with you, an unassuming piece of furniture lumped into the set in which the performance was enacted, viewing through my vantage point with a sense of shared destiny, almost as though not only was I observing the events unfold but that I was also living through them vicariously.
You stated that this story was not a tragedy but the way in which so many years passed without contact after that magical Christmas (how I wonder did you resist the temptation) and that those few blissful years were effortlessly and ruthlessly washed away by the seas of time, the fact it was so necessarily transient and fleeting is in itself a tragedy to me. I always take note when there are numerous mentions of binding souls and eternity and so forth, because deep down everyone must know that there is nothing eternal about our conscious experience. When the universe asymptotically approaches heat death and winds down towards absolute zero nothing will remain of you or "Sunny", or your souls, or any of us: but at the same time how unimaginably lucky you have been to experience what you did first hand.
What I loved most about your story was the painstaking effort you went to describe the smaller, apparently less noteworthy (but altogether more sacred to the poetic creature) moments which help the reader understand why the things that happened did happen, the scene with Sunny on the bike and how it stuck with you as the catalyst and starting point for everything that was to later occur was a moment that I certainly recognise. Perhaps at that time in your life you were waiting for something to happen subconsciously, and it just so happened that a combinatorially impossible series of events led to you and her both being there that dayâ€”and what followed was to some degree inevitable. (Somehow reminiscent of Nabokov's HH's initial discovery of Dolores in the garden, how the impact of one seemingly minor event can trigger a whole line of future events like someone knocking over the first in a long arrangement of dominos)
How the story concludes from this point is to some extent immaterial, although I sense you will be presented with a whole raft of new ethical dilemmas, and once the inner-eye has been opened itâ€™s difficult to shut it out completely. I wanted to express most of all my envy (which should be palpable), but also my respect and gratitude for you being willing to traipse through your memories and express them in such a potent way. Let me say this though, if Iâ€™m ever approached by a figurative girl-child on a bike I will think of this story and perhaps choose a different path to that which I have before. Itâ€™s a story that is both inspirational to those who might wish to chance upon a similar lover and a similar illicit, impossible love; and as a stark warning that whatever happens in this kind of relationship, no matter the euphoria and bliss that can come your way, you are almost always doomed from the start.
Continuing repost: (other poster's comment)
5 09/02/12 Sun 07:14 pm No. 168906 168906\n');" href="/con/res/168257.html#i168906"Quote
This is the most wonderous gift I have ever received on my birthday. I found it on August 31 and finished reading just now. If this story isn't true, it should be. The hauntingly beautiful way you described Sunny and the love you share cleaves my heart in twain. I thank you deeply for sharing it with us all. I hope that this kind of beauty and unconditional love does exist. I do not wish to live in a world where your story cannot be real. You, Sir, have renewed my hope so thank you. May life shine favourably upon you all the days on this earth, and may love always find you wherever you are.
Continuing repost: (other poster's comment)
Anonymous 09/03/12 Mon 09:32 am No. 168907 168907\n');" href="/con/res/168257.html#i168907"Quote
My new wife and I devoted the first day of our honeymoon and the first full day of our marriage emersing ourselves in the warm glow of this wonderful story.
She would read one chapter andA I would read the next. What wonderful bliss that was!
We have found through this beautiful story that one does not need sex, only to bask in the the love and devotion of this nameless man and Sunny. Our sexual activity, by contrast, would have been sordid and venal and filthy by comparison.
We can only hope to capture in our marriage a small fraction of the beauty of this story. We promised until "death us do part" to read at least one chapter of the work every week.
That is all of the posts I am aware of up to the time the board went down. I guess I had a premonition that something like that would happen because prior to these last few posts I hadn't copied and saved.
I hope everyone has enjoyed the story. I appreciated the comments. BTW, our few blissful years were not ruthlessly washed away, but were carefully stored in a special place within us both. After the passage of all these years, we were immediately as comfortable with each other, and secure in our place in each other's heart, as if a week had not passed.
Also, for what it is worth, I have never read "Lolita".
In doing Christmas shopping I stumbled upon a book written by this girl (photo posted age 14), now a woman, based upon her own real life experiences as a 15yo model on her own in Paris and living life in the very fast lane. Well written and a great read if you are interested in related subject matter from the point of view of a beautiful young girl who has been there, done that. I highly recommend it. A Model Summer, by Paulina Porizkova. Google for her Vogue covers and Sports Illustrated swimsuit photos.
>>168984 - I wonder, did you ever take up my idea of posting your beautiful story on SOL? I've looked out for it several times, but have never seen it, so I assume not.