I met Justin when I was 16, shortly after moving to Utah to live with my Grandparents. My mother and her husband had just given birth to their third child together, my third half-brother, and our relationship at that point was essentially unsalvageable. When they both looked at me I knew what they saw: a fuck-up. I was the mistake from my mother’s youth, a constant reminder of her wild life before Terry. I loved my little brothers, but couldn’t help but try to live up to my parents’ expectations. If it was a fuck-up they wanted, I gave it to them.
I lost my virginity at 14 to a neighbor boy and made sure they knew about it. It was quick, awkward, and painful. My sex education to that point was thorough, but questionable. I had learned all I knew from a myriad of women on their knees being dominated by unnaturally well-hung men. I was introduced to porn by my step-father, unbeknownst to him, at age 11. I still don’t think my mother knows about his addiction. He doesn’t know that I know. But where he was drawn to the unnaturally plastic, buxom, blonde women, I was more fascinated by the images of petite women, thin and small, being adored and ravaged my large men. This may have something to do with the fact that I am somewhat lacking in the boob department, and am, myself, very small.
As a child I was always a bit of a tom-boy, and I’ve maintained that kind of rabid physical activity. Regular jaunts to the mountains, rock-climbing, swimming – they combine with my genetically freakish metabolism to keep me small and lean. Combine those with my other genetics and I fear I am perpetually trapped in the body of an adolescent girl.
At 16, though I didn’t know it at the time, my breasts had maxed out at monstrously pert A Cups. They were, and still are, tiny. In my porn-assaulted mind, this was a bad thing, so I worked diligently to overcome the disadvantage in other ways. Flexibility, litheness, enthusiasm, hairlessness. I played to my strengths. Though the truth is, I wasn’t as sexually active as I let on. I understood that in men there is a primal, feral desire to dominate and protect and possess. So if I was to forever be condemned to the body of an adolescent, I’d play it up as well as I could. But I digress.
Utah. Grandpa’s house. Through a series of miracles I was only 5 credits shy of graduating High School at 16, having taken a series of AP classes. I was finishing up the last several credits via University extension courses and had no need to return to High school in the fall. Thus, I was sent to Utah to be removed from bad situations and less than desirable friends. I was sent to find God, and my Grandparents were thrilled to introduce us. Surprisingly, it went very well at first.
My second day with my Grandparents was a Sunday. I felt trepidation as I climbed into the massive back seat of their Cadillac and we meandered down the street to the chapel where their congregation met. Walking in I immediately felt ill at ease, my black skirt much too short and my sleeveless top showing way too much skin comparatively speaking. I got some looks, from both boys, men AND women. Those looks ranged from interest to pure judgment. But what I found was that those who judged kept their distance, and there were some genuinely kind people. After the sacrament the congregation separated, the youth going to Sunday school. I was approached by a few girls my age that introduced themselves sweetly and invited me along. I went with all the ease of a mouse among cats, but hid it well. In class our teacher introduced herself to me as Sister Turner. She was a middle aged woman with hair that was clearly dyed a golden hue. She was slightly overweight, and kind. I immediately liked her. There was no judgment in her eyes. Over the next few weeks she took a special interest in me, becoming a friend. I think she saw in me a lost soul and had decided she would save me, and I enjoyed the genuine affection and care. Hillary (she asked me to call her by her first name) had six children and a daughter just a year younger than myself named April. Living with Grandparents can get dull, so I found myself spending much time with the Turner family. I’d never been a part of something so...functional...before, and I craved it. April quickly became my best friend. We would confide in each other about boys, about dreams, about books and which shows we watched. I loved her innocence and naivety, and part of me wanted that for myself. So I never told her the truths about my past. My Grandparents were only too happy to keep secrets about their wayward granddaughter, so the story that was floated was that I was attempting to get into the local church-run university. So everyone, especially the Turners, lauded and celebrated my intelligence and touted my feisty spirit. After a while even I bought it, and my past was just that – the past. I was Bentley, early graduate, new girl. I was the interesting one. I was adopted into the Turner family. I would tease the kids, play with them, and accompany them on family outings. Mr. Turner was a successful chiropractor, Hillary was an RN, and the kids were in innumerable extracurricular activities.
When August came and April returned to school I found myself at a loss of what to do with my time. Hillary, seeing my boredom, took it on herself to help. She employed house-cleaners and knew the owner of the company. After a quick phone call I was gainfully employed by Sarah & Saints Maid service. My first assignment, of course, was the regular weekly cleaning of the Turner Household. Things were perfect.
It was the second week of my work for Sarah that I got a call on my way to the Turner home. Hillary explained that the AC was out. It was Mid-August, and sweltering. She advised me that the whole family was out and that I could help myself to anything in the fridge, but that I really didn’t have to go today. With nothing better to do I decided to clean. I arrived at the home and let myself in using the key they had given me. It was terribly hot, so I stripped down to my tank-top and shorts, discarding the blue button-up which was standard issue. I cranked up my ipod and went to work. I remember the song that was playing was Rilo Kiley’s ‘Shake Your Moneymaker’ when I finished cleaning the windows outside on the deck. They were privacy windows, so I couldn’t see from the outside in. Thus, when I walked back into the house and saw a figure standing there, I couldn’t help but jump and scream.
It was Mr. Turner. He had run home from his office for a long lunch, as he often did. He was standing in the living room staring at me, a strange look on his face. I started laughing after the fright, and involuntarily put a hand to my chest. It was then that I realized just how much I had been sweating. One of the benefits to having small breasts is the discretion of when I want to wear a bra. It isn’t entirely necessary all the time, and this day happened to be one of those days when I was letting the girls fly free. In a white tank top. Drenched with sweat. I was already laughing nervously at being startled. Standing there in front of my adopted father, exposed, that laugh turned into a nervous shriek as I covered my breasts with an arm and turned away.
“Sorry! I’m sorry!” I stammered, wanting nothing more than to gather my shirt and flee. Unfortunately, Mr. Turner happened to be between me and that shirt. I gritted my teeth in a cringe and looked back over my shoulder to see Mr. Turner still standing there, a bemused smile on his face.
“Sorry”, I again offered lamely.
He laughed. It was a relief, and broke the tension. He wasn’t mad. I smiled a sheepish grin, and with my arm still clutched over my breasts danced past him to gather my shirt off the floor. He’d always seemed so serious and stand-offish with me, so it was strange to see him smile and hear him laugh.
“I’m so embarrassed”, I started as I stuck one arm through a sleeve and swing the shirt around my back to slide the other arm through. That’s when things started moving slowly.
“It’s okay Bentley”. I was startled by his closeness as I started buttoning the shirt from the bottom. I must have jumped, because he laughed again.
“Easy,” he said, placing a hand on my shoulder. “You’re jumpy today. Am I that scary?”
I froze as he touched me. He’d never touched me before. In fact, unless my mind was deceiving me he had gone out of his way to avoid me most of the time, barely ever speaking to me. My corrupted mind went a place it hadn’t been in some time, to those porn scenes where a father finds himself alone with his daughter’s naïve, but eager friend...
In something of a fog I realized I had turned to face him. My throat was dry as I looked up at his smile. He was speaking, though I didn’t hear the words. My arms slowly lowered from my shirt as his hands raised. His eyes moved from mine, down, his lips still moving. I closed my eyes, waiting for his touch.
He proceeded to button my shirt, picking up where I had left off. His finger moved quickly, and soon I was covered.
“Okay Bentley?” He asked
I came back to myself.
“What?” I asked, abandoning the thoughts that had been there moments before.
A concerned look came over his face. “Have you had enough to drink?”
I nodded, doubting my own thoughts at this point. What was happening?
“Listen Bentley,” he said, placing a hand on each shoulder. He was touching me. “There’s nothing wrong, don’t even worry about this okay? Don’t think about it or mention it again.”
I nodded and managed a smile. “’kay”, I said, finally looking up.
He was looking at me with a half-smile again, a little concern knitting his brow. His eyes were a pretty blue, and his dark hair graying a little on the sides. I’d never noticed.
“Bentley,” he said, “are you okay to drive home? Why don’t you go home and come finish up tomorrow?”
“Okay”, I said, my mind still working furiously. He placed a hand on my lower back, guiding me toward the door. Before I knew what was happening I was on the road, heading back to my Grandparents’ house.
As I drove, I dissected what had happened. How long had he been standing in the living room, watching me through the windows he knew I couldn’t see through? And why had he been so warm, so familiar toward me in that moment, when he had never been so before in the presence of his family? And he had buttoned up my shirt! He had turned me toward him, exposed, the white tank hiding nothing, his hands brushing against me as he worked. Then he had touched me again, the shoulders, the hand on the small of my back...was he just concerned? Was I reading too much into this?
Again, my mind wandered to places it hadn’t been in weeks, and I found goose bumps breaking out up my body despite the heat. Was it possible? Was I the daughter’s friend? Was he attracted to me? I couldn’t help but smile at the ridiculousness of the thought. But it had all been so strange.
Then I remembered he had asked me not to mention it. And to come back tomorrow. My heart rate quickened as my mind started racing again. Was he going to be there? Was he expecting something?
I was startled from my thoughts by the ringing of my cell. Hillary’s name appeared on the screen and my heart leapt into my throat. God. Had he told her? What would she say?
I picked up the phone, frightened, and answered, my voice involuntarily tight.
“Hi Bentley, it’s Hill.” The cheeriness in her voice was instantly calming.
“Oh, hi.” I said, not sure what she knew, unsure of how to proceed. But she didn’t seem to notice I was not my usual talkative self.
“Justin just called me and told me what happened. Are you okay hon?”
My ease left me immediately. God, he had told her. What was she thinking? I was immediately ashamed for the thoughts I had been entertaining – for thinking he would have done something like that to his family. If he had any intentions, he wouldn’t tell his wife. I was so embarrassed, so worried about what she would think, that I just sat there, silent.
“Bentley?” Hillary continued. She sounded genuinely concerned.
“Yes,” I said. “Yeah, I’m okay.” I didn’t know where to start apologizing, so I just started talking, words pouring from my mouth.
“ I’m so sorry Hillary, it was just so hot and I didn’t know he’d be coming home.”
Hillary laughed, causing me to pause, confused.
“What are you talking about? What are you apologizing for? I’m glad he came home and found you. Heat stroke is serious. Are you sure you’re okay Hon? You’re not acting like yourself.”
I was confused now. She was okay with it? Then my mind caught up. What exactly had he told her? That he found me dazed? Had he even mentioned my shirt?
I managed a little laugh. “Sorry Hillary. I’m just a little hot. I guess I shouldn’t have gone over today.”
“Well, just go home and lay down. Make sure you drink plenty of water, okay?” She continued without waiting for a response, “Bentley, I am leaving for a conference in Las Vegas tomorrow morning and will be gone through the weekend, but feel free to come over and see April after school. Don’t worry about cleaning the house until next week when we have the AC fixed.”
“Okay Hill. Thanks.” As I spoke my mind was turning yet again. She was leaving town and told me not to come clean until the AC was fixed, but Mr. Turner had asked me to come back tomorrow. She was going to be gone, and he had asked me to come over.
Remembering my previous shame at having entertained such thoughts I put it out of my mind, chiding myself. He had probably spoken without thinking. We ended our conversation with well-wishes and I continued home, telling myself that I had overreacted or imagined things, and that all was well.
The following morning I woke early. I had no cleaning appointments, so I planned to go trail running in the nearby canyon. I dressed without showering; a yellow sports bra covered by a loose-fitting T, a pair of too-worn cotton panties and my short black running shorts. My brown hair was just long enough to pull back into a tiny ponytail. And just in case I met any cute guys on the trail, I applied a little mascara. My eyes are my best feature. They are big and brown, and my lashes are nice and long. I like to accentuate that. It was a hot day again and the drive up the canyon was beautiful. The leaves were still a month away from changing, and the canyon was busy. I followed my usual routine, discarding the T and stretching by the car prior to jogging up the trail. My run was uneventful, but strenuous, and when I got back to my car in was nearing 11. I sat in the driver’s seat with the door open to let the slight breeze try to cool the sweat on my body. I could feel the salt drying on my skin as I sat, and I turned the keys in the ignition half-way to start up the radio as I took a long drink of water.
After a few minutes I closed the door and buckled my seatbelt, opting not to put on my t-shirt since I was still damp with sweat. I buckled my seatbelt and then checked my phone before starting the car. I left it in the console for my run and say that I had 2 texts.
The first was from my mother, which I ignored. The second was from an unknown number. I opened it and read, then re-read, my just steadied heartbeat picking up again.
“Thought u were coming over to finish 2day? Got you lunch. Justin”
It took me a moment to register who Justin was, and when I did I felt like I’d just plunged over the top hill of a rollercoaster. The text had come at 10:54, It was now 11:05. The Turner’s home was only minutes from the mouth of the canyon and I could be there in fifteen minutes. I started the car.
I was driving much too fast down the winding canyon road, my mind wandering all over the place as I dialed the number from which the text had come. As the phone rang, I had time to wonder if I even should be calling, but after a few rings his deep voice answered.
I tried to sound non-chalant. “Hi Mr. Turner, it’s Bentley.”
His voice brightened “Bentley! How are you?”
“Good,” I said. “Sorry, when I talked to your wife yesterday she told me not to worry about coming, so I went running this morning. I’m just leaving the canyon and can be there in 5 minutes.”
“That’s okay,” he said slowly. “I didn’t know she’d told you not to come so I just thought I’d try to do something nice for you today since we almost killed you yesterday. But don’t worry about it if you have other plans.”
“No, I will.” I spoke a little too fast. This was a careful game we had to play. It was all about subtle hints, and testing each other’s reactions. What if I was wrong? What if he really did just want to make it up to me?
“I have my cleaning gear in my trunk and this way I won’t be behind next week. As long as you don’t mind me being in my exercise clothes and can stand the stink, I can just stop by for an hour or two to finish up.” How attractive, I thought to myself.
He took the briefest of pauses before saying, “No, that’s fine. I wasn’t sure what you wanted so I just got us some fish tacos. Is that okay?”
Fish tacos? I almost giggled wondering if he knew the euphemism, then secret hoped he did and was sending me a signal. “That’s great,” I said. “See you in 5.”
“Okay, see you soon Bentley. Just let yourself in.”
We disconnected the call, and before long I was there. I stopped around the corner to touch up my eye make-up and to spritz on some vanilla body spray I kept in the glovebox. It only slightly masked the sour smell of my sweat, but was better than nothing. I considered the t-shirt crumpled on the seat next to me for a moment before tossing it under the seat. Then I continued up to the driveway.
That moment before walking in, my hand poised on the door handle, seemed to me to be a crossroads. As if all of my future balanced on the next few moments, the decisions I would immediately make. As if my life was vacuumed into this one moment. My new life was good. I had friends and an adopted family that cared for me. People liked me and I could walk whatever path I wanted. My future was open and my present was bright. What would I do? What was I willing to risk? I pressed on the latch, and the door swung open.
I stepped into the entryway, the floor tiled with travertine and the ceiling vaulting 20 feet above. I slipped off my sneakers, recoiling in horror at the smell, and peeled the wet socks off my feet.
I walked through the arched hallway into the living room where he had been yesterday, but it was empty, as was the attached dining room and the kitchen beyond. A brown sack sat on the table. The butterflies in my stomach faded. He had gone back to work.
I jumped, causing him to laugh. He was standing on the railed catwalk up above looking down at me.
I laughed too, the butterflies instantly returning. I felt so exposed, so naked to his eyes. “Hi!” I said, again a little too loudly, looking up. My nervousness was coming out. “Sorry about the outfit,” I gestured to my body laughing and kicking a leg. I move too much when I’m nervous.
“It’s okay.” He said, smiling sincerely. “You didn’t have to come. The tacos are on the table. I already ate and just started on a project up here in my room. Help yourself.”
I looked over to the table, realizing I had no appetite at that moment. Looking back up I said, “I might wait to eat since I just went running. I’ll probably just get to work.”
“Did you bring your supplies?” He asked, seeing I had empty hands. My supplies! I had totally forgotten to get them out of the trunk; I’d been so focused on what might happen. I’d made a mistake in this carefully orchestrated game.
Slapping a palm to my forehead I laughed. “Yeah. Yeah, I brought them, but forgot to bring them in. Let me go grab them from the trunk.”
I turned back toward the hall, but he called out.
“Don’t worry about it. You can come up here and help me with this. I promised Hillary I’d get our room reorganized while she was gone, and to tell the truth I’m not a great organizer. How about you?”
“I’m great at it,” I lied.
“Well, how about giving me a hand?” He asked, motioning with his hand for me to come upstairs.
I’d never been in the Turner parents’ bedroom before. The kids didn’t go in there, and so I just followed suit. It was the forbidden zone. I stood in the doorway, a little uneasy. Sunlight streamed from the vaulted living room windows onto the open walkway where I was standing, so comparatively the bedroom was dark. The curtains and blinds were closed on the windows, but the small overhead light was on. Still, it seemed dim, and it took a few moments for my eyes to adjust. The room was torn apart. A mess. Clothes lay in heaps on the bed and floor, the desk was stacked with books and papers and dresser drawers and armoire doors were all open. A treadmill in the corner was draped with discarded clothes as well as a small, medieval looking device in the corner. I assumed it was some sort of adjustment chair for his chiropractic work.
He looked up at me as he walked from the dresser to the bed, dropping an armful of clothes on the bed. He spread his arms, presenting the room to my view. “Welcome to the disaster!” he said.
I smiled. “Uh, you want me to organize this?”
“Please!” he said. “I’ll do anything for your help!”
I made a face, surveying the room. “I don’t know about this Mr. Turner. I don’t think you have anything I want or need.” I teased.
“I’m sure we can figure something out, Bentley. Please, I need your help. I even tempted you here with tacos.” He laced his fingers together and gave me his best pleading look. It wasn’t very good.
“You’re not very good at begging,” I said. He smiled
“Well,” he said, “I promised Hillary I would get this done, but didn’t realize how big of a task it was, or how inept I am at these things. I knew I needed help. Please. I’ll treat you and April to dinner and a movie Friday night, then you can have a sleepover afterwards. How does that sound?”
Again I felt a little shame. My mind was far too corrupted. He just wanted to be bailed out and needed a willing helper.
“Okay, I said. “You’ve got a deal.”
He smiled. “Good. There’s just one catch. Hillary would kill me if she knew you saw this mess. You can’t mention it to anybody.”
“Of course,” I said. “So, where do we start?”
He shrugged. “I was hoping you could tell me.”
We got to work, though it was slow going. We got a plan of attack, organizing clothing into boxes that would be donated to charity or thrown out, and stacking keepers on the bed until we determined which drawers would house what. As we worked we talked. The conversation started focused on me, him asking about my past. Of course I wasn’t comfortable with that line, so I turned it back to them. Why the cleaning? What’s Hillary doing in Las Vegas, etc. I was surprised at how candidly he spoke with me and how quickly he opened up.
Hillary had been struggling with her weight and her age. She wasn’t aging gracefully and hadn’t been able to get back in shape since their last child 5 years earlier. He thought she just took on too much at work and church, and was left with no time or energy, but she disagreed and said it was physiological. On top of that, she wanted to have another child, but their doctor had said she shouldn’t. The first 6 hadn’t been kind to her, and at her age, now in her mid fourties, the odds were against them. Mr. Turner thought their family was complete, and they had been at odds over it for some time. She was in Vegas looking into a possible adoption, not at a nursing conference.
It’s a strange thing to hear a man vent to you about his wife of over 20 years. Particularly when you are only a year older than his daughter. I didn’t know what to say for the majority of the time, so I made myself busy folding clothes and nodding with an occasional “huh” or “okay” thrown in. I like Hillary. She was more of a mom to me than my own had ever been and I’d only known her for a period of a few months. It was a strange conflict inside me to hear someone talk badly about her, but at the same time it felt good to be treated like an intelligent adult, to be confided in by someone I respected.
I finished a pile of shirts and moved walked across the room to pick up a discarded blanket. As I picked it up I saw a flash of red lace, realizing too late that I had uncovered a secret pile. A small collection of silk, lace and wire lay in a pile on the floor, various colors intermingled. I felt my face flush red and hoped he hadn’t seen, but when I dropped the blanket back on top of the lingerie and tried to turn non-chalantly he was staring at me. I watched as another big smile broke out across his face and he lifted his head and laughed, my blush deepening. I don’t know why I was blushing. I had thought myself sexually bold and savvy, but somehow over the past few months I had regained a semblance of innocence. And I felt incredibly unsavvy and awkward in Mr. Turner’s presence.
“I’m sorry!” I cried, closing my eyes and bringing my hands up to hide my face. “Ugh, how awkward!”
He laughed even harder, walking over to me and putting his arms around me in a comforting embrace. I let him hug me, grateful for a place to hide me face, which was just above the level of his chest. I’d never noticed how much bigger than me he was. I’d never been so close to him. I could feel him shaking with laughter as his arms circled my shoulders and rested on my back.
Through his laughter he managed, “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t be laughing.” Which seemed to only make him laugh harder. He stepped back from me to wipe his eyes. The laughter was contagious, and rather than feel like I was the target it made me start to giggle as well. This lasted several minutes, after which whenever we looked at each other we would start to laugh again.
Once we regained control he went to the blanket and gathered up the lingerie in his arms, walking over to deposit them in a dresser drawer. “I’ll go through those later,” he said, stifling another laugh. It felt good to laugh so hard. A smile was chiseled onto my face. I walked over to another pile of clothes and started working.
“Bentley,” he started, as he moved some boxes to clear an area in the middle of the floor, “Is your knee bothering you?”
The question surprised me. “What?” I asked, not sure if I’d heard him right.
“Your knee,” he repeated. “Is it bothering you? It clicks every time you walk.”
“Oh.” I said, turning back to my work. “Yeah, it always does that.”
“Come here,” he said, kneeling down at the edge of the cleared carpet. “Let me take a look at it.”
Shrugging, I walked over.
“Which knee is it?” he asked.
“My right,” I offered, extending my leg. He raised both hands, his fingers feeling around the edge of my kneecap, then along the tendons on the back of my knee.
He moved back on his knees. “Lay down for me,” he said, motioning to the floor in front of him.
I got down on the floor facing him. “Whatcha doing doc?” I asked
“I’m going to see if I can fix that for you, he said. “Lay down.”
I laid on my back and he moved forward on his knees, lifting my right leg in the air. His hands were warm and large, one hand on my foot and the other moving to my thigh.
“Let me know if any of this hurts,” he said, beginning to manipulate my leg in a range of movements.
“Kay,” I said, suddenly aware of how quiet it was. All I could hear was our breathing and the occasional ‘click’ of my knee. I was also reminded of how short my running shorts were with my leg waiving in the air and Mr. Turner kneeling next to me. There’s no way he wasn’t seeing my panties.
“No pain?” he asked.
“None,” I said as he lowered my leg and stood up, stepping over me to my other side. As he stepped over me I couldn’t help but notice that there was a distinct bulge in his pants. He knelt beside me again, putting a hand on my hip.
“Roll on your side toward me,” he said, pulling my hip toward him.
“Ummm...kayyyy,” I said, complying.
As I rolled his hands moved, bending my right leg at the knee and pulling it up.
“I’m going to adjust your hips,” he said. “Cross your arms on your chest.”
I did so, and he placed one hand against my arms, his fingers splayed out so that two of them fell across my right breast. His other hand gripped my right thigh and he leaned into me forcefully, twisting my body as he pressed my chest straight back and my hips toward him. There was a distinct ‘pop’ in my hips and I felt something slip as he eased the pressure. His hand stayed on my exposed upper thigh, his other resting against my arms, still crossed over my chest.
He didn’t move, and so neither did I. He was staring down at his hand on my hip, but his eyes were distant. He seemed to be lost in thought as his fingers moved a little, sliding back and forth across my skin.
Again, time slowed. I raised my head, but he didn’t notice. I looked down at him, my eyes wandering to his crotch. I hadn’t been imagining things. There, pressing firmly against his slacks was an unmistakable erection. I started to slide an arm out from under his hand and he seemed to snap out of his trance. He looked up at my eyes and I stopped moving, then slowly extracted my arm again. As I pulled it free, his hand fell halfway against my right breast.
“It’s okay,” I whispered.
His fingers began sliding up my thigh slowly and his eyes travelled down my neck to my chest. I lifted my other hand free, and placed it on top of his, sliding his over to cup my breast fully. He didn’t resist.
I realized I was holding my breath. My head spun, not believing this was happening. I wanted to hear his thoughts as he looked at me, his eyes distant. I felt his hand flex under mine and his fingers pressed against me, squeezing my flesh slightly. A sound escaped my lips, surprising even me, as I cooed softly at his touch, shifting my body to lie more comfortably as his fingers slid from the outside of my thigh, across the top, to the inside, just under the hem of my running shorts.
“God,” he whispered, barely audible as he drew a deep breath. His hand squeezed my breast again, more purposefully now. His fingers massaging slightly and parting to allow my fast hardening nipple to slip between them.
I closed my eyes and arched my back at his touch, “Oh, Mr. Turner..”
He stopped rubbing, pulling his hands from my body. I opened my eyes, confused. He wasn’t looking at me, but stood quickly and turned away from me.
“You should go home Bentley.” He said, his voice tight.
I didn’t move. I didn’t understand what was wrong, and I felt something creeping up inside me. What was this?
When I didn’t move he looked at me for a moment, his eyes unreadable, then glanced away. “Please go home.”
I started crying then. The tears coming to my eyes unbidden and unwanted. I pushed myself up into a sitting position on the floor, not understanding why I was crying. Not understanding why he had stopped. Through my tears I heard myself say “But why? I know that they’re not very big..”
I sounded stupid. I felt pathetic. So I stood and ran out of the room. Everything was a blur. I heard him call my name, felt him catch me from behind as I reached the bottom of the stairs. I don’t know how, but I ended up cradled in his arms. I was crying uncontrollably. He was sitting 2 stairs up from me, bent over, his arms around my shoulders. I was sitting on the lowest step, my head against him, his hands smoothing my hair. He was speaking, but I wasn’t listening. What had I done? What was I doing?
“Hey, hey. Shhhh.” He was soothing, like I was a wild animal. “Bentley, it’s okay. Shhhh. Listen.”
I got a hold of my emotions enough to turn toward him in his arms, still crying, my body a tangle on the steps.
“It’s not you,” he was saying. ”You’re gorgeous, beautiful, vibrant...” His hands continued stroking my hair. “Please don’t cry sweetheart. I’m sorry I did it, but not because you are in any way lacking.”
I became more aware as I listened. His knees were to either side of my shoulders, one arm supporting me on the stars and the other resting on the inside of his leg. My hand was curled against his bent torso and my own head rested against my arm. He was still smoothing my hair.
“I want very much to touch you and to hold you, but I can’t. I can’t do that to my family. To my kids and Hillary. As much as I want that...as much as I want you, I can’t do that.”
I lifted my head and turned to look at him, the tears abating a little. He leaned back so he could look in my eyes, using a thumb to wipe my cheek. His eyes were so kind, his brow furrowed with concern.
I sniffed once and half-laughed, half-sobbed. Looking away I said, “Ugh. I’m so gross. All sweaty and snotty.”
He pulled my face back toward his. “No you’re not Bentley. You’re beautiful.”
I smiled a teary smile briefly. “Thanks.”
Our eyes locked for a moment, then he leaned toward me, his lips pressing against my forehead. As he did so I laced one of my arms up through his to encircle his neck, my fingers playing in the scruff at the base of his hair. I heard him draw a deep breath, and whisper as if to himself, “I can’t.” He pulled his lips from my forehead, but stayed close, his hands still on the sides of my face as I turned it upward.
Impulsively, I craned my neck upwards and let my lips lightly graze his neck, just below his chin. His breath drew in sharply again, but he didn’t resist. I nibbled again, rising a little on my knees, kissing softly on his chin. His hands moved down from my face to rest on the bare skin of my shoulders. I moved my face alongside his and whispered in his ear, “It’s okay. I won’t tell anyone. I want this.”
His hands gripped my shoulders and he groaned moving his lips to mine quickly. His kiss was rough, and sudden, full of passion. His face scratched mine as I slightly parted my lips, tracing my tongue along the edge of his lower lip. Then, he was lost. He kissed me passionately and hard, his hands ranging from my hair, to my back, before finally sliding down the front of my shoulders to my breasts. He leaned back from me then, his eyes burning as he squeezed. I straightened, lifting my arms and grasping the bottom edge of my sports bra.
“Yes, please,” he whispered, giving me all the encouragement I needed to peel it over my breasts and lift it over my head.
“Dear God.” He breathed, a hand going to each breast. “You’re beautiful”. As he teased and pinched, I slid my hands up his thighs which I was still kneeling between, over the folds and creases of the smooth linen until I found it. At my touch he groaned again, and leaned back, looking at me as he gave me better access. He was large. My hand rubbed up the length of the bulge, my palm pressed hard against it. I’d never seen a real man’s cock outside of videos online. I’d never been face to face with anything but a boy’s.
I leaned in and kissed gently against what I judged to be the tip of the bulge, biting gently against the cloth as his groan encouraged me.
I was in control now, and I knew it. I straightened up, kneeling on the lower steps in front of him, arching out my breasts which I knew were now standing up perkily. I made my eyes big, and asked in an innocent voice, “Can I see it?”
He practically choked out the word “Yes,” as he began unbuckling his belt. In seconds I was greeted by a shock of dark hair from which sprang an exquisite rod, thick and veined, pointing at me.
“Ohhh,” I whispered as I reached out a hand tentatively, gently touching the tip with a finger. That small touch caused him to jerk, his whole body tense. I encircled my fingers around the shaft, my thumb and fingers not able to touch around it, and began to gently slide them down the length. It wasn’t as long as many I had seen online, but it was magnificently thick and uniform.
“It’s so big,” I whispered, looking in his eyes and smiling as I said it. His face was a confusing mix of anguish and pleasure, and he attempted a smile at me. Then I leaned in, opening my mouth.
I licked my lips to wet them before sliding them over the tip of his cock, sliding them down to encircle the head, then sucked gently, my tongue sliding over the tip in my mouth. I was shocked then to hear him cry out. My hand still around the shaft, I felt a jerk. In the brief moments it took me to process what was happening, a second jerk was accompanied by a shot of warmth hitting the roof of my mouth. I instinctively drew back, being hit by a second blast on my neck and chest as he came. A third shot hit my chest, and a fourth fell across my belly wetting the top of my shorts. My tongue played against the strange texture of his cum in my mouth. It was thicker than I’d ever had before, and saltier. The cum running down my chest was stark white. Opaque.
He cried out again, the last blasts falling short on the carpeted stairs in front of me. I large globe of white dripped slowly from the tip. I realized I was breathing as hard as he was. Swallowing, I reached my hand down to encircle his cock again, squeezing my fingers around the base and pulling upwards, causing the globe of white to string downward to the stairs. He was panting heavily, his eyes closed as he lay back on the stairs, still hard and erect in my hand.
“Wow,” I breathed. “Mr. Turner, are you okay?”
He nodded, I started working my hand up and down again and he shifted under my touch, clearly sensitive. I stood on the stairs then, hooking my fingers under the waistband of my shorts and panties and sliding them down.
He opened his eyes just in time to see me turning around and lowering myself toward him, my hand encircling his shaft as I guided myself downward.
He moved quickly, His hands catching my hips, easily stopping my descent. I looked back over my shoulder at him, pleading. I was so wet, so ready for him. I wanted to feel him split me and slide inside. I wanted to feel him penetrating my body, feel him rocking me with his passion. I wanted to make him explode again, to bring him so much pleasure and happiness.
“My turn,” I begged, stroking him with my hand. He was softening now.
“Bentley,” he said, still panting, I have appointments at the office. I’m already late.
Disappointed, I stood, turning to him. I saw his eyes trail down my body, pausing at my breasts, then between my legs as I pulled my shorts and panties back up.
He stood too, tucking himself back into his pants. “Besides,” he said, “you could have gotten pregnant.” I hadn’t thought of that, caught up in the moment. His cock had been covered with cum and I had very nearly just lowered myself onto it.
I smiled at him, retrieving my sports bra from the floor below and pulling it on. As I adjusted my breasts I said, “That’s okay. I’ll see you Friday night for the sleepover.”
I looked up at him standing on the stairs, paused in the middle of buckling his belt.
“You promised,” I said, matter-of-fact.
He smiled and then stepped down the few steps until he was standing in front of me. “Yes I did. Bentley, are you sure about this?”
The question surprised me. “Are you?” I asked.
He looked at me for a moment, and then shook his head. “I’m not sure of anything. We shouldn’t have done this Bentley.”
I knew what he was saying, but I didn’t want to agree. I knew he was feeling guilt, but I got mad.
“So you get what you want, and you’re done?” I asked
He raised his eyebrows, surprised at the bite in my words. “No!” he said, holding up his hands, placating. “No! That’s not what I’m saying. I just...I don’t know.” He put his hands on my shoulders again and looked down into my eyes. “Bentley, you are wonderful and beautiful and just gave me more than I ever dared hope for. I’m just saying let’s think this over, okay? Let’s not rush into something we’ll regret.”
I mulled his words over in my mind as I looked into his pleading eyes. Regret? Did I regret this?
“M’kay” I smiled, then rising on my toes I surprised him with a kiss. I forced my tongue into his mouth, pressing my body against his as my arms pulled against his neck. As I withdrew my tongue my teeth nibbled his bottom lip and a moved a hand down to grab at his crotch. I found what I was looking for.
I looked up to his eyes as my hand played, then I looked down at the object of my attention before withdrawing my hand and stepping back toward the door.
“See you Friday night Mr. Turner,” I teased as I opened the door, then paused halfway out. I stuck my head back in to catch him rubbing his brow. “Make sure you have condoms.” I said, then left, closing the door behind me.
I smiled as I walked to my car. It had been a good day. Friday would be even better.