An Honest Mistake
I
I was upstairs
doing my weights when I saw the light go on across the street. The girl came
into her mother’s bedroom. Her and her mom only moved in about two weeks
before, and I never paid that much attention to her, but I paid attention this
time because she was nude.
Her house was
one of those square stucco jobs people thought were modern back in the fifties.
The second floor had a big picture window in front. The blinds were up and
there were no curtains, so I could see everything, the whole bedroom. This was
after nine o’clock in mid-October, and with the bright ceiling light on, the
room seemed to be floating in the darkness. The naked girl looked small from
where I was standing, but her body was bright and sharp under the light.
She was just a
kid, with no tits and skinny legs. I didn’t see any hair on her crotch, but she
was a light blonde, and it was hard to tell at that distance. The hair on her
head hung far down her back, and she had flat abs like mine. I exercised to get
that way. She didn’t need to yet.
She tiptoed to
her mother’s dresser on the other side of the bed and started going through the
drawers. She was looking for something, and it was something her mother didn’t
want her to know about, because she was feeling under the bras and panties and
nightgowns and pushing the jewelry aside.
Whatever it
was, she didn’t find it. After a bit she gave up and stood in front of the
dresser, looking at herself in the mirror. She did this beautiful move where
she dipped to the side and swung her hair back over her shoulder. I could see
her face in profile. From the side, her butt was a gorgeous white half-moon.
She put her
hands over her chest, like she was trying to hide the tits she didn’t have. She
rubbed her nipples, then she put one hand down her leg and around her front,
and her elbow and her upper arm started pumping, slowly.
I decided I’d
had enough weightlifting for one night. I put the dumbbells down and turned off
the lamp next to my bed, and I stood there in the dark watching her.
Her arm went
faster. Her knees slipped. She sort of pitched forward, and she had to put her
other hand on the dresser to steady herself. Her hair fell over her chest
again. She straightened up and turned around, and she looked back at her butt
in the mirror. Her face was turned toward me. She would have definitely caught
me looking at her if my light was still on — and if she wasn’t so into herself.
Now I could see
her hand over her crotch. She was pumping up and down with her fingers pushing
into her slot. She hunched over again, and I guess she decided it was too much
trouble to stand up while she played with herself. She took a couple of hops to
the bed — bent over with her fingers between her legs — and she spun around and
flopped on her back.
She found what
she had been looking for as soon as her head hit the pillow. That’s where her
mother hid it. She lifted her head and reached behind her neck, and she came
out with this thing that looked like a microphone — a short black wand with a
black knob at one end.
That’s when I
remembered my binoculars.
“Fuck! I’m an
idiot,” I said.
I ran back to
my closet and got them. They’re not much — only 7 by 35 — but I got them cheap
at a yard sale, and they’re good for bird watching with my group — and for
spying on little girls playing with their pussies.
I threw the
case on the bed, and as I ran back to the window, I dropped the plastic lens
caps on the floor. One of the little ones rolled under my bed. I put the
binocular about and inch from the window and looked.
The view was
bright but blurry. I diddled the wheel. The blurs got tighter and took on
shapes — arms and feet and a head — and then she snapped into focus.
The bed faced
the window, so I was looking up at her crotch between the bottoms of her feet.
And no, she didn’t have any hair between her legs — just smooth white pubes
with a dark pinhole in the middle. She was holding the wand straight up,
pressing the knob against the top of her slit, and that pink-gray flap there
that looks like a tongue sticking out sideways. For a long time she didn’t
move. Then her toes curled, like she was waving them at me, and she stretched
her legs. She crossed one foot over the other and squeezed her thighs together.
She closed her eyes. It looked like she was talking to herself, but I couldn’t
make out any words. Finally, she threw her head back and opened her mouth wide.
She might have been screaming or wailing, but it was like watching TV with the
sound off.
Bad!
Bad! Bad! Bad!
That’s what my mother yelled every time the hairbrush hit my ass the time she
caught me touching myself. Like I was a dog that peed on the rug. I was little,
younger even than the girl across the street, and I didn’t know I was doing
anything wrong. It just felt good, but she whaled on my ass so hard she turned
it black and blue. I couldn’t sit down for a day — literally — and I never
touched myself like that again.
Until now. The
girl across the street was being bad — worse than I ever was — and she was
loving it. It was like she was out of her mind. I wanted to go out of my mind,
too.
I squeezed my
nipples through my muscle shirt. They were hard as bolts. The pleasure shot
down to my crotch, like my tits were connected to my pussy with wires. But I
needed three hands. I couldn’t pinch my nips, jigger my cunt, and hold the
binoculars at the same time. I had to make a choice, and I chose my cunt. My
hand went down the front of my boxers.
Just then the
girl pulled her knees up, which gave me a Cinemascope view of her twat. She
slid the knob down the pink flap and shoved it halfway into her hole.
The wand looked
like a stick shift in her pussy. She moved it around like one, too, jacking it
up and down and switching it from side to side, before she pushed it all the
way over against her thigh and froze. That was the position she was looking for
— it must have made her feel like everything inside her was buzzing all at
once. Her chest heaved. Her ribs stuck out each time she sucked in air and then
kind of melted under her skin when she let it out again. She worked her mouth
like a fish. I couldn’t tell what she was saying — it might have been
“wow-wow-wow” or “whoa-oa-oa,” or she might have been just making faces — but I
knew what she was feeling, because I was feeling it, too.
My cunt was
sopping. I had three fingers up inside it and my thumb mashed down on my joy
button and I was jerking my wrist hard. The binoculars kept smacking the window
and jamming the eyepieces into my face. But I did not care. I never felt
anything so awesome in my life.
When the girl’s
shoulders bucked and her head bounced on the pillow and she dug in her heels
and pushed her ass off the mattress — when that happened, the first orgasm I
have ever had in my life kicked me in the twat. Everything got tighter, more
wound up, and then I dropped off a cliff. Nobody ever told me anything could be
like this. Damn you, Mom — it feels good! I wanted to scream like the
kid was doing, but Mom and Dad were downstairs watching TV, and I didn’t dare.
So I bit my lip and grunted and moaned. The great feeling passed, and I slowed
down with my hand, but I sped up again when it came back. I went around like
that three or four times — fast, slow, fast— until I couldn’t do it anymore.
The girl
couldn’t do it anymore, either. She was lying there with the vibrator sticking
out of her cunt. She had this stupid look on her face, kind of a silly grin
with her eyes closed. I was feeling goofy, too, and I puckered up and sent her
a kiss across the street.
“Mwah! That’s
for you,” I said. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
Yeah, sex is
good. Big news, right? But it took a kid nine or ten years younger than me to
teach me that.
She also taught
me why it’s better to do it lying down. I couldn’t get my knees and my ankles
to lock. I couldn’t stand up straight. I was weak all over. I couldn’t even
hold up the binoculars. I lowered them to the floor, gently, by the strap, and
I rested my forehead against the window. That’s when I saw the lights from a
car throwing shadows down the street. The car came in from the right a couple
seconds later and turned into the driveway next to the girl’s house. Her mom
was home.
I got scared,
thinking maybe if she caught her, she’d do to her what my mom did to me.
“Get out of
there,” I said. “Come on, come on, get out of there.”
But the girl
didn’t move. She looked like she was asleep.
The engine
died, and the taillights went off, and the car door opened and shut. The mom
walked to the front door, which was actually on the side of the house. There
was a streetlamp about halfway to the corner. The light came through the trees
behind her. Patches of shadow moved down the back of her coat. I could see her
cheeks, too. They were bright and pale, like a ghost’s.
I looked from
one to the other. A second after the mom got inside, the girl raised her head
and called out something. She didn’t look scared, but she didn’t want to hang
around, either. She moved fast, but not like she was panicked. First she pulled
the vibrator out of her hole. Then she got up and put it back under the pillow,
smoothed out the bedspread, and left the room. The last thing I saw was that
cute white butt going out the door as she snapped off the light.
I stood there a
while in the dark — not looking at anything, just fingering my pussy and
getting my strength back. Maybe I was worried for nothing. Maybe her mom wasn’t
a ghoul about sex like mine was. And maybe I could start having fun. All
through high school I never thought much about boys. I told myself it was
because I didn’t need the hassle of dating under my mother’s nose, but now I
knew the real reason. I wanted a cunt to play with.
My life just
got more complicated.
II
Now, to
understand what happened next, you should know what I look like. I’m thin, and
I have kind of a square face, with a sharp chin, and big brown eyes. My hair is
brown, and I wear it short and combed across my forehead. The day I met the
girl across the street, I had on my straight-leg jeans turned up at the ankles,
and my oxblood loafers, and my brown tweed suit jacket, and a blue Oxford cloth
shirt and a sweater vest. When I’m layered like that, you can’t tell I have
tits. I wasn’t butch, exactly, just kind of boyish, which I guess is what
started the trouble.
Then there’s my
name, but I’ll get to that.
I remember it
was a Thursday because that’s the day I only worked a couple hours at the
health food store, and then I went down to Community for my class. I was taking
business math — always trying to improve myself. Anyway, it was about four
o’clock, and I was home for the day. The train left me off a block from where I
live. The sky was bright bright blue, and the leaves were yellow and starting
to fall. I was coming down the sidewalk, carrying my books in a tote bag, and I
saw two kids hanging out in front of my house.
They went to
Nativity, the little Catholic school next to the station. They were still in
their uniforms, covered in Navy from the neck down. The boy had on blue slacks
and a blue bowtie that peeked out over his blue sweater. He looked like he
should have been selling ice cream.
But the girl
was adorable, in her pleated skirt and knee socks, and those white saddle shoes
with the blue stripes. The school sweater really set off her blonde hair, which
was long and loose and messy over her shoulders. I recognized her from half a
block away because of the hair, and my cunt sort of melted when I remembered
the way it looked through the window, hanging down her naked back.
The boy was
showing off for her. We live on a narrow, dead-end street on the side of a
hill, and my house is on the uphill side. You walk up like a dozen steps to get
to the front porch, and the boy was running up the steps and sliding back down
the railing, face first, sort of side-saddle. He spread his arms to keep his
balance, and he went so fast that when he hit the sidewalk, the momentum
carried him into the street. I saw him do it twice before I reached them.
“You two having
fun?” I said.
“I’m trying to
get her to do it,” the boy said.
“Why don’t
you?” I asked the girl.
“She’s scared
to,” the boy said.
“Maybe the
people who live here don’t want you sliding down their railing,” I said. “You
might get hurt.”
“I won’t get
hurt,” the boy said.
“And you might
break it,” I said.
“It’s not your
property,” the boy said.
“Yeah, it is.”
“Gotcha!” the
girl said — the first word I ever heard her say. “You’re in trouble now!”
“No, he’s not,”
I said. “I don’t mind. I used to do it myself.”
“Really?” the
boy said.
“Yeah, just
like that. Why don’t you try it?”
“I don’t know,”
the girl said.
“I told you she
was scared,” the boy said.
“Come on. I’ll
catch you,” I said.
The girl went
up the steps slowly, like she on her way to be hanged. The boy went with her. I
put down my tote bag.
“Just sit on it
the way he showed you,” I called up. “Sit straight up. Don’t lean.”
She lifted one
leg and settled herself on the railing. The boy took hold of her shoulders and
swiveled her around toward the front. He didn’t have to do that. I think it was
just an excuse to touch her.
Then she lifted
the other leg, and down she came. Zip! Halfway down her skirt flew up,
and for a split-second I saw her panties. They were red and white, striped
across, like the flag.
She slapped her
skirt down when she came off the railing, and I caught her under the arms. My
thumbs were over her nipples. We looked into each other’s eyes. Hers were shiny
and pale blue.
“That was
cool!” she said.
“My name’s
Jesse,” I said. “What’s yours?”
“Gretchen,” she
said.
“The woman who
lived in the house before you was named Gretchen, too,” I said.
“That was my
grandmom,” she said. “We got the house when she died.”
The boy slid
down the railing a third time and landed next to us.
“This is Joey,”
Gretchen said, right on cue.
The moment was
over. I had to let her go.
“How are you,
Joey?”
“OK.”
I held out my
hand. I don’t know why, except I suddenly felt self-conscious. We shook.
“Is your mother
home yet?” I said.
“She won’t be
home till later,” Gretchen said.
“Mine,
neither,” I said. “You want to come up for some pie? I have organic cherry.
You, too,” I told Joey.
“Sure,” Gretchen
said.
“I thought we
were gonna go to your house,” Joey said.
“I want some
pie,” Gretchen insisted.
“Uh oh, did I
ruin your date?” I said.
He didn’t know
what to say to that, so he just mumbled, “That’s OK...” And he picked up his
bookbag up from the curb.
“Stick around,”
I said.
“I hafta get
home,” he said. “My mom’ll be mad.”
“OK, see ya,”
Gretchen said.
He put a hand
on her shoulder and leaned over to give her a kiss — on the lips — but she
turned her head and he got her cheek instead.
“See ya,” he
said, though he didn’t sound like he was looking forward to it, and he walked
away up the street.
“He’s cute,” I
said.
“He’s OK.”
“Is he your
boyfriend?”
“No! He just
walks me home.”
“It’s only half
a block. He must like you.”
“I guess, but
he’s too young.”
“Aren’t you the
same age?”
“Yeah, but his
dick can’t get hard.”
“I’m sorry... What!?”
So Joey went
home in a sulk, and me and Gretchen we went up to my kitchen. I heated up a
couple slices of pie in the oven, and served them with soymilk and rice ice
cream from Henry’s, and she told me what she knew about dicks. Which, it turned
out, was a lot.
“Me and Joey
took off all our clothes yesterday when my mom wasn’t home,” she said. “We
kissed and everything, but he couldn’t put it in me. I like pulled on it and
sucked on it, but nothing happened.”
She took a big
bite of pie and washed it down with a big swallow of soymilk. I’d lost my
appetite.
“Couldn’t Joey
do anything?’
“He felt me up
and licked my pussy, and that was OK, but I really wanted to fuck.”
“What do you
know about fucking?” I said.
“I had a
boyfriend in my old neighborhood,” she said. “We did it.”
“Did what?”
“Fucked.”
“You’re
shitting me.”
“Uh uh.”
“How old are
you?”
“Ten.”
“And how old
was he?”
“I don’t know.
He was in high school. He was gonna be a senior.”
“And he fucked
you?”
“A couple
times.”
“What was that
like?”
“It was really
cool.”
“Your boyfriend
sounds horrible. What kind of sick kid would fuck a ten-year-old?”
“Hey! He was
great. We were gonna get married.”
“I’ll bet.”
“Stop it!”
She looked down
at her plate. I reached over and touched her gently on the back of the neck.
“I’m sorry,” I
said. “You really loved him, didn’t you?”
Her head moved
a little.
“So what are
you gonna do?”
She sniffled
and looked up at me. Her eyes were red.
“I don’t know,”
she said.
“You hafta to
find somebody older.”
“I don’t know
anybody.”
“You know me,”
I said. “I could be your boyfriend.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, I mean
... we could pretend. Until you find somebody else who can give you what you
want.”
She didn’t day
anything to that. I stroked her neck, and he she gave me a half smile. So I
leaned over and kissed her. She didn’t turn her head away, either, the way I
saw her do with Joey. It was my first kiss, but for sure it wasn’t hers. She
knew just what to do. She opened her mouth wide and her tongue filled my mouth.
She wanted it bad, and that was fine with me.
It got
uncomfortable, though, leaning across the corner of the kitchen table like
that. So I took her hands and drew her over to me. She sat on my lap and put
her arms around my neck. I put my hand up between her legs. They were so
smooth. We stuck out our tongues and licked them together while I massaged her
through her panties. She opened her legs, and I rubbed harder, but slow,
pressing down with four fingers, and going deep down into her crotch.
“God, I’m so
horny,” she said, and she mashed her lips against mine.
I rubbed her
and rubbed her. The cotton was damp. There was the tough lump near the top of
her pussy, and underneath, it was softer, and wetter. She grunted into my
mouth, and all of a sudden she reached down and stopped my hand moving. Then
she pulled her head back and looked at me.
“You wanna do
it?” she said, all out of breath.
“Do it?”
“Yeah, come
on,” she said. She slid off my lip. “Stand up.”
I got up, and
she knelt down in front of me and started pulling at my belt. I got out of my
jacket and my vest. She undid my jeans and pulled them halfway down my thighs.
I was wearing plain white panties.
“It’s OK,” I
said. “Go ahead.”
But she wasn’t
so eager anymore.
“Here,” I said.
I pushed my panties down myself, and she fell back on her heels like I slapped
her.
“What’s wrong?”
I said.
“Where is it?”
she said.
“Where’s what?”
I said.
The quarter
dropped.
“What — you
thought I was a guy?”
“You said you’d
be my boyfriend!”
“I said we
could pretend!”
She got up and
grabbed her schoolbag.
“Wait a
minute,” I said. “Girls can still do it.”
“You’re weird,”
she said.
She ran out
through the living room. It was hard to follow her, holding my pants up with my
ass hanging out, and she was almost at the door before I caught up with her.
“Don’t go,” I
said. “We don’t have to do anything.”
She had her
hand on the doorknob, and when I grabbed her around her shoulders. I squeezed
her to me and kissed her on the head and the back of her neck while I pulled
her over to the couch. I had to take small steps, ‘cause my pants were around
my knees. She squirmed and kicked, but — you know — she was a kid.
“Just calm
down,” said. “I won’t do anything bad.”
“Let me go!”
“Shut up!”
I threw her
down on the couch. I didn’t want to keep her prisoner or anything, but I wasn’t
going to let her go without a taste of that pussy. I guess I got crazy.
I pried her
schoolbag from her fingers. Then I put my hands up under her skirt and grabbed
her panties by the waistband. She curled into a ball, and when she brought her
feet up, one of her shoes banged me in the lip. But now her butt was showing
underneath, and it was easy to roll her panties up and over her knees. I heard
them rip when I got them off one shoe, and I thought the hell with it, that’s
good enough. I left them hanging off her other ankle.
Then I got my
hands between her knees, and I pushed in two directions, like I was force open
an elevator door. She kept her legs rigid, but once I got them apart just a
little, the elevator snapped open.
Her pussy was
different up close — fuller, with all the crinkles and bulges. It was
shimmering pink, with glob of grayish-white cream plugging the hole.
I dove in and
slurped it out.
The kid stopped
squirming.
I wasn’t sure
if she came when we were in the kitchen, but I know she came this time. I
licked out her cunt-hole and swiped her clit, just like I imagined some girl
doing to me. It settled her down. She wasn’t freaked out anymore. She got
still, with her eyes closed, sort of drawing into herself, until she let out a
grunt — sort of a big HUH!
“You still want
to leave?” I said.
She just
grinned and kept her eyes closed, her head hanging to one side, and I ate her
out some more. She put one leg over my shoulder and thumped me in the shoulder
blade with the heel of one of those oversize shoes. That was my second injury,
but I kept going. Her legs got stiff again, but not like before, when she was
trying to get away. She arched her back and sighed big-time, and she was done.
She pushed my head away a little.
“Was that
nice?” I said, still kissing the insides of her legs and the bald white lips.
“Uh huh,” she
said, kind of dreamy.
“See? A girl
can be just as good.”
I started
pawing at her clothes, unbuttoning her skirt and pushing up her sweater. She
didn’t care. I got her skirt down her legs and I was pulling off her shoes when
she sat up and pulled her sweater off over her head. She let me unbutton her
blouse. In half a minute she was naked, except for the deep-blue knee socks.
Those she pulled up.
“Don’t you want
to take them off?” I said.
“My feet are
cold.”
“So’s my butt.”
“I never
really...” she said.
“Never really
what?”
“Saw another
girl.”
“You never saw
another girl naked?”
“Not up close.”
“You want a
look?”
“OK,” she said.
Like I was
doing her the favor. I stood up, and I gave her a naughty smirk while I
unbuttoned my shirt and toed off my shoes. I was glad to get my pants off,
because I felt stupid with them hanging down like they were. When I got
everything off, I laid down on the sofa with her, stuffing myself between her
and the cushions on the back.
This is what I
wanted since the first time I saw her — kissing, nude, with our bodies touching
all over and our fingers up each other’s cunts. But she couldn’t stay still.
She wanted to go exploring. She got me under her somehow, jerking us around a
little bit at a time, and she kissed me on the neck and shoulders and farther
and farther down.
“Your tits look
like my mom’s,” she said.
“Hers are
bigger,” I said. Everybody’s were.
“Yeah, but you
got the same nipples,” she said. “They stick straight out.”
“Put your mouth
around it,” I said, squeezing one toward her.
I sighed with
pleasure when she sucked on it. My cunt spasmed a little —kind of a sympathetic
twinge. It wasn’t crazy wild, like when I spied on her and frigged myself, but
it was ... nicer. I smoothed my hands down her bare back, under her hair, and
over her pretty little ass, to let her know she was doing it right.
She went down
more, licking all down my sides and under my tits and over my pelvis, and
cleaning out my navel with her tongue.
I let one foot
fall to the floor, giving her some room, and she reached in and pulled my inner
lips apart with her fingers.
“You got a lot
of hair,” she said.
“You’ll get
yours.”
“Was I this
gooey?”
“You were
pretty wet,” I said.
“I can’t find
the button.”
“Don’t you know
where yours is?”
“Yeah, but
you’re all turned around.”
“Near the top,
under all the folds.”
“Show me.”
I pressed two
fingers on either side of my cunt, and the little pill popped out between them.
“What do girls
taste like?”
“Find out.”
She touched her
tongue to it.
“Darling—,” I
said.
Her mouth
suddenly covered my pussy. The whole room pitched over. Then it sprang up again
and dipped to the other side. The painting over the sofa went double. I focused
on Gretchen, trying to keep my stomach from churning. Her mouth was hidden
between my legs, so I couldn’t tell if she was smiling, but her eyes sparkled
with mischief. I caressed her blonde hair, taking it loosely in my fists,
stroking her head. She went deeper into my pussy. Her nose plowed my bush.
My cunt
twitched again, then it sort of clenched, and my orgasm bubbled up from just
where her tongue touched my clit. Something in me broke open. I shuddered from
my shoulders to my hips. It was like thunder. My tits, such as they are,
snapped like a couple of wet towels.
“Good ... good
girl...” I panted. “Good girl.”
She took her
mouth out of my pussy and said, “Happy now?” She had this evil, lop-sided grin.
“Yeah,” I said.
“I really am. You still mad I’m not a boy?”
“Not mad.”
“Disappointed.”
“Kinda.”
“Come on!”
“But it’s
cool.”
“Oh, thank
you.”
But it was
cool. When she stopped giggling, and I stopped panting, I said, “Swing around
here, you.”
She stuck her
pussy in my face, and her head between my legs, and we started all over again.
© 2012 by
Jacqueline Jillinghoff