Being a Boy Babysitter, part 5 (mb, mF, ped, hj, ws)

by this guy (this.guy20@yahoo.com)

Summary: Kyle and Dwight explore male anatomy a bit more, Kyle learns 
more than he could have ever imagined about the Collins family, and Mz. 
Collins teaches him about being a ‘good date’…



Around noon on the day after I had babysat Dylan, Mz. Collins called: 
she had another date, and needed me to watch Dwight again.  

***

Like I had a week prior, I headed over to the Collins house at the 
prescribed time.  And again, like the week prior, when Mz. Collins 
opened the door to let me into the house it felt like my eyes were going 
to pop out of my head.  She was wearing a twin to the dress she’d been 
wearing the previous week: a scarf-like strip of fabric, perhaps four 
inches wide, looped up over one breast, passing behind her neck, and 
dropping back down over the other breast; just above her hips, the 
scarf-like strip of fabric widened-out to form a skirt, whose hem 
couldn’t have been more than three inches below her crotch; except this 
one was in a pale pink glossy fabric.  She was also wearing what 
appeared to be the same pair of bright red five-inch tall stiletto heels 
she had worn on the previous date…  

Needless to say, my dick instantly went hard in my shorts as I once 
again said, “Wow.”

Mz. Collins smiled at me and asked, “You like my dress Kyle?”

“It’s stunning,” I heard my voice say before I realized I’d even opened 
my mouth.

“Thanks, you’re sweet,” she said before stepping out the door.

Mz. Collins hadn’t even closed the door behind her, before Dwight 
appeared in front of me and asked, “We gonna have fun like last time?”

As the door closed behind his mother, I replied, “Sure.”  The instant 
after that one word had passed my lips, Dwight slipped his hands up 
under the bottom of his t-shirt; “What are you doing?” I asked.

He paused while declaring, “Taking my shorts and underpants off.”

“And if your mom forgot something?” I half reprimanded him.

“Uhh…” he gasped as he withdrew his hands from under his shirt.

I walked over to the sofa in the living room and sat down before saying, 
“Give it a couple minutes: we’ll have plenty of time.”

A smile appeared on his face as he stepped in front of the sofa before 
he commented, “Ben told me about how he had sat on your lap when your 
dick was hard…”

“Yeah…” I replied not sure where my nine year old charge was headed with 
this.

“Could I do that?” he asked a bit tentatively.

“Sit on my lap?” I half questioned to make sure I understood what he was 
asking, before answering, “Yeah, sure.”

“Cool…” he beamed.  I couldn’t help but chuckle a bit at his eagerness 
to sit on my lap.  “Both of us not wearing any pants: your dick against 
my…” he trailed off.

“What?” I asked without fully processing his previous statement.

Suddenly he seemed confused, “When your dick shoots the white stuff, if 
it’s against…”  

“What?” I asked again: now I was the one who was confused.

“Well if your dick is against my butt…” he paused for half a second 
before continuing, “…then you’ll shoot the white stuff on my butt…”

“That’s right…” I agreed.

“…And that means I won’t be able to see it come out,” he explained his 
thought.

“Right: ‘cause it’ll be on your butt,” I agreed again.

“But I wanna see the white stuff come out,” he half pouted, before 
offering a solution to the problem, “But…if your dick was between my 
legs; I’d be able to see it when the white stuff comes out…”

“Right…” I replied despite not being entirely sure what he’d just said 
was true.

“Cool,” Dwight said as his mood brightened.  

He stood there in front of me for a few minutes before saying, “If my 
mom forgot something she’d have been back by now.”  

The instant I nodded in agreement with his comment, Dwight once again 
had his hands up under the bottom of his t-shirt.  In a flash he yanked 
his shorts and tightie-whities down to his ankles in one single motion.  He quickly stepped out of them, before saying, “You gotta take yours off too.”

I stood, hooked my thumbs in the elastic waistband of my shorts and 
pulled them down.  Whether it was simple dumb luck or fate or whatever, 
who knows; but that morning when I got dressed I once again found that I 
didn’t have any clean underpants to put on, so I simply ‘went without’ 
as I’d done numerous times before.

“You’re not wearing underpants today,” Dwight commented, in a tone that 
sounded more like a question than a statement.

“Didn’t have any clean ones to put on,” I truthfully replied.

“Wish that’d happen to me,” Dwight sounded like he was thinking out loud 
before he simply stated, “Mom never lets there be less than three clean 
pair in my drawer.”

Having absolutely no idea how to respond to that statement, I changed 
the subject, “You wanted to sit on my lap…”

“Right,” Dwight eagerly responded before all but pushing me back into a 
sitting position on the sofa.  He quickly hopped onto my lap facing me; 
then turned around so his back was against my chest, my hard 
thirteen-year-old dick under and pressing against his bare butt.

“When I lift up push it down between my legs,” he instructed.

While I wasn’t exactly keen on the idea of my nine year old charge 
telling me what to do; it was obvious that he had a very specific idea 
of what he wanted to do in his mind.  So I simply replied, “Alright, 
whenever you’re ready.”

Not more than a second after I’d finished speaking; Dwight put his feet 
on the edge of the sofa on either side of my knees and lifted his butt 
up off my lap.  Assuming that was what he had meant by ‘lift up’; I slid 
my right hand under his butt, grabbed my dick and forced it downwards.  
Once the head of my dick had cleared his hairless balls and was between 
his thighs, Dwight lowered his butt back down onto my upper lap / lower 
belly.

There was a barely audible giddy sounding giggle coming from his mouth 
as he grabbed my dick with his left hand and his own dick with his right
hand at the same time before instantly beginning to move his fists 
up-and-down the length of both shafts at the same time.   

“Wow…” I heard myself comment.

Turning his head to the side so he could see my face out of the corner 
of his eye, Dwight asked, “Am I good at doing this?”

“Yeah!” I declared.  And not only was I not lying, I wasn’t even 
exaggerating: Dwight’s hand felt absolutely incredible on my dick.  He 
was squeezing just tight enough, but not too tight; while moving his 
fist at just the right speed…  “At this rate I’ll be shooting pretty 
soon,” I half gasped.

He smiled and continued stroking my dick perfectly.  

Perhaps a minute later I felt my butt cheeks tighten.  An instant later 
I could feel the cum surging through the little tube on the underside of 
my dick.  After a short fraction of a second the first spurt of hot, 
thick, sticky, creamy-white, sperm-laden cum shot out of the little 
hole at the tip of my thirteen-year-old dick.  It fountained up several 
inches into the air, before falling back down.  “Wow!” he declared as 
the spurt of cum splattered across his left knee.  

Despite the spurt of cum that shot out of my dick, he continued stroking 
my dick: maintaining the exact same rhythm and pressure.  A second spurt 
shot out, followed by a third, a fourth, a fifth, a sixth, and finally 
a seventh.   Each and every spurt of cum that spewed from the little 
hole at the tip of my thirteen year old dick splattered across the same 
general area on his left knee.

“How’d you get so good at stroking dick?” I asked as I did my best to 
catch my breath.  

Dwight let go of my wilting dick and turned his head so he was able to 
look at me before saying, “Some magazines Dad left here…”  Clearly he 
saw the perplexed look on my face because he quickly added, “Come on, 
I’ll show ya.”  A fraction of a second later he was hopping off my lap.  

Before I could even move, Dwight was half-way to the stairs.  I quickly 
stopped him by saying, “You should clean the mess off your leg.”

Pausing, he looked down at the globs of pearlescent white goo that were 
beginning to run down his left leg, then looked back up at me and said, 
“It’ll stay on my leg for a while.”

I shrugged my shoulders as I stood and reminded him, “That’s fine; but 
any mess it makes you’re cleaning up.”

“I know,” he replied.   When I bent down to pick up my shorts, and 
Dwight added, “Leave ‘em here: you’ll wanna shoot more white stuff when 
you see.”

He’d definitely gotten my attention.  “Okay,” I replied as I stood back 
up.  

Barely a second later both of us were headed up the stairs.  I can’t 
even begin to imagine the reaction anyone who might have seen us would 
have had: Dwight was completely naked from the waist down and I was only wearing a t-shirt and a pair of sneakers…  Dwight led me into the spare bedroom.  

When Mz. Collins had told me that the spare bedroom was full of stuff, 
she hadn’t been kidding: there must have been thirty file-cabinet-drawer-
sized cardboard boxes in there!  Anyway, Dwight immediately made for a 
box on the far side of the bed, opened it and pulled out a couple 
fishing magazines, which he dropped on the bed.  He then pulled out a 
few more magazines.  I knew these magazines were different the instant 
I saw the covers: all of them had one or more very muscular men wearing 
almost non-existent briefs and nothing else.

Dwight quickly opened one of the magazines and flipped several pages in.  The entire right page was a single photo of the two guys who were on the cover; except in this photo they were naked, their huge dicks were hard and they were jerking each other off.  Dwight continued flipping pages and the photos continued: the men jerking each other off until they ended up covered in huge loads of cum.

“Whoa…” I commented.  

“Right?” Dwight replied before flipping back to the first full page 
photo of the two men.  He pointed at the left page and said, “It talks 
about what they did.”

“Really?” I questioned and took the magazine from him.  I skimmed the 
text: ‘maintaining constant rhythm’, ‘constant pressure’, ‘fast but not 
too fast’, ‘not stopping until it all came out’…  “Wow…” I heard myself 
say.

“It’s like an instruction manual,” Dwight said before half giggling, 
“but with better pictures.”

I flipped through the rest of the magazine I was holding: more of the 
same.  “Wow,” I said as I shook my head in dis-belief.  I took a breath 
before asking, “Same stuff in the other magazines?”

“Pretty much,” Dwight replied.  

“We should put ‘em back before something happens to them,” the mature 
responsible babysitter in me, suggested.

“Yea…” he replied before putting all the magazines back in the box and 
closing its top.  

Little more than a second after we left the spare bedroom Dwight 
commented, “I gotta pee.”  

I quickly grabbed his arm and offered, “Why don’t we pee on the kitchen 
floor and watch it disappear again: it looked really cool…”

“I…well...” Dwight seemed to stutter for a second before saying, “You’ll 
help clean it up.”

“Yea, of course,” I replied.

“Okay, I guess,” there was a hint of trepidation in his voice; but he 
did agree.  Instead of heading to the bathroom, he went to the kitchen 
with me little more than a step behind him the whole way.  

Once in the kitchen Dwight put his hand on his mostly soft dick, 
pointed it a spot on the floor about four inches out from the cabinet 
next to the dishwasher, and took a breath.  An instant later a steady 
stream of yellow urine was flowing out of the little hole at the tip of 
his nine-year-old dick; it arced outwards and down hitting the tile 
floor, it splashed up about one-half of an inch, before coming to land 
a little bit closer to the cabinet.  A small yellow puddle quickly began 
to form on the floor: spreading no more than an inch to either side, it 
made its way towards where the cabinet met the floor…  Just as the edge 
of the puddle of piss made contact with the very bottom of the cabinet, 
a full half of the urine in the puddle seemed to be sucked into the tiny 
crack.  

Barely half a second after that happened; I felt the urge to pee.  “I’m 
gonna pee too,” I declared as I grabbed my own semi-soft dick and aimed 
at the location where Dwight’s pee stream was hitting the tile floor.

Before the first drop of urine came out of the little hole at the tip of 
my dick, Dwight thought out-loud, “Think anything different’ll happen 
with the extra pee?”

In the same instant that he said the word ‘pee’, a steady stream of warm 
yellow urine began flowing out of the little hole at the tip of my 
thirteen-year-old dick.  Perhaps two millimeters separated where our two 
streams of urine were hitting the floor.  The yellow puddle of piss 
widened a little less than an inch; while the speed that the urine in 
the puddle seemed to be sucked into the tiny crack appeared to double 
almost instantly.

“That looks even cooler than last time!” I commented as both of us 
continued peeing.  

Perhaps a minute after Dwight began peeing the stream of urine coming 
from the little hole at the tip of his dick slowed to a trickle, then a 
few drops, before ending completely.  

“We are so doing this again the next time you babysit me,” Dwight 
commented as he stood, grabbed the roll of paper towels off the counter.

A few seconds after Dwight’s stream of urine stopped flowing, mine ended as well.  “Absolutely,” I responded.

Then, as I stood, he tore two sheets off the roll of paper towels.  He 
handed one sheet to me and took the other sheet.  With that we began 
cleaning up the mess on the kitchen floor.

Once the kitchen floor was cleaned up, Dwight tore another sheet off 
the roll of paper towels, and used it to clean the drying cum off his 
leg.  

We then returned to the living room and put our shorts back on; Dwight 
leaving his tightie-whities on the floor where they’d been since he took 
them off.  He shook his hips around like he after putting his shorts on 
sans underpants the previous time I’d babysat him, and said, “It’s so 
much better without them…”

Sitting on the sofa, I shrugged my shoulders in reply.  

Dwight sat, before saying, “There’s got to be a way to make it so 
there’s no clean ones in my drawer…”

“Well…” I began to say before trailing off as I thought about his 
‘problem’.  A couple second passed before I asked, “How many clean 
pairs were in the drawer this morning?”

Dwight was silent for a second before answering, “Three.”

“Three after that pair,” I pointed at the pair of tightie-whities on 
the floor, “Or three including that pair?”

“Uhm…  Including,” he replied in a mostly, but not entirely, sure 
sounding voice.

“So that means there’s two in the drawer right now,” I ‘did the math’ 
out-loud.

“Unh-huh,” he responded.

“So we gotta find a way to make two pair go away,” I stated the obvious.

“No three pair,” Dwight corrected me.

“You’re taking a bath tonight, right?” I asked.

“Yea…” he answered.

“You’d put on clean underpants after your bath, right?” I asked.

“Sure,” he answered.

“And fresh one in the morning…” I thought out-loud.

“Not if I take a bath the night before,” Dwight explained.

Suddenly an idea hit me.  I smiled and pointing at the tightie-whities 
on the floor, instructed, “Put those underpants in the dirty laundry, 
put on a clean pair on under your shorts and come back downstairs.”

“Okay…” he said sounding a bit confused.  But, nonetheless, he stood up, 
grabbed his tightie-whities off the floor, and headed upstairs.  

About two minutes later he walked into the living room ‘fully dressed’, 
and said, “So, I put the underpants I was wearing today in the dirty 
laundry.”

“And you put a clean pair on?” I asked.  

“Yup,” he answered as he pulled down the front of his shorts a bit; 
revealing the front of a pair of tightie-whities.  

“Good,” I commented.

“So why’d I do that?” he asked in a marginally confused sounding voice.

“By the time you take your bath, those underpants won’t be clean 
anymore; so you’ll put them in the dirty laundry,” I explained.

“One less clean pair,” he declared.

“Right,” I said before suggesting, “Let’s see what’s on TV.”  We 
flipped through the channels a bit before stumbling across that cheesy 
sci-fi parody where Tom Kandee play a half man / half dog who flies 
around space in an RV.  I always loved the scene in the space diner 
when he says to the waitress “…I’ll have the cleavage…I mean the 
special…”

We watched that for a while before Dwight headed back upstairs for his 
bath.  I reminded him, “Put on a clean pair of underpants under your 
pajamas.”  

***

When he returned from his bath I asked, “You put a clean pair of 
underpants on?” I asked.  This time, he didn’t say anything; he just 
pulled down the front of his pajama bottoms a bit revealing the front of 
a pair of tightie-whities.  “Good,” I commented, before adding, “I’m 
thirsty, let’s get some water,” as I stood up.

We went to the kitchen.  I filled a glass about half-full with water, 
and instructed, “Lean back.”  Despite the obviously confused look on 
his face, Dwight did as instructed: leaning back somewhat.  I pulled 
the waistband of his pajama bottoms out a bit at the front with my left 
hand, and then using my right hand threw the water at Dwight: the bottom 
of his pajama top, the front of his pajama bottoms, and the top of his 
underpants were soaked.  Before he could ask why I’d just splashed him 
I explained, “Your clothes are wet, you gotta get changed.” 

A smile appeared on his face as he understood what my plan had been.  
He quickly ran back upstairs.  

Dwight came back down to the living room wearing a different pair of 
pajamas and informed me, “There was only one clean pair of underpants 
in the drawer.”

“You’re wearing them?’ I asked.

“Yup,” he answered before declaring, “Now there aren’t any clean ones 
in the drawer.”

“Okay, that works,” I said before suggesting, “Wear those underpants to 
bed, then in the morning when you use the bathroom after getting up, 
make sure some of your pee gets on your underpants…”

“I’ll have to take them off,” he interrupted.

“Right, and there won’t be any clean ones to put on; so you’ll have to 
‘go without’,” I completed my idea.

About twenty minutes later I sent a smiling Dwight to bed.

***

Unlike the last time I babysat Dwight, Mz. Collins got home earlier than 
expected: little more than ten minutes after Dwight had gone to bed.  
This time she wasn’t disheveled at all, she just seemed pissed off.

“What did he do?” I asked.

“Nothing,” she replied.  Clearly she could see that I didn’t believe 
her so she elaborated, “He literally did NOTHING.  No hugs, no kisses, 
didn’t put his arm around me…didn’t touch me at all: not eave a 
handshake!”  She sounded so distinctly irritated, that I believed her.

“Wow…” I commented before wondering out loud, “How could a guy go on a 
date with a girl and not touch her at all?”  

“I don’ know…” Mz. Collins half responded before glowering, “Even my 
FAGOT ex touched me…”  She closed her eyes and shook her head in what 
struck me as a physical display of disbelief, before sitting down on the 
sofa next to me.   She took a deep breath before removing her bright red 
stiletto heels and asking, “Dwight wasn’t any trouble?”

“No, no trouble at all,” I replied, “He did spill some water on himself…”

“Did he clean it up?” she interrupted me the irritated tone returning 
to her voice.

“He did, and since his clothes got wet, I had him put on dry clothes,” 
I finished my statement.

Mz. Collins smiled at me for a second before saying, “I think you’ll be 
a good dad…”

WHAT HAD SHE JUST SAID? 

“Ah…” I was dumbfounded by what I thought I’d just heard her tell me.  

A single half-giggle escaped from Mz. Collins’ lips before she changed 
the subject, “Since my date…” there was a distinct hint on frustration 
in her voice, “…ended so early, did you want to go home now?” she took 
a breath before adding, “Or you could stay and chat a little…”

A part of me wanted to go home and hit the sac, but what kind of guy 
wouldn’t want to spend time with a gorgeous twenty-eight year old woman 
who’s wearing a revealing dress: there was no way I could pass that up.  “You booked me through 1:00 a.m.; so I’m happy to stay and chat…”

“Mz. Collins smiled and before saying, “It’s almost like I’ve got two 
dates tonight…”  HOLY SHIT!  Mz. Collins just called me a DATE!  
“…kinda like that time in high school…” she trailed off.

“You went on dates with two different guys in one night when you were 
in high school?  How’d that happen?  What happened?  How’d it go?  Did 
the two guys know?” I instantly began asking.

Mz. Collins didn’t say a word; she just gave me the ‘you crossed a line’ 
look.

“I never heard of a girl doing that before,” I began explaining, “I’m 
curious.”

Still giving me the ‘you crossed a line’ look, Mz. Collins began 
speaking, “Yeah…”  She took a deep breath and closed her eyes for a 
second before exhaling and continuing to speak, “So when I was…” she 
trailed off.  I was beginning to get the feeling that she was going to 
be leaving out quite a few details if, or more possibly, when she 
continued.   

Surprisingly Mz. Collins did continue, a full ten seconds after she had 
trailed off.  “I was in high school when my parents told me I was old 
enough to date boys,” she very definitively stated.  

“Okay…So…” I half stammered, in an attempt to get to hear more.

“By then all of my friends had been going on dates with boys for a 
couple years…” she trailed off again.

“…And you were a little jealous and had to play catch-up…” I thought out 
loud.

Smiling a slightly embarrassed smile, Mz. Collins nodded her head and 
said, “Something like that…”

Considering her voice and the embarrassed smile, I KNEW she was leaving 
out a major critical detail. “But not really like that?” I half asked / 
half accused.

“Yea…” there was now a hint of embarrassment in her voice, but she 
continued speaking, “Two of my friends, Julia and Amy, are really 
competitive.”  Mz. Collins took a deep breath before continuing to 
speak, “They had lists of all the boys they’d gone on dates with…”

Ben Watkins, Joe Watkins, Dwight Collins, Mz. Collins, Cami Wiener, Tara 
Wiener, Dylan Beaver… the names of everybody I’d done sex stuff with 
went roaring through my mind…

“…Both of them had gone on dates with more than sixty different boys,” 
Mz. Collins added.

“And you hadn’t gone on a single date,” I put ‘two and two together’.

“So when Chuck Jones asked me out I said ‘yes’ even though he was fat 
and nerdy,” she continued telling me about her early dating life.

“A name that allowed you to start your own list…” I postulated.

“Yup,” Mz. Collins confirmed, “The date itself was terrible, and he was 
far from choice dating material, but it was a date.”  She took a breath 
before adding, “He told a bunch of guys about going on a date with me, 
and suddenly I couldn’t go anywhere without some boy asking me out.”

“Wow…” was all I managed to say.

“For a full year I said ‘yes” to every date offer I got,” Mz. Collins 
said shaking her head as if she didn’t believe it herself.

“You must have surpassed the number of boys on your friends’ lists?” I 
asked, considering it to be quite an accomplishment.

“I did…” she half chuckled before explaining, “By the time Amy hit 
one-hundred, I was at one-hundred-twenty; and I’d gone on dates with 
seven more boys by the time Julia hit one-hundred.”

“Wow!” I commented; a sense of awe in my voice.

“Yup,” Mz. Collins agreed as she patted me on the knee.  

There was a marginally awkward minute where neither of us said anything, 
before Mz. Collins continued, “But a while before I surpassed them on 
‘boys dated’, they’d decided that ‘boys kissed’ was more important: and 
started new lists.”

“And you hadn’t kissed any of the boys you’d gone on dates with?” I half 
asked.

“Three, both Amy and Julia were over twenty,” Mz. Collins confirmed.

I gently placed my hand onto her thigh, just above her knee and gently 
patted her leg to say ‘I understood her frustration’ without saying a 
word.

“So I had to go on dates with lots more boys to catch up again,” she 
confirmed.

“So when did you go on the two dates with two different guys on the 
same day?” I found myself asking.

“Oh…geez…” Mz. Collins stammered.  She closed her eyes then definitively 
said, “I had kissed fifteen boys at that point; it was a Saturday, two 
different boys had asked me on dates, mini-golf in the afternoon and a 
movie at night.”

“So you went on both dates…” I said in hopes of getting more details.

“Yea,” she chuckled through a smile, “I kissed Bobby in the tunnel hole, 
then Lou kissed me during the movie…”

“Oh…that’s cool,” I heard myself say.

Mz. Collins shook her head before saying, “The things I did as a 
teenager…”  

HOLY SHIT!  Had she really just said that?!  

“Like what?” I asked, getting caught up in the moment.  The look Mz. 
Collins gave me was no ‘you crossed a line’ look; no it was one of those 
‘you are about to be in really deep shit’ looks.  I quickly changed 
course, asking, “Like…what about your fist kiss?”

The look on Mz. Collins face changed to one which I could best describe 
as ‘emotional discomfort’.  Shaking her head she said, “A first kiss is 
supposed to be special…and mine was Lyle Jamis…” she half shuddered.

“So what was wrong with him?” I asked.

“How to put it into words…” she began before declaring, “He was a 
jackass.”

Few a couple seconds I sat there silently, waiting for Mz. Collins to 
explain further, but she didn’t say anything.  So I found myself asking, 
“How?”

“He was one of those guys who make a big deal out of things that weren’t 
important and completely ignored stuff that was,” she explained.

“So…” I was trying to understand what that had to do with her first 
kiss.

“So,” she shook her head, “So I kissed him, then he told me it was a 
bad kiss before asking if Charlotte Halsen’s bra really had broken 
during gym class that day.”

“What!?” I said with a chuckle of dis-belief.

“Yea…yeah that’s what happened,” Mz. Collins confirmed still shaking 
her head at the obvious absurdity of it.

I took a breath to keep from laughing, before saying, “It’s memorable: 
you’ll never forget that…”

“Yea…yea I’ll never forget it,” she commented before saying, “And it 
gets better: Charlotte Halsen wasn’t even in my gym class so there was 
no way I’d’ve known if it happened or not…” with a laugh.

The idea of a girl’s bra breaking during gym class filled my mind to 
the point where all I could manage to say was, “Wow…” 

About two seconds later, Mz. Collins said, “Now that you know about me 
dating and kissing boys in high school it’s my turn…”  

I feared the change of direction our conversation seemed to be taking.

“…So how many girls have you kissed?” she asked.  OH CRAP

“Well…” I began to stammer, “…what do…do you mean…mean by kiss?”

Mz. Collins got this half serious / half offended look on her face as 
she replied, “You know exactly what I mean.”

“Two...I’ve kissed two girls,” I declared.  A few hours earlier I would 
have been proud of the fact that I had kissed both Tara and Cami: I had 
already kissed more girls than all of my friends combined.  But now, 
after hearing about how Mz. Collins had kissed dozens of boys, I felt 
practically ashamed that I had only kissed two girls…

Smiling, Mz. Collins replied, “That’s nothing to be ashamed of…”

Suddenly a bold idea hit me.  I quickly leaned to the side, and jammed 
my lips against Mz. Collins’.  

For about half a second she kissed me back; then she forcibly pushed me 
away.  “What the heck are you doing Kyle?” she asked in a very annoyed 
tone.

Hearing her say those words melted away whatever boldness had been in 
me in a flash.  Sheepishly I commented, “Now I’ve kissed three…”

Suddenly and surprisingly a smile appeared on Mz. Collins’ face.  She 
took a breath before asking, “Was I as good as the other two?” with a 
slight giggle.

OH CRAP!  How the HELL was I supposed to respond to that?!  I managed 
to buy myself a fraction of a second to think by taking a breath; but 
once I did I had to have an answer.  “The kisses with the other girls 
were a lot longer,” I nervously exhaled my answer.

Mz. Collins half blushed as she stuttered, “Yea alright…”  Before I 
could begin to even process what she’d meant by that, she was leaning 
over me and had planted her lips against mine.  

HOLY SHIT: Mz. Collins was KISSING me!!!

Almost as suddenly as she has pressed her lips against mine, she was 
forcing her tongue between my lips!  I immediately relinquished whatever control of the situation I may have had and spread my lips.  As I did so I ended up with a full half of Mz. Collins’ tongue in my mouth.  More astonishingly, if that was possible, she began swirling her tongue around in my mouth!  

After what was in all actuality probably about thirty seconds, but felt 
like an instant and an eternity at the same time; she somehow managed 
to get her tongue underneath mine and began coaxing it past my teeth, 
past our lips and into her mouth.  Once the first inch or so of my 
tongue was in her mouth she began sucking on it!

HOLY SHIT!!!

Despite the fact that Mz. Collins was sucking on my tongue, I began 
swirling it around insider her mouth as best I could; she had, after 
all, been swirling her tongue around in my mouth…  

Perhaps another moment passed, before I began to try to coax her tongue 
back into my mouth.  Positioning my tongue under hers was more difficult than I would have expected it to be; but once my tongue was underneath hers, she quickly understood what I was attempting to tell her and eased her tongue back past our combined lips and into my mouth.  The instant I felt a little more than the tip of her tongue make it past my front teeth; I began sucking as hard as I could.

Suddenly I felt a squeeze on my dick...a squeeze that wasn’t coming 
from my hand.  It took me a couple seconds to realize that Mz. Collins 
was ‘feeling me up’: it may have felt a bit ‘wrong’ in a way, but there 
was no way in hell I was going to pass up the opportunity Mz. Collins’ 
actions were presenting me with.  In a flash I moved my left hand 
farther up her thigh, until I felt something warm and silky and net-like 
against my fingertips: clearly Mz. Collins was wearing panties like the 
one’s she’d worn on her last date.   While I would have much preferred 
to have had my fingertips brush against her bare pussy, I sure as hell 
wasn’t complaining.

At the same time, I moved my right hand from my side, up to her chest.  
I gave her left breast a gently squeeze through the four inch wide 
scarf-like strip of fabric pale pink glossy fabric which was covering it.  

Not only did our passionate tongue-centric kiss continue, but Mz. 
Collins began to gently stroke my hard thirteen year old dick through 
the thin nylon fabric my shorts were made from.  

Taking that as a ‘go ahead’, I moved my right hand a bit to the side 
until the tips of my fingers were near the edge of the four inch wide 
strip of fabric that was covering her breast.  Rotating my wrist 
slightly, my fingertips slipped under the edge of her dress and began 
to slide across smooth soft bare skin: Mz. Collins’ breast.

I hadn’t gotten much more than the first knuckle worth of my fingers 
under the top of her dress, when Mz. Collins abruptly broke our kiss 
and pulled away from me: withdrawing her breast from my right hand.  
She briefly glanced down, but despite the fact that she clearly knew 
where my left hand was (under her dress, on / between her upper thighs, 
with my fingertips touching the crotch of her panties) she didn’t say 
anything about it; not only that, but she didn’t move her hand from my 
hard thirteen-year-old dick.  Looking me directly in the eyes, she 
calmly and matter-of-factly asked, “So?”

“’So’…what?” I replied, not sure what she was asking.

A marginally noticeable smile began to appear on her lips as she asked, 
“So, compared to the other two girls, how was that kiss?”

“Better…” I began to say, before trying to quantify it, “lots 
better…much better; like a hundred times better…maybe a thousand times 
better…”  The smile on Mz. Collins’ face grew much larger, as a thought 
hit me, “So how am I as a kisser?”

“You’re a good kisser; far too good for me to be only the third woman 
you’ve ever kissed,” she replied, before saying, “If only you were 
fifteen years…” she began to trail off. 

“No I’m thirteen,” I half corrected / half reminded her, before asking, 
“Why?”

“Older…” Mz. Collins answered.  Seeing the confused look on my face, she 
explained, “If you were fifteen years older.”

After quickly doing the math I responded, “Then I’d be twenty-eight; why 
would that matter?”

“We’d…or uhm, I’d…” Mz. Collins stuttered.  She took a breath then more 
definitively said, “It doesn’t matter.”

While I wasn’t sure where she was going with that whole line of thought, 
particularly what me not being twenty-eight had to do with anything, I 
figured it was better to forget about the question.  And since kissing 
is lots better than talking, I simply leaned in to kiss her again.  

I got about two-thirds of the way to her lips when I felt pressure 
against the middle of my chest.  Mz. Collins instantly said, “No;” as I 
glanced down to see that her left hand was pressed against my chest.

“Since it was such a good kiss we should kiss more,” I paused for a 
fraction of a second before completing my thought, “I’s what we’d do on 
a date, right…”

“I don’t kiss a date more than that without dancing with him,” Mz. 
Collins responded.

CRAP

“Oh…” I half stammered, “I don’t really know how to dance…”

“I could teach you,” she offered through what could only describe as a 
‘mischievous grin’.  

I would be lying if I said that I wanted her to teach me how to dance.  
However, I did want to kiss her again, and it sounded like I’d have to 
let her teach me to dance if I was going to get to kiss her again.  And, of course, there was that mischievous grin; it had to mean something.   So, concluding that I was about to get a dancing lesson which I didn’t really want, I hopped to my feet.  

I immediately offered my right hand to Mz. Collins.  “What a gentleman…” she half giggled as she took my hand and stood.  

She stepped directly in front of me before wrapping her arms around my 
body below my arms: effectively pulling the fronts of our bodies together.  I might originally not have been particularly keen on the idea of dancing with Mz. Collins, the fact that her breasts were pressed against my chest; but now I was quite happy that I’d been willing to dance with her: whatever I might have said, the fact that my dick was inflating in my shorts was proof of that.

“Put your arms around me,” she instructed.

Without saying a word I wrapped my around her gorgeous twenty-eight 
year old body: I could hardly believe how warm soft and smooth the bare 
skin on her back was…  having my arms wrapped around her pulled us even 
closer together, to the point where our cheeks (the ones on our faces) 
was practically touching.

Mz. Collins moved her head forward slightly.  Then, when her mouth was 
next to my ear she quietly said, “On ‘one’ sway to the left, on ‘two’ 
sway to the right, and on ‘three’ take a step to one side or the other.”  

Before I could fully process, let alone question, what she’d said, Mz. 
Collins was quietly saying, “One,” into my ear: so I swayed my body to 
the left a bit; she moved with me.  About half a second later she was 
saying, “Two” and we were swaying back to the right.  Another half a 
second later Mz. Collins said, “Three,” still quietly, but a bit more 
forcefully: I took a step to the left and she moved with me.

“One:” sway to the left…  “Two:” sway to the right…  “Three:” take a 
step…  It went on like that, “one…two…three…”, “one…two…three…”, 
“one…two…three…”, “one…two…three…” for a couple minutes before I began 
to realize that the movements of our bodies was effectively stroking my 
dick; which, despite being in my shorts, was pinned between our bodies.

After another couple minutes of musicless dancing, I felt a very 
familiar sensation: my butt cheeks tighten.  For a brief split-second I 
almost didn’t know what to make of it.  Then, an instant later I could 
feel the cum surging through the little tube on the underside of my 
dick: realizing that I was about to fill the front of my shorts with 
cum WHILE I was dancing with Mz. Collins both excited me and filled me 
with dread at the same time.  Of course, by that point there was nothing 
I could have done to stop it; so I let nature take its course: the first 
spurt of hot, thick, sticky, creamy-white, sperm-laden cum blasted out 
of the little hole at the tip of my thirteen-year-old dick and sprayed 
all over the inside of the front of my shorts.

Clearly Mz. Collins felt the throbbing coming from inside my shorts, as 
she stopped saying “one…two…three” into my ear.  Though, despite her no 
longer saying “one…two…three” we continued our musicless dancing as a 
second spurt of my teenage cum erupted from the little hole at the tip 
of my dick and added to the creamy mess in the front of my shorts.  
Another spurt followed and another…and another…

Just as my orgasm began to die-down after the seventh spurt, Mz. 
Collins moved her hand down and gave both of my butt cheeks a squeeze 
through my shorts.  Doing so forced another spurt of cum from my loins…

As my dick softened within the creamy mess inside the front of my shorts 
Mz. Collins stepped back and simply declared, “I think it’s time for you 
to go home now.”

Not really sure what to do or how to respond I said, “Yea,” and turned 
to leave.  

The, just as my finger-tips met the doorknob, Mz. Collins added, 
“Thanks for the fun date…” with a barely audible giggle.

Turing to face her as I opened the door, I boldly suggested, “We should 
do that again…”

She smiled at me, then I stepped outside and headed home with what was 
almost certainly one of the biggest loads if cum I’d ever shot in 
squishing around in the front of my shorts.