The phone rings around five o'clock in the afternoon. I put down my cup of ramen noodles to answer it.

"Hello?" I say. "This is Jake."

"Hi there, Jake," says a man's voice on the other end. "Are you the babysitter?"

I reply that I am, in fact, the only non-female, eighteen-year-old babysitter in the city, as well as one of the most highly-regarded babysitters period.

"Actually, I'm calling because you're the only one who's available to work without prior warning," he jokes. Only he's not joking.

"My name is Jonathan Clifton," he tells me, "and I'm afraid there's been a bit of a mix up tonight. My wife and I are going out to dinner and a late movie. Our usual babysitter was supposed to be here at six, however it seems her grandmother is about to pass away, and so she, of course, can't be expected to honor her commitment."

"Sorry to hear that, sir," I tell him. "But I'll be glad to-"

"We've been planning this outing for weeks," he interrupts. "You don't know how much it means to Marissa." He pauses, then adds, "That's my wife."

"I assumed as much," I tell him. "But back to business; I'm more than happy to help you out; I wasn't planning on doing anything tonight anyway."

"Wonderful," he says. "We leave at six, and we'll probably be home around midnight. Marissa made dinner earlier, so you would just need to heat it up in the oven." He clears his throat, "It'd be best for you to arrive a few minutes before six; that way we can cover everything else you should know."

"Yes, but could you tell me a few things first?" I ask quickly. "I need to know how many kids will be there, as well as their ages, so I can pack some age-appropriate games and activities. Y'know, typical babysitter paraphernalia."

"Yes, very well," he says. "It's just our two girls. Rowan is twelve. Ruthie is eight. They're both delightful children; no trouble at all."

"Good to hear."

"Yes. So, like I was saying, if you could be here a few minutes early, we can go over a few more, um, important details."

This has me a little worried, but curious, so we finalize the payment terms, confirm the address, and end the call.

I finish up my soup in a flash and go look for some stuff to bring. I figure the twelve-year-old might enjoy a quiet board game, so I pack Candyland. (So far none of the kids I've babysat have appreciated my board games, but I haven't given up on them yet.) I can't really think of anything for the younger kid, plus I'm already running a little late, so I'll just have to hope she can tolerate board games.

Their house is in a pretty good neighborhood...meaning it's pretty far away from mine. Time seems to slow as I hit red light after red light.

By the time I'm pulling into their driveway, it's two minutes after six.

I hop out and hurry up to the porch where Mr. Clifton is waiting for me, fingers drumming against the porch railing.

"Hey there," I call, "so sorry I'm late. The traffic lights conspired against me, I guess." I hold out my hand for him to shake, "I'm Jake."

"Yes, yes, I know," he says, not seeing my gesture in his rush. "Look, Marissa's already in the car; there isn't time to go over the details with you."

"Don't worry," I tell him with a smile, "I think we covered the important stuff on the phone."

He appears to disagree, "But I should warn you that-" A car horn sounds. He takes a step toward the driveway, then stops and turns quickly back. "I was afraid you might not come if I told you over the phone." He takes a breath, and I raise an eyebrow as my curiosity intensifies. "You see, Jake, we're very open-minded with the girls when it comes to, well, certain things." I wait for more. The car horn blares again. "They may engage in some activities you aren't used to seeing in public."

My 'meeting-a-first-time-client' smile remains pasted onto my face, but I'm having a hard time processing his words.

"But it's perfectly natural, so-"

The horn sounds for a third time and he's off, calling over his shoulder to me as he runs for the vehicle. "I'm sure everything will be fine! The girls are expecting you; just go right in! We'll be back by midnight! Just put them to bed when they get tired!"

Aaand he's gone.

I stand on the porch as I listen to their tires screeching down the road and out of earshot.

Great. Just great.

What the hell was he talking about?

I guess I'm about to find out.

I turn and knock my fist against the door a couple times.

Small footsteps echo toward me and then the door swings open.

A girl with medium-long, straight dark hair stands in the doorway. A smaller girl, with the same dark hair but curly and short around her ears, stands beside her.

"Hey guys," I wave. "I'm Jake, your babysitter for tonight."

"We know," says the girl who must be Rowan, motioning for me to come in. She's dressed in a semi-fancy black bathrobe-y type thing tied around the waist. She's wearing a few hair bands on her arm like bracelets. Her feet are bare.

"I'm Ruthie," says Ruthie, smiling up at me. She's got perfect white teeth. She's wearing black socks, a short, frilly orange skirt and a long-sleeved shirt.

I wink at her, "Glad to meet you, Ruthie."

Her face glows in satisfaction as she leads me down the hallway.

"Wanna know why Daddy called you? Because Rowan and I aren't old enough to be all by ourselves yet."

"I am too!" Rowan retorts, coming up behind us. "They just think I'm not responsible enough to take care of you."

"And are you?" I turn and shoot her a teasing look. "Responsible enough?"

She waits a beat before replying with a grin and a shrug, "She's high-maintenance."

"Am not!" the littler girl glares at her older sister. "What does that even mean?"

"Relax, I'm kidding," Rowan calms her.

We enter...their living room. It's painted a beautiful shade of red. There's a giant television on one side and a few cozy-looking pieces of furniture on the other.

Rowan halts in the middle of the room and turns to look at me seriously. "Actually, we're both really well-behaved; very normal kids for our age...except for a few things, which I'm sure Dad told you about." I could swear she's blushing a little when she says this.

Ruthie tugs at her bathrobe, "Huh? What things?"

"Nothing." Rowan pats her sister on the head, which I find funny because there isn't a huge height difference between them.

"About that," I say, pursing my lips. "He actually had to go before he could really tell me anything. But I'm sure everything will be fine. I have a lot of exp-"

"Our parents have a lot of ideas about parenting," Rowan leans toward me, whispering so Ruthie can't hear. "They're very...open-minded."

"Yeah, that's what your dad said," I mumble. "But like, open-minded about what?"

"That," Rowan says matter-of-factly, and points to Ruthie...who has lifted her skirt up and is beginning to rub her small hand across a pair of pink panties.

My mouth falls open. Ruthie looks up at us and smiles innocently, as if to ask, 'What?'

I drag Rowan back into the hallway. Ruthie, thankfully, doesn't follow us.

"What in the name of-"

Rowan shushes me, giving a hard look over her shoulder and then snapping back to make eye-contact. "Don't let her know you think it's weird!"

I gulp, "But-but-but-"

"I know," Rowan holds a hand up. "It's odd at first, but-"

I interrupt her, straining to keep my voice low, "She just started doing...that...right in front of us."

Rowan rolls her eyes, "That's what I'm telling you. We don't care about that here. Our parents let us do it wherever and whenever."

I blanch, "Even at-"

"Just around here, obviously," she says with a sigh. "The world isn't ready for such a powerful declaration in favor of self-expression. At least, that's what my mom says."

I don't say anything for a moment, just thinking.

So...the family's usual babysitter cancels, and I'm the only one they could get on such short notice (because I have no life). Only they didn't tell me this up front, because it might (would) have scared me away.

"Let me get this straight," I finally say with a deep breath. "You're allowed to..."

"Touch ours-"

"Yeah, that," I quickly cut her off. "In front of other people here in the house?"

She nods. Now I'm the one blushing. I risk a glance back into the living room.

Ruthie's sitting cross-legged on the floor, hands writhing in her lap.

"So, they just...tell you that?"

"Not in so many words," she responds. "It's more like they don't tell us not to?" She looks over at her sister as a sad smile crosses her face. "That's why she has no idea why you'd be bothered by it."

I close my eyes for a second, and then nod, "Alright, fine. I already agreed to do this. Your parents are already gone. No backsies."

She widens her eyes at me, "It really bugs you, doesn't it?"

"Well, yeah," I shrug. "That kind of thing is sort of taboo in most homes. Or at least it's something done in private."

She shakes her head as if annoyed by my explanation. "C'mon," she says, pushing me back into the living room. "She's getting suspicious."

Hesitantly, I walk back into the room, trying to avoid looking at the small child sitting on the floor.

Rowan guides me to the couch and we sit down.

"Hey, Ruthie," she says, grabbing a remote. "Wanna watch something?"

"Mhmm," comes the response, somewhat breathy.

Rowan switches on the television, which I must admit is impressively large. Ruthie stops...doing it...while she and Rowan argue about what to watch.

"Jane and the Dragon!" Ruthie declares, pouting her lower lip out at us.

"Girl Meets World is way better," Rowan tells her, turning to me. "Right, Jake?" She doesn't wait for my answer, but continues 'discussing' it with her little sister.

"Actually," I say under my breath, "I think they both suck."

Rowan turns, "What was that?"

I smile, and wave an open palm, "Oh, nothing."

Eventually, they agree to watch some show about a singing goth girl named Ruby.

As the show begins, Ruthie's hand settles back down into her lap and I try to distract myself by whispering to Rowan, who is annoyed because she wants to watch the show. But she probably knows that, being the eldest, it's her duty to answer the babysitter's dumb questions.

"Does she ever NOT do it?"

Rowan, apparently, doesn't think that deserves a response.

"Well...what should I do?" I can't think of a better way to phrase it.

"Just ignore it if it bothers you," she hisses back.

"What if I can't?"

She throws her hands-up in mock-exasperation, "Just don't let her know."

"Hey, wait a minute," I whisper, "you act like you know it's weird."

She doesn't answer for a moment. Maybe she's listening to the red-haired girl singing with a boy made of bones. Or maybe she's thinking.

"I'm twelve," she finally says, "and I learned the hard way."

I wait for her to continue, but she doesn't. I make a mental note to find out what she means by this before the night's over. It sounds like it'll be quite a story.

"So...do you think it's weird?"

"I don't know," she answers, blinking slowly. "Let's just say there are definitely pros and cons."

"Such as?"

"Well, a con would be...we have a really difficult time retaining babysitters."

I snicker.

"And a pro would be that I get to do this whenever I feel like it." Before I know what's going on, she slips a hand inside the folds of her robe and shoots a twinkling smile my way.

"Are you-" I stutter, still freaked out, but beginning to see her point. "Are you actually-"

She just raises a dark eyebrow and looks back at the TV.

Fuck.

I sit there for a few minutes. I try to focus my attention on the show, but I can't help but see Ruthie's arm moving back and forth as I look at the screen.

And when there's a short break in the singing coming from the speakers, I think I hear a hushed breath of elation come from the girl on the couch beside me.

I stand up and announce, "I'm going to see about dinner."

Ruthie turns her head to look at me, and I could swear her mouth is already open before she starts talking, "Mommy said you just need to put it in the oven."

"Perfect. I'm good at that."

Hurrying from the room, I hear a suppressed giggle behind my back. Are they laughing at the show, or me?

This night really can't get any more awkward.

Then I realize I don't know where the kitchen is. But I'm not going back in there to ask. It's usually near the TV, I tell myself. I wander into a game room first. It's filled with pinball machines, a gumball dispenser, and even an exercise bike.

I realize I forgot Candyland in my car, so I walk back through the living room to get to the hallway that leads to the front door. As I come through, I can feel their eyes on me.

"Be right back," I say. "Just going to get a board game from my car."

I hurry out and lift it from the passenger seat, carrying it under my arm back into the house.

"You didn't abandon us," Rowan comments as I come back through.

"That's good!" Ruthie exclaims, grinning at me. I try my best to grin back, since both her hands are planted on the carpet beside her.

I wonder if Rowan's hand is still hidden within her robe...and if she's wearing anything underneath that robe.

"Hope you guys like Candyland," I say as I'm exiting the room.

"He wasn't joking about that?" Rowan says to nobody in particular.

I deposit the game inside the game room, and resume my quest to find the kitchen.

I discover it two rooms down, next to a bathroom and a dining room. A baking pan sits on top of the stove with a note stuck beside it.

It's already nearing six-thirty, so I figure I'd better get it started. The directions Mrs. Clifton has left are fairly easy to follow, and by the time I've preheated the oven and put the pan inside to heat, I've calmed considerably. The girls are actually really nice, even if they do have some unorthodox...habits.

"Dinner will be ready in about thirty minutes," I report as I walk into the living room. "Hope you're both hungry!"

"Rowan went upstairs," Ruthie tells me. Indeed, the robed figure is nowhere in sight.

"Well, are you hungry?" I ask her as I return to my place on the couch.

"Yeah," she answers, getting up and coming to sit beside me on the leathery seats.

I try not to get apprehensive.

"So, what do you like to do for fun?" I ask her, in hopes of keeping her occupied.

"Oh, lots of things," she tells me, her curly short hair bobbing as she looks up at me. "Playing dolls, playing hide-n-seek, playing soldiers, playing dress-up," she lists them on her fingers, and I can't help but lean away from them a little, remembering where they'd been just minutes earlier.

"What about you?" she asks. I can't tell if she really wants to know or is just being polite, but I give an honest answer.

"I like drawing," I tell her. "And writing. But I'm still a little conflicted about babysitting."

"That's nice," she says emphatically. As she returns to watching the show, her left hand darts beneath her skirt and she curls up to me.

"Isn't it?" I gulp, looking down over the top of her head. The skirt is concealing the fine details of what's going on, thankfully, but I can still see her arm as it moves slightly.

She sighs.

I clear my throat, "Hey, do you know where your sister went?"

She leans away so she can turn her head up to look at me, "I told you: Upstairs."

"Okay, but what's she doing up there? It's my job to make sure you stay out of trouble, after all."

She just shrugs, "I don't know," and returns her gaze to the screen. The part of her arm I can see is still in motion as she leans into my side again.

I check my watch. Six-forty.

I try to watch the show for the next couple minutes, but I can't concentrate because Ruthie's whole body is rocking a little now as her hand moves under her skirt.

A short breathy gasp comes from her mouth and I can stand it no longer.

"I think I'll go check on your sister," I say, gently pushing her away so I can get up.

She looks up at me and giggles, resisting at first. But I win out.

"Bye," she says as I walk from the room.

I stick my head back in.

"...Where's the stairs?"

She sighs and hops off the couch, hands hanging at her sides. She walks over, reaches for my hand (I grudgingly let her take it), and guides me down the hall to the stairwell.

"Thanks," I tell her, watching as she skips back to the living room. "You behave yourself, got it?"

"Got it," she calls.

The stairway is as grand as the rest of their house I've seen so far, large and winding. I examine my hand as I climb; it looks normal. I wipe it on the leg of my jeans just to be sure.

As I ascend I can't help but look at each step wondering, "Have they sat here and done it? How about here?" This whole business is kinda getting to me.

I reach the top and find myself in another hallway. It's shorter, luckily, with two doors on one side and one on the other. Three bedrooms? But which is which?

I get lucky again, because each girl's door is labeled with their name in big, stylized lettering.

I go up to Rowan's, but pause before opening it. I decide to knock first.

"Just a minute," I hear her call from within.

When she opens the door, she's dressed in purple pajama pants and a black frilly blouse-top.

"I thought you'd feel better this way," she reaches up, pats my shoulder, and nods knowingly.

I groan, "Listen, it's getting awkward for me by myself with your sister down there. And the food'll be ready in like, fifteen minutes."

"Okay, okay," she rolls her big brown eyes. "I'm coming back down."

She leads the way as we start to walk.

"Imagine what we'll have to tell our parents." She mimes them asking her a question, "'You girls weren't too shy now, were you?' No mother, he was the shy one!"

I try to laugh and wave her off dismissively. But what she says is true. If I keep feeling uneasy around the kids, I won't be able to connect to them, and none of us will have as much fun. I resolve here and now to suck it up. I'm babysitting at their house, so I have to follow their house rules, which means that I have to act perfectly normal about everything.

"So," I attempt a joke of my own as we descend the stairs, "is there anything you guys aren't allowed to do?"

"Hmm," Rowan replies in a thoughtful tone. "We aren't allowed to use any toys. Not yet, at least. Fingers only."

"W-what do you mean?"

She stares at me, poker-faced. "Y'know...toys?" With her hand, she pretends to pick up something invisible from the air and lower it down between her legs.

"Oh, god," I gasp. "That was unnecessary."

"You can't enforce the rules if you don't know them," she says innocently.

"Very funny."

There's still ten minutes left until dinner when we arrive back at the living room, so we sit on the good ol' couch.

"You're back!" Ruthie cries, coming to rest beside me again. After a few minutes, I catch her hand creeping under her skirt. But I also catch Rowan watching me, so I act absolutely natural, even as the little girl leans her upper body against me for support. Even as she lifts up her skirt to look beneath it for a moment. Even as her hot, heavy breaths fill my ears.

I'm acting so natural that it's only natural for my dick to start getting hard. Frankly, I'm surprised it took this long with her so close against my side.

The clock chimes seven just as Ruthie leans her back across my lap.

I jump up, "Dinner time!" They look at me a little funny, but don't comment on my borderline overeagerness. Ruthie follows me into the kitchen while Rowan shuts off the TV.

She sits backwards on a kitchen chair and watches me with big eyes as I open the oven door and remove the pan. "I'm not allowed," she tells me.

"'Cause it's hot, right?"

"Yup," she nods with pursed lips.

Rowan comes in, "How does it look?"

I take off the lid and peer at it before answering, "Great! What is it?"

"Shallot-Bresaola Bruschetta," Rowan answers immediately, as if reading from a teleprompter.

I wait for more.

"Sandwiches," she says slowly for my benefit. "Basically."

"Thaaanks," I reply. "Now, you can set the table."

Rowan heads for the dining room, sticking her tongue out at Ruthie as she saunters by.

"I know! Let's eat in the living room!" Ruthie exclaims, jumping from her seat.

I shrug, helpless. I don't know any of the rules because there was no time to go over them. (Well, except for the rule about toys. Which I'm trying to forget.)

"Not allowed," Rowan calls from the dining room. "And bring some silverware in; we'll need it for dessert!"

"Okay!" Ruthie prances over to a drawer and opens it.

I think fast, "You know, it's always good manners to wash hands before setting the table.

"Rowan didn't wash her hands," she points out, grabbing a handful of spoons and heading to join her sister.

I tried.

With both girls gone, I have to find a serving plate on my own. It doesn't take me long though, and a few minutes later I carry a plateful of fancy Italian sandwiches into the dining room.

The girls have set three places in a row, and they're sitting on the ends. I plunk the platter down and sit between them.

"Dig in."

"Wait," Ruthie yelps.

"What is it?"

Her dark eyes are dead serious, "There's something we have to do first."

"Say grace?" I hazard a guess. "I'll do it, then."

"No, we don't go to church," Rowan jabs my shoulder. "But we always say something we're thankful for."

"Neat, I like that idea better than praying anyway."

"I'm thankful for good food," Rowan says, then nods at Ruthie.

"I'm thankful for Jake," Ruthie says, unabashedly.

"Subtle," Rowan remarks.

"Well, I'm thankful for the money I'll get from babysitting you guys," I say. "Oh, and I'm also thankful for Ruthie, too." Rowan catches my eyes. "And a little for Rowan. I suppose."

We dig in.

The sandwiches are really wonderful, even though I couldn't remember/pronounce their real name even if I tried.

"So," I say between bites. "Your parents won't be home until late, which means I get to put you to bed."

"Yay!" says Ruthie, mouth full.

"Don't talk with your mouth full," says Rowan, mouth also full.

"What time do you usually turn in for the night?" I ask.

"I don't have a bedtime," Rowan tells me proudly.

"Neither do I!" Ruthie adds.

"Um, yes, you do. Dad always comes to take you to bed at nine."

"No, he always comes and asks, 'Ruthie, are you ready for bed?' and if I say 'No, I'm not!', he lets me stay up later."

"Sounds like a reasonable guy," I comment. Even if he does have some unsettling ideas about how to raise children. "So I guess we'll just wait and see how sleepy you are later."

"I'm not sleepy," Ruthie says.

"He said, 'later'," her sister tells her.

"Not then, either!" she declares.

"What should we do after this?" I laugh, almost choking on my sandwich. "And shouldn't we-" I cough. "Have some-" Cough. "Water?"

"Oops, forgot," Rowan says, pushing back her chair and running for the kitchen.

While she's gone I notice Ruthie staring at me. I look over, smile, and go back to eating. But I can still feel her eyes on me. It's a little strange, to be honest. Both her hands are in view on the table, though, so I can't complain.

Rowan comes back with a serving tray holding three glasses of water and three bowls of vanilla ice cream.

I take a long sip and repeat my question, "What should we do next?"

"Watch TV?" Ruthie asks, devouring her dessert.

"Mom doesn't like you to watch it that often," Rowan informs her sister.

Ruthie starts to pout, but I handle the situation expertly by suggesting my own idea, "I brought Candyland, remember? Let's play a few rounds."

Rowan shoots me a look that says, 'I'd rather die'.

Ruthie squeals, "I know! We'll play dress up!"

"I brought a board game, not clothes," I shake my head.

"No, silly," she grins at me. "We have them here already! We've got lots and lots of clothes, right?" She looks to her big sister, who nods.

"Mom used to be an actress, so now we get to use her old costumes in our playroom upstairs. There's guy clothes too, from Dad."

"Would he mind?"

"If you tried on his clothes?" Rowan scratched her chin and pretended to think. "Maybe, maybe not."

Ruthie tugs on my sleeve, "He would let you."

"So it's either dress up or Candyland," I say.

"Dress up!" shouts Ruthie.

"Candyland," says Rowan with a devilish grin.

Before they can start to argue, I jump in. "Why not both? We can do Candyland first, since it's down here, and then go upstairs to play dress up. Deal?"

"Deal!" both sisters echo.

"I'll go set it up while you two put everything away and do the dishes. Deal?"

They remain silent. I roll my eyes, "Fine. Reverse it."

They run off toward the game room while I clear the table. We ate most of the food, so there isn't much for me to put away. The dirty dishes go in the dishwasher. Then I check the clock. Seven-fifteen.

It's only been a few minutes since they headed to the game room, so I'm pleasantly surprised to find the board set up and the girls ready to go. The board is lying on an uncluttered section of the dark green carpet.

Each player gets a colored gingerbread man piece to move around the board. Rowan chooses the red one, Ruthie the yellow, and me the blue.

We begin to play. Rowan takes an early lead, but I soon catch up to her. Ruthie lags behind, no matter how much we try and help her cheat. She soon becomes bored and scooches over next to me, reclining with her back against the side of my chest.

On my other side, Rowan plays like a champ, treating Candyland like a game of Blackjack in Las Vegas.

After about fifteen minutes of play, Rowan has to use the restroom, and I decide to exchange my blue piece for the green one. "Just to see if it's luckier," I tell Rowan, who scoffs and calls me a 'noob' as she exits the room.

I search the floor next to the board, but the green gingerbread man isn't there. I go through the overturned box with the same result.

I turn my head toward Ruthie, who we've been unintentionally ignoring because of her unusual silence these last few turns.

A startled look passes across my face as I see what she's doing, and what she's doing it with.

She's folded her skirt back so that she (and thus, I) have a clear view and unimpeded access.

This is how I discover the plastic green gingerbread man's current location and activity. Between Ruthie's legs being used in place of her fingers.

Holding his stand clutched in her left hand, she's dragging his head around haphazardly on her pink panties. She puts more of her weight against me as I watch over the top of her head. Her other hand is flat on the carpet. I can feel her body expanding and contracting as she breathes in deeply.

An alarmed thought comes to me: should I tell Rowan? Does this violate the 'no toys' rule? Surely not, since a tiny board game piece is nothing like the kind of toys that I think Rowan was referring to.

But what will she think if I still have the blue piece when she returns? I make up my mind. Act normal.

I tap Ruthie's shoulder, "Can I have that green piece? You can have the blue one." She doesn't say anything, but when I stretch my hand out she takes the blue one and drops the green one in return. "Thank you," I tell her.

A beat, and then she says, "Dress-up now?"

"Soon," I tell her. "Right after I beat your sister."

"I heard that," Rowan says as she hurries through the door.

"Nothing wrong with a little confidence," I say as she takes her seat. I wonder if Ruthie chose to lay back against me so I could be a shield, blocking her activity from Rowan. Surely not. She's not the devious sibling.

Rowan's piece skips three spaces ahead of mine, "How's that confidence?"

"Wavering," I say, moving my newly-found green piece onto the board. It's warmer than the old one, for good reason, and I try to handle it as little as possible.

While Rowan takes her next turn, I look down at her sister, still in the same spot. Her skirt has fallen back down a bit, but not enough to hide the blue piece completely. I see it skipping across the pink fabric, stopping here and there, poking and prodding.

Ruthie lets out a small sigh, and I start trash talking Rowan again so she won't notice her sister's sounds.

Why don't I want her to see if I don't think it's breaking the rules? I'm not sure myself.

By the end of the game, Ruthie had taken to using her palm to push the entire piece up against her panties. I may have played a little worse than usual during the last few minutes so that we could get upstairs sooner.

Rowan wins, of course. As she and I tidy up the game, Ruthie sighs once more, a deep, pleased sound.

"Glad we're finally done?" Rowan asks her sister, folding the game board. I nudge the little one gently in the back with my knee.

She sits up, "Huh?"

"We're finished, dumb-dumb," Rowan laughs.

"Oh!" Ruthie says happily. "I'm going upstairs!" She slips the playing piece into my hand as she gets to her feet and dashes off.

"Hey, we're missing a piece," Rowan exclaims as she checks the box. "I bet she-"

"Nope," I give a nervous laugh. "I've got it right here." I open my palm to reveal the blue piece, and notice that some of the blue color has been rubbed off the top of the head. They don't make Candyland like they used to, gosh darn made-in-China plastic game pieces.

"Good try," Rowan says as we get to our feet. "Better luck next time."

"What 'next time'? I'm never playing Candyland again," I joke as we head up the stairs. "So, where's this playroom, anyway? I thought I only saw three doors up here."

"That's right," Rowan says. "My room, Ruthie's room, and the playroom."

"What about your parent's room?"

"It's downstairs," she answers.

We arrive at the playroom door. I reach up and knock.

"Come in," Ruthie's voice beckons.

I push open the door and walk in to find her standing there in only her panties and socks, gazing up at me. "I'm dressing up like a Pharaoh," she boasts.

Rowan walks in after me, and I catch a look of surprise on her face too, though it fades quickly.

"Hurry and change," she urges her younger sister.

Ruthie begins to pull off her panties.

"But you can leave those on," I tell her.

"But they didn't wear any panties back then," she tells me, sliding them down and stepping out of them.

I raise my head away from her to observe the layout of the room. It's twice the size of the living room, with a sofa and chairs set around the edges. The floor is largely clean, save for four large trunks in the far corner. One of them is open, and richly-colored patterns of clothing spill from it.

"How exactly does one play dress-up?" I ask, running a hand through my short hair.

"Different ways," Rowan replies helpfully.

"Mhmm," Ruthie adds, "like fashion show dress up, or playing house dress up, or-"

"Hey, if we do that fashion show one, I guess I could be a judge," I offer, hoping for an escape from trying on a stranger's clothing.

"Yeah, you can be a judge," Ruthie's voice says, rising with excitement. "Go sit in the judge's area. Both of you."

Rowan sinks down on the sofa, but awkward memories of the living room couch cloud my mind, so I plop into an armchair. It's extremely cozy and welcoming.

"Hey," I whisper over to her as we wait for Ruthie to walk the runway. "So where are those 'toys' you were talking about? Can't keep them away from you kids if I don't know where they are."

"We don't have any," she says, looking at me and shrugging.

"Oh. That makes keeping them away really easy."

"Although," she adds, "I bet there are some in my parent's room, because my mom says next year, when I'm thirteen, she'll give me a-"

"Right, right," I say. "So no going in the parent's room."

"I'm old enough to know that," she shakes her head at my ignorance.

"It's not really you I'm worried about," I say, jerking my head toward Ruthie, who is approaching in a shimmering black gown that goes from her neck to the floor. "Would she-"

"No," Rowan says. I give a relieved grin that fades as she continues, "Not if you keep her busy."

"Alright," Ruthie calls to us from about ten feet off. "The person in the costume will walk around in a circle, and the judges will watch. Then you judges will give a thumbs up or thumbs down, like at a fashion show."

"I think she means like at a gladiatorial coliseum in ancient Rome," I hiss across to Rowan, who shushes me with a finger to her mouth.

The youngest begins her circle around the room.

The black sequins on the pharoah costume glint in the florescent lights as she moves past us, barefoot. (I guess they wore socks as often as they wore panties.) The long outfit swoops down her flat chest and makes ruffles on the ground around her. She has to walk carefully. There is a golden head ornament on her head, and curly strands of dark hair stick out of it. She's wearing a few dangling gold bracelets around both wrists.

Rowan and I 'oooh' and 'aaah' appropriately as she finishes her walk and stands before us, striking poses.

She bends a knee and places a hand on her (non-existent) hips. She blows a kiss towards us, but I think she's looking at me specifically. Then she tilts her head and pouts at us, holding the headdress with both hands. It's comedy gold.

When she tires of posing, she stands waiting for our verdict.

"Thumbs up," Rowan says begrudgingly, raising her left thumb.

"Two thumbs up," I declare, raising both in the air.

She lights up, "Thank you! Thank you, judges!" She begins to bow.

"Okay, Pharoah, my turn," Rowan shoots to her feet and makes a beeline for the chests in the corner.

"I have to undress first," Ruthie hollers at her.

"No, you don't," her sister corrects. "Just wait until your next turn."

She crosses her arms, "Fine. I'll be a judge, too."

"Come on over," I tell her. "Being a judge is awesome. You get to sit down and relax and watch pretty girls walk around."

She stumbles over to me laughing, "Your turn's next, you know."

"I don't think so."

"I think so," she says. Then, "Can I get on your lap?"

"Uhm," I debate the options internally with myself, and remember my decision to act normal. "Sure." It had been my choice to take the armchair, which didn't have room for two people to sit side-by-side.

She turns around so she's facing away from me and then hops up backward. I move my arms away from the armrests so she can get comfortable. She bends her knees and tucks them in front of her, curling up on me.

I can't help but notice her smell. It's warm and fresh and young and full of life. Kinda like a York candle.

She cranes her neck to face me, the back of her head lying on the armrest. "Did I do good?"

"Oh, yes," I say. "The best so far."

She pokes me in the shoulder. And then does it again. And again. I love being a babysitter.

"Look, here comes your sister," I tell her, brushing away another poking attempt.

As Rowan begins her runway circle, I realize that she must have changed right there in the corner. I'd been too busy with Ruthie to pay any attention.

Rowan wears a lovely purple gown and high heels that compliment her dark hair and eyes exceptionally well. Though the dress almost fits her length-wise, it's clearly made for someone much older, since the bodice at the chest is cut in such a way to accentuate a woman's breasts. Rowan's body isn't quite up to the task yet.

"Isn't she pretty?" Ruthie asks, looking out at her sister with unblinking eyes.

"Yes."

"That's why it's her favorite one," Ruthie whispers up at me.

We watch the rest of her walk in silence, me sitting there, staring at Rowan and trying not to get a boner, and Ruthie, who would definitely notice if I did, lying across my lap with the side of her head on the armrest like a pillow.

As she finishes her catwalk in front of us, she strikes a majestic pose and almost falls over thanks to the high heels.

I stop myself from laughing, but Ruthie has no such inhibitions.

"That was funny," she giggles, her body vibrating against me.

Rowan makes a face at her, but then she laughs a little as well. That's one thing I've noticed about them that I can't help but admire. They really do get along with each other. That's nice to see (and surprisingly rare) in my line of work.

Rowan comes to the couch, smoothes out her dress, and sits back. Ruthie jumps from my lap and scurries over to the corner, pulling her arms from the sleeves as she goes.

"You look great," I turn to talk with Rowan.

"Thanks," she says, her eyes rising to meet mine. "This is my favorite dress."

"No wonder," I say. "It's lovely. Was it your mother's?"

"No," she replies, "this was actually our mother's sister's when she was younger. She sent it to us last Christmas."

"I see."

I risk a glance into the corner and am relieved to see Ruthie pulling her panties back on.

"Call me crazy, but I'm having fun," I can't help but blurt. What if she thinks I'm the weird one now?

Rowan looks over at me for a moment, "Me too."

"I was kinda edgy when I got here and found out about you guys, and I'm still a little nervous...but I think I'm getting better."

"A babysitter shouldn't be nervous around the kids he's paid to watch," she comments dryly.

"Yeah, well, there are things kids shouldn't do around babysitters, too," I say without thinking twice.

Her face falls.

"No," I shake my head. "I didn't mean that. Actually...even though it's bizarre at first...your parents' ideas might be good ones."

"You really think that?"

I nod.

Ruthie begins her walk, wearing a cowgirl outfit complete with boots and a lasso. She swings it around as she walks and accidentally lasso's herself once. Our laughter reaches all four corners of the room.

Once Rowan and I have both given our verdicts (two thumb's up, duh), Ruthie walks up to the armchair, takes my hand, and tries to pull me up.

"Jake needs to take his turn," she insists.

"Didn't we already clarify that Jake turns down his turn?" I squint at her.

She keeps tugging on my arm, "Nooo."

"Fine," I sigh, rising to my feet and heading for the corner. "You guys can be the judges."

"Dad's old clothes are in the third chest," Rowan calls to me.

I open the old-looking wooden chest and root through its contents, deciding on an old torn red shirt that looks like something a pirate might wear. I pair this with long black trousers and yellow suspenders.

I glance back at the judge's area; the girls look to be engaged in a hushed conversation.

Taking the opportunity while they're distracted, I drop my jeans and hitch up the flowy trousers in their place. I slip on the red shirt and suspenders over my jacket and walk back toward them.

Ruthie claps her hands and laughs as I approach; Rowan cracks a smile.

"Arg," I say, making a hook with my hand. "You lubbers better give me the thumbs up or ye will be walkin' the plank!"

Ruthie is laughing so hard she barely gets the words out, tumbling back in my armchair and clutching her stomach, "You...gotta do the...circle first!"

I wave my hook hand around menacingly as I complete the circle, limping on my imaginary wooden leg.

"You hurt your leg!" yells Ruthie.

"It's a peg leg, obviously," her sister tells her.

"What's a 'peg leg'?" She's puzzled.

"When a pirate gets their leg eaten by a shark, they wear a wooden stick instead so they can still keep their balance," Rowan tells her.

"Really?"

"Yup."

I finish my circle and wait for their judgment.

Ruthie sticks a thumb down and makes an error noise.

"What?" I cry, outraged. My performance was immaculate!

"Just kidding," she says, turning her hand around.

Rowan gives me a thumbs-up as well.

"Argh, mateys, this pirate thinks it's time to abandon ship."

"But I wanna keep dressing up," Ruthie protests, un-hooking my hook hand for me.

I look over at Rowan, who moves her shoulders up and down and says, "So do I, kinda."

I start for the corner to change back into my jeans. "Very well," I tell them. "I'll take a nap on the couch while you guys keep playing."

They agree readily. I change as quick as I can, facing away from them.

As I turn to walk back to the judge's area, which I've decided is now the napping area, the girls are in the midst of switching outfits.

Ruthie, clad in her pink panties and a hawaiian shirt, searches through a box.

Rowan is unbuttoning the fancy vest she'd worn last. I keep her in my field of vision as I walk, and see a flash of her bare chest before she turns to rummage through a different trunk.

I stretch out on the sofa, taking comfort in the fact that I'm back in my own jeans and jacket. The furniture here is far more worn out from use than that in the living room downstairs, but I don't care.

I really do feel exhausted. It's more mentally than physically, though. I figure it's probably about eight. Just four more hours to go. This whole night, along with it's surprising revelations, has me beat.

I lay flat on my back with my head propped up on the arm of the sofa. Checking my watch, I find it's almost eight forty-five. Had it really been that long? I added up the events in my head.

We ate at seven, played Candyland until about seven forty-five, I suppose, and apparently we'd been dressing up for almost an hour.

And they haven't gotten bored of it.

I can hear them jabbering back and forth as they play.

I raise my head a little to see what they're up to.

Ruthie is trying on different hats, still wearing just her panties and a shirt.

Rowan, wearing bellbottoms and a flowery long-sleeved shirt, is tying a belt around her waist.

As my thoughts slip to and fro, I recall what Rowan said earlier about how she'd learned the hard way that her parent's ideas weren't considered 'normal'. The girls are allowed to do what they feel like doing, and not just in private. I wonder if Rowan had gone a little too far at school or something.

"Hi," I hear Ruthie's small voice, playful, in my ear. I open my eyes and turn my head to see her standing in front of me in a model-like pose, bent hip and all. She has settled on a flouncy pink and white hat with a wide brim. My eyes travel down, seeing white and then pink.

"Hey."

"You like it?" She tips the hat down over her eyes and breaks into a toothy grin.

I can't help but be caught up, "Oh, yes, it's quite chic."

She steps closer and looks into my eyes, "What does that mean?"

"Chic means 'stylish' in French," I say. "And maybe you should put some pants on young lady. That is to say, it's almost bedtime."

"Nu-uh," she says, climbing on top of me.

She sits with her knees tucked under her on my stomach. Her knees hurt. I bend my legs up in a half-hearted attempt to remove her, but she just inches forward, her knees going on either side of me, straddling between my chest and stomach. Her panties touch my jacket. I frown up at her, "Yeah-huh."

She leans her face down close to mine, stares into my eyes, and whispers conspiratorially, "We aren't going to bed. Ever." The corners of her mouth twitch as she tries to remain serious. If I didn't know she was just playing around, that would have sounded really creepy.

She bounces on top of me, "Ever!"

Okay, she's more hyper than the hyperdrive on the Millennium Falcon. I glance over to find Rowan. Maybe she'll rescue me? But she isn't here.

My worst fear comes true as Ruthie leans forward and rocks her hips against my sides.

"Where's your sister now?" I ask, trying to keep my eyes locked on hers.

She does it again, grinding her lower torso on me steadily as her eyes rise to meet mine. "She left."

"Left to go...where?"

Her shoulders rise in a half shrug, and then she looks back down.

I purse my lips, swivelling my head to take another survey of the room. No, she's definitely not here. Why does she always leave without telling me? I'm beginning to sense a pattern.

I glance down my body to see Ruthie's hand patting her covered mound. She notices my stare and catches my eye. She shoots me a little smile as she thrusts her hips gently. Her right arm reaches out and holds the back of the sofa for support. The hat slips off and falls onto the floor, but she takes no notice. I'm getting an erection, but luckily Ruthie can't tell from her position.

I raise my wrist up so I can see the time. A few minutes after nine. It's almost bedtime. Hopefully we can agree on this.

"Ruthie," I say, trying to sound amiable. Her face rises up to look at me, dark hair curling across her forehead. Her little mouth is open in an 'o' shape, and I can hear her breathing growing heavier as she goes on humping my stomach. "It's getting close to bedtime, don't you think?"

"Mmm," she gasps a little, and makes a slow pass, dragging her panties over my jacket gradually before returning to her previous pace.

"So we should probably get you ready for bed."

"But," she says in a faltering tone, "I'm not sleepy."

"But once you're in bed-" I start to say, but am interrupted.

"Ohh," she moans softly, watching her panties rub up the zipper line of my jacket.

"Tell you what," I say, my nerves nearing their breaking point. "I'll read you a story."

She stops mid-thrust and looks down into my face with shining eyes, "Deal!"

She drops down to hug me, arms wrapping around, her cheek pressing against the side of my chest. Her butt slides down the crotch of my jeans, which is poking up because of my boner. She rocks her hips, rubbing her panties across my boner, and cuddles into me, giving a little moan of contentment.

This escalated quickly.

I lift her up and onto the floor. She laughs as she flies through the air.

I roll off the sofa and onto my feet, clasping my hands in front of my crotch to obscure the bulge.

Ruthie crosses her arms and grins up at me, "Storytime?"

"Right," I say. "And then sleepy time." I remember the open trunks as she leads me out the door. "Shouldn't we clean up?"

"Nope," she says. "We'll just get them out again tomorrow."

This lessens my annoyance at her; that's basically the same excuse I use when my mom asks me to clean my room.

The hallway is quiet and the light coming through the window is dimming as evening becomes night. "Maybe we should check on your sister first," I say.

She tugs me toward her room, "No, you promised! Read me a story."

"Yeah, but-"

"Otherwise, I won't go to sleep. I'll stay up. With you. All night."

I tell myself that Rowan is old enough to look after herself for a little while longer as Ruthie guides me into her room.

Her bedframe is bright white with bedposts rising from each corner and a pink canopy above it. The bed is made up with green sheets.

"Wait here," Ruthie instructs, letting go of my hand and going to find a book.

I sit on the edge of the bed and gaze around her room. To be honest, it's a little less messy than what I had anticipated. Several piles of clothes lay around: a blouse, a few unmatched socks, a pair of polkadotted panties turned inside out.

There's a large closet with a sliding wooden door standing open a foot or so. There's a plethora of clothes inside. The Clifton's can probably afford to have new ideas about child-rearing.

Ruthie's on her hands and knees in front of a bookshelf to the right of the door. She wriggles her butt a little as she searches for the right book. After a few more moments, she finds it. I stare at the cover as she deposits it into my hand. 'The Brave Little Princess'. The artwork depicts a young princess who stands looking out from a tower with a handsome prince waiting below.

"This is the one?" I ask with a hint of melancholy.

She nods and sits crosslegged on the floor. "Read!"

I make a face, "You haven't put on your pajamas yet."

"I'll do it after," she says, an impatient expression on her delicate face.

"Whatever you say." I open the book to the first page. "Once upon a time, there lived a young princess named Nora. She longed to find true love, but her wicked stepmother had locked her up in a tall tower and hidden the key." I turn the page and glance down at Ruthie. She's leaning forward, hands spread on the carpet, eager for more.

"One day, a brave knight was riding through the woods. He came across the tower and saw the princess in the window...picture!" I turn the book so she can see the illustration of the 'brave knight' looking up at the tower. She looks at it for a few seconds and then bobs her head for me to go on.

As I turn it back around, I see her hand slip into her panties. It barely throws me off.

"The knight saw the stepmother leaving the tower by way of a hidden passageway, and knew the princess must be the woman's prisoner." I look down past the book. I see the outline of her hand through the pink material, rubbing back and forth across herself. She stares up at me, her mouth opening slightly.

"After he was sure the stepmother had gone, the knight tied his horse to a tree and made his way to the tower inside the passageway...picture! Do you wanna see it?"

"Mhmm," she replies, her voice a little higher-pitched than usual. I rotate the book for her, and she gets to her knees to see it better. She takes it in for a second, hand quivering beneath her panties, before saying a rushed, "Okay!" She eases back on her butt and spreads her legs out, knees bent.

I turn the page, and realize my shaft is hardening again. I cross one leg over the other, and bring the book down a little. A thought strikes me: does Mr. Clifton...do things...in the open like his children do? I can't ask Ruthie, so I push the question away for the time being.

"Keep reading," Ruthie says, her words running together as she exhales deeply and gazes up into my face.

"The princess was a little frightened at first, but once he told her he was a knight come to rescue her, and once she took some medication, she felt better." What kind of a book is this?

Ruthie suddenly stands and steps forward, hand still buried inside her panties. "Can I sit on your lap for the last part?"

How can I refuse?

I open my arms and uncross my legs as she climbs up and sits in my lap, her bare legs dangling over mine. I make sure she's sitting on the edge of my legs, out of range of my swelling. I circle my arms around her so I can hold the book in front of both of us, and she uses her hands to help hold it up with me. She leans her head a little to the side so I can see past her.

"The knight led her through the passageway and out into the open forest," I go on. "He helped her onto his horse, and together they rode through the kingdom and back to his castle."

As I read this sentence, she shifts back, causing her panties to press against the bulge in my jeans. She shifts around a little, but doesn't try to move away from it.

"The knight asked her to marry him, and she-" I break off, "Wait a minute!" She turns her head to look at me. "It says he's a knight!"

"He is," she says.

"But he has his own castle."

"Well, he's also a prince," she shoots me a look and scoots her lower torso back so the bulge presses up the front of her panties.

"They agree to be married in one month, and begin making the preparations. Together, they try and decide who to invite. The prince thinks they should invite the girl's stepmother, but the princess doesn't think they should."

Little Ruthie brings her hands down on either side of the bedspread and begins to rock almost imperceptibly. A cute, tiny noise escapes from her mouth.

"Do you think they should invite her?" I ask seriously. She turns, a skeptical look in her eyes. I feign innocence, "Well? Should they?"

She rolls her eyes and smiles, her reply punctuated by a little breath, "I don't...ugh...know."

"Speaking of which, should they even get married? I mean, they just met each other a few pages ago."

She bounces, lifting herself up a little on her hands and then falling back down on my lap as she says the last word, "They're in love!"

"Ooof," I gasp, realizing I will be risking even greater consequences if I insult her book again. I turn to the last page, and Ruthie stops moving, and just melts against me.

"In the end, they invited the stepmother. She brought them a very expensive wedding gift and hoped they would find it in their hearts to forgive her. Instead, the princess punched her lights out and then ordered her locked up in the castle dungeon." I back over the sentence; did I read it right? But I had. Quite the, um, captivating tale.

"The princess and the prince lived many years in their castle. They had 6 children, and two survived. Together as a family they lived happily-ever-after. The end."

As I set the book down on the bed, she grabs my arm and wraps it around her. We don't speak for a full minute, before I finally say, "Getting sleepy, huh?"

"Mphf," she says into my chest.

"Time for pajamas?" I unwrap my arm. She slides off and walks steadily to the closet. I'm about to leave the room when she returns, two sets of pajamas dangling from her hands.

"Which ones?" she asks. The set in her right hand is green and covered with pictures of puppies. I've never liked dogs, really, so I advise her to go with the other option: bright yellow pajama bottoms and a purple top.

"Okay," she says, tossing the unwanted clothes back toward the closet. She sets the PJ's of choice at her feet on the carpet. Her hands come back up to her panties; she starts sliding them down her thighs, still facing me.

Maybe she notices me staring, because she looks up at me and says by way of explanation, "I'm not gonna wear them tonight."

"Well," I say, rising to my feet and heading for the door. "If you need anything, just holler. I'm going to find out where your sister is." I open the door and step into the dark. "Uh, I assume there's a light switch somewhere?"

Stepping out of her panties, she walks over to the doorway and leans out, pointing toward a white panel I hadn't noticed. As I start toward it, she calls, "Come back in to check on me soon!"

"Sure, sure," I tell her, not really planning on going back in until I'm positive she's asleep. "Sleep tight."

Light floods the hallway as Ruthie retreats back into her room and shuts the door behind her. I take a deep breath as I walk down the hall towards Rowan's door. It's still and peaceful, and I tell myself I might just make it through this night after all.

I knock on Rowan's door a few times, but no one answers. Can she be sleeping already? Should I peek in?

I open the door a crack. Darkness. Squinting, I see her bed in the corner of the room. The sheets are smooth; she's not there.

I make my way down the stairs, thinking to myself how eerie this big house is at night. My watch says it's around nine-thirty. I hope Rowan is ready for bed, because I'm planning to watch one of my favorite shows on that giant TV once the girls are tucked away safely.

I poke my head around the living room doorway. No Rowan. I know one place she won't be: her parents' bedroom.

As I walk towards the game room, I hear a sound from the direction of the kitchen. I tiptoe up to the entryway and peer in.

Rowan is sitting on top of the counter with her knees up in front of her, legs bent apart. She's wearing a dark gray pajama top, and the matching pajama bottoms sit on the counter a couple feet from her, one leg hanging over the edge of the granite countertop. A pair of purple and gold panties lays on top of them.

She's looking down, hair falling around her shoulders, as the fingers of her left hand trace a path up her bare slit.

I stifle an exclamation, and watch, undetected. And I had thought Ruthie was the only child who embraced the household rules.

"Ohhh," she breathes, watching her fingers run down her slit. After a few more passes, she places her thumb and middle finger on each side of her crevice and spreads her small lips, revealing inner folds of skin.

She massages around her little nub, moaning heavily.

The floor beneath me picks this moment to creak.

Rowan raises her head. She sees me. And she's not stopping.

"Jake?" she says, exhaling. Then, "Sorry, I..."

I step into the doorway, head down at first, but then my eyes rise to meet her. "Why'd you run off without telling us?"

Fingers rushing up and down her hairless slit, she gasps a little before answering, "Didn't think you'd want to know."

"I'm your babysitter for better or worse," I say, my eyes piercing into hers. "I'm not gonna lie; it was weird at first. But I agreed to watch you guys tonight, and I won't contradict your parents' rules." My eyes drift lower and I gulp as the length of her middle finger slides between her pubescent lips. "You were holding back because you thought I wouldn't like it, weren't you."

She dips her head, her mouth opening to gasp out the words, "I don't want you to leave. Neither does Ruthie."

"I'm not going anywhere," I say, taking a couple steps forward.

"None of them stay-" Her last word morphs into a moan and her eyes shut, knees quivering.

"But your usual babysitter...your dad said-"

Her eyes open as she accentuates the words, "He lied."

A few more steps and I'm standing next to her. I reach for her free hand and take it, squeezing it as I open my mouth to speak. "I'll be your babysitter. I promise." Her eyes stare up at me, widening. Her mouth opens, but no discernable words come out. She squeezes my hand back as her body gives a little shake.

"Everything's gonna be fine," I say, not exactly sure what I'm talking about. With her left hand, she continues to play with her small sex. She looks down at it as I continue, "Your parents are just letting you do what you think is best. And I think that's kinda neat. Although I could barely get Ruthie to bed because she kept-"

I cut off mid-sentence, somewhat alarmed. I think Rowan is reaching a climax! She stops moving her left hand and just holds it still against herself as her hips buck a little. She tips into me with a groan and I put my free hand around her shoulder to steady her. Her hand grips mine hard now, really hard, but I just stand there...thinking to myself...'Did I just help the twelve-year-old I'm babysitting achieve an orgasm?"

Over the next few moments her breath slows and she quiets, still leaning her shoulder against me. Then, she releases my hand and looks up. I look at her as I let go of her shoulder.

She breaks eye contact and brings her left hand up from between her legs. She examines her fingers as I wonder what to do next. After a second, she moves her hand up toward me and says a little sheepishly, "They're kinda wet."

I take this as my cue to go, "Ooookay," I tell her, backing away. "This was a terrific, yet rather unsettling, bonding experience. I'll leave you alone now; I should probably check to see if, um...Ruthie needs anything."

"Wait," she slips off the countertop and onto the tile floor. "I'll come with you."

"Are you sure? You can stay down here if you-"

"Yeah," she asserts, retrieving her purple-gold panties and sliding them back up her legs and over her mound, which still has a little inner fold of skin poking out. "Wait for me!"

I stand by as she finishes dressing.

"So..." I clear my throat as she follows me to the stairs.

"Was that...awkward?" she blurts, falling into step beside me.

"A little," I admit, "but the best things in life are."

"Where'd you learn that?" she jabs her hip into my side and it hurts. "Cliches 101?"

"Think she'll be asleep yet?" I ignore her biting remark. She gives me a look, and I can't help but say what I'm thinking. "Okay, is it normal for a girl her age to-"

"She's just excited that you're here," she interrupts with a small smile.

"What? That I'm..."

"Wanna know something?" she takes my hand as we reach the hallway.

"What?"

"You're the first boy babysitter we've ever had," she confides it like a secret.

"Really?" I can't help but laugh a little, "And you've had lots."

"Yeah," she agrees woefully.

"Sorry, didn't mean to make you feel bad." I stop a couple feet from Ruthie's door. "So why'd they call me? It wasn't for my excellent reputation in the babysitting community, was it..." I sigh, and get a little depressed.

"Do you really wanna know?" She swings our hands.

"I think."

"Well," she begins, "they had another new girl hired, just like always. But I guess her friend had babysat us before, and told her some stuff. So she called earlier today and said she couldn't do it anymore." Her voice softens, "That's why Dad called you. He couldn't find anyone else on such short notice. And Mom and Dad are fed-up with trying to find someone who will stick around."

"Your parents must be gone a lot, huh."

"Yeah."

We just stand there.

Ruthie's door pops open all of a sudden and she walks out, blinking as her eyes adjust to the hall light. As she comes toward us I am unsurprised to see her left arm stuck down underneath the waistband of her pajama bottoms. At this point, I'd be surprised if she didn't have a hand down there.

She smiles sleepily up at us.

"Hi," she breathes.

"Hi yourself," I say, raising an eyebrow. "Weren't you supposed to be in bed?"

"Weren't you supposed to come check on me?"

My babysitter-sense is tingling from all the sass, so I just give her the look.

She swallows, "I was, but I heard you talking, so I came out." Her eyes brighten and her smile widens, "And guess what! Now I'm not sleepy anymore!"

"C'mon," I point out, "it's probably almost ten o'clock."

"Only ten?" Rowan exclaims, tugging my hand enthusiastically. "That means we've got two whole hours!" Ruthie's hand pops into view and she claps, "Yeah!"

"Two hours until they get home," I say. "Not until your bedtime. That time is now." In reality, I don't want it to be bedtime either. I don't want to be left alone in this house, and I actually enjoy their company. Well, most of the time. But I feel like it's my job to be the enforcer, I guess. "C'mon," I say, taking a step toward the bedroom. Luckily, they don't back down.

"You c'mon," Ruthie says, taking my free hand and starting towards the staircase.

"Yeah," Rowan joins in, pulling my other hand along behind her. "Let's watch a movie!"

I allow myself to be led downstairs and into the living room. Once there, they let go of my hands and race to the couch, jumping onto it at the same time. They scoot apart, expecting me to sit between them.

I stand there, arms crossed.

But then I drop the babysitter act.

"Woohoo!" I holler as I join them on the dark leather couch. "But only for a little while. You've gotta be in bed by midnight."

"We know!" Ruthie sings, jumping up to stand on the cushion.

"Hold it, hold it," I tickle at her tummy, causing her to collapse in a fit of giggles beside me. "Don't get hyper," I tell them. "This doesn't mean we can get all worked up again. We can just watch something and settle down, okay?"

"'Kay," Ruthie agrees, slithering up and resting her head on the edge of my lap.

Rowan turns on a film and then rests her head on my shoulder.

A sense of contentment washes over me. Usually by this time I'm eager to get as far away from my wards as possible.

It's a good change.

I'm not good at following movies when I'm wide awake and alone, much less during the night with two girls on either side of me. All I can gather is that there's a boy and a girl heroine who sing together and then fall in love. And then sing some more.

A few minutes into the show, I hear a muffled noise from my left. I glance down at Ruthie. She's on her side facing toward the TV, head still resting on the edge of my left leg. Her entire body is still, save for the familiar outline of a tiny hand, visible in the dim light from the screen. It's moving inside her PJ's at a gentle, tender pace.

That's when I feel a movement from the other side of the couch.

I turn my head slowly so I don't bump Rowan's head, which is still lying on my shoulder. She's placed her arm palm down on the couch between her legs, and is grinding the front of her pajama bottoms gently against her forearm.

I make another attempt to focus on the gigantic television, but the storyline just doesn't hold my attention.

Besides, I tell myself, I was hired to watch the girls.

Little Ruthie's hand remains burrowed down the front of her PJ's. I remember what she told me about not wearing panties to bed. She's doing a really good job of keeping quiet, probably because she's taking my words about 'settling down' to heart. The small bulge between her legs moves as if in slow-motion, and the only noticeable difference in her behavior is her breathing, which comes a little heavier.

On the opposite side of me, Rowan's eyes are shut, her head still tucked against me. But I know she isn't sleeping, because her hand is inside her pants as well, and a tiny gasping breath issues from her mouth now and then. As I watch her from the corner of my eye, she withdraws her left hand from her pants and uses both hands to pull her pajama bottoms off. I'm not sure what to think about this development as she nudges the PJ's onto the cushion beside her and tucks her legs underneath her. She looks down as she places her hand against her panties. Lightly at first, she begins rubbing up and down with her fingertips.

I shift a little, not wanting any part of my body to fall asleep. They both look up at me.

Ruthie, smiling, takes her hand out of her pants and pats my knee. Then she folds both hands together and puts them between her head and my leg, making a little pillow for herself.

Rowan doesn't smile, or stop her fingers moving, but she does reach for my hand with her unoccupied right hand. She clasps it in hers, moves our intertwined hands onto the couch between us, and then looks back down into her lap.

I rest my other hand on Ruthie's head, smoothing her hair away from her eyes. She sighs happily as I do it, and I know she won't last much longer.

"Mmm," Rowan moans, squeezing my hand. I return the gesture and she glances up at me, eyes and mouth wide open.

Her hand rises up from her panties and slides underneath them. She bites her lip as her fingers dance beneath the purple material.

The couch cushion shakes a little as she picks up speed.

I clench her hand in mine as short gasps come from her mouth.

Is this right? I shake the thought from my head. I know it isn't wrong. It isn't hurting anyone. Still, though, it just feels so unnatural, sitting beside a pubescent girl, holding her hand as she pleasures herself.

Rowan's voice, soft and sweet, cuts into my thoughts, "Is she asleep?"

I glance down at Ruthie. Her chest rises and falls evenly. "Yes," I whisper back.

Next thing I know, both of Rowan's hands are grabbing onto mine and pulling. I watch, mouth slightly ajar, as she guides our hands between her legs and then squishes her thighs together, leaving them trapped.

"Rowan," I warn, my arm taut with apprehension.

"Shhh," she raises her head and shoots me a tired smile before plopping it back down again. And that's that.

We remain motionless, our hands clenched between her thighs and her panties. The back of my hand is flat against the fabric, and it's warm and-

I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I know I hear the door swinging open in the front hallway. Mister and Mrs. Clifton! They're back! It must be midnight!

Panicking, I look to either side of me. Ruthie is lying on her stomach with her head on the far arm rest. The hem of her purple shirt has ridden up a little during our rest, revealing an inch of her spine, but that's the worst of it. If she fell asleep with her hand down her pants, it's not noticeable. I breath a sigh of relief.

Rowan, on the other hand, never put her pants back on. She's curled up in a ball with her rear end out toward the TV. Her pants are on the floor.

They're halfway to the living room entrance!

Standing now, I shake Rowan by the shoulder and grab for her pants. She gives a start, and is about to say something when I shush her, motioning frantically to the front hall.

She understands instantly, bless her soul, and snatches the garment from me.

I move to meet her parents, hoping to give her enough time to dress.

They seem a bit surprised to see me. Mr. Clifton puts on a questioning smile, "You're still here!"

"Of course," I say, deciding on the spur of the moment to act perfectly innocent. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Oh, well," the man stammers.

His wife speaks up, "How was everything...how were they?"

"Great," I say.

"Nothing...unexpected came up?" she questions, sounding like a private investigator from a TV show.

"Nothing I wasn't prepared for," I tell her.

"That's a relief to hear," her husband says, breaking into a real smile and shaking my hand.

Then they take a step into the living room and I follow them, talking as I go, "I hope it's okay; the girls and I decided to watch a late movie and then they fell asleep and I didn't want to disturb them."

The Clifton's stand there, backs to me. Rowan, fully dressed, rises from her seat on the couch and tiptoes to her parents.

"Ruthie's still sleeping," she whispers, giving both a hug. "Did you have a nice time?"

"Oh, yes," her mother says, aloof. I'm sure they're both wondering why in the world this babysitter wasn't scared off.

"I'd better get going," I say quietly. I take a step backward, but then Rowan meets my eyes, and I clear my throat. "We really did have a phenomenal time." Nothing from them. "I'd be happy to come back again if you ever need me."

Mr. Clifton turns to me, "I'm sure that won't be necessary," he smiles. "Not that we don't like you, but this was a last minute situation, and we normally prefer fema-"

"No," Rowan steps forward and pulls at her father's arm. "He's the best babysitter ever." He looks down at her, gaping a little. Mrs. Clifton joins him in gaping. "Ruthie thinks so, too," she finishes. Then she turns to me with a twinkle in her eyes.

"Well!" her mother says, not hiding her shock.

"I suppose if you feel that strongly about it," begins her father.

He starts to walk me out while Mrs. Clifton herds Rowan in the opposite direction. She waves at me once before disappearing, and I wave back. I give Ruthie's sleeping form a brief wave, too. Needless to say, she'll probably be furious at me for leaving without saying goodbye.

"Perhaps we will need your assistance in the future, after all," Mr. Clifton says as he leaves me on the porch. "Thank you, young man."

"The pleasure was all mine," I tell him. He closes the door.

Well, not all of it.