A couple days after I first babysat Ben and Joe Watkins, Mz. Collins wanted me to babysit her nine year old son Dwight.

When Mz. Collins opened the door to let me in the house it felt like my eyes were going to pop out of my head. She was wearing what may have been the most revealing dress I'd ever seen an actual living breathing woman wearing: a scarf-like strip of fabric, perhaps four inches wide, looped up over one breast, went around behind her neck, and came back down covering 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; the matte black fabric the dress was made from only seemed to exacerbate how revealing it was. On top of that, Mz. Collins was wearing bright red five-inch tall stiletto heels...

My dick instantly went hard in my shorts as I said, "Wow."

She smiled at me and commented, "You never saw me dressed for a date before, have you Kyle..."

"Uhm," I stammered, "No, I haven't..." I took a breath before adding, "Looking like that he'll have trouble saying good night to you."

"I hope so, I met him on a website for divorced single parents; and a boy needs to have male guidance to grow into a man," she said before heading out the door.

Not more than five minutes after Mz. Collins closed the door behind her, Dwight stepped in front of me and declared, "Joe told me about how you shot this white stuff out of your dick: I wanna see it."

"Did Joe tell you that in exchange for getting to see the white stuff shoot out of my dick; he had to clean it up?" I asked, wondering how much the first kids I ever babysat had told their friends about the naughty things we had done.

"Unh-huh," Dwight replied.

"When the white stuff shoots out of my dick it makes a big mess. If you want to see it you'll clean the mess up," I said. "Sure: if that's what I have to do to see it," he simply declared.

"Alright," I said as I pulled down the front of my shorts and boxers.

I wrapped my fingers around my mostly hard thirteen-year-old dick and began moving my fist up-and-down the length of the shaft. After four strokes, mu dick was fully inflated and rock hard; I continued stroking...

After about three minutes of stroking my dick, I felt my butt cheeks tighten. An instant later I could feel the cum surging out 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; coming to land on the carpeted living room floor a good eighteen inches in front of me.

"Wow!" Dwight commented.

A small fraction of a second later another spurt of cum followed the first. Dwight put his hands together, cupped them and after reaching out; attempted to catch the spurt of my thirteen-year-old cum as is shot through the air. He missed it by little more than an inch; and like the first spurt, it came to land on the carpeted floor.

Another second passed and another 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. Again, it fountained up several inches in the air. Dwight moved his hands a little and succeeded in catching the spurt of cum mid-air. "It's slippery and sticky at the same time..." he commented while rubbing the cum I had just shot between his fingers.

Dwight must have been completely fixated on the cum that was on his hand, because he made no attempts to catch the fourth, fifth or sixth spurts of cum that shot out of the little hole at the tip of my thirteen-year-old dick.

With my orgasm subsiding, my dick began to soften in my hand. Letting go of my dick, I pulled my boxers and shorts back up; before saying, "You're gonna want to clean it up before it starts sticking to the carpet."

My words seemed to bring Dwight back to reality. He looked at the surprisingly spread-out mess of pearlescent white globs on the carpet and asked, "What should I use to clean it up?"

"Toilet paper or tissues will tear on the carpet," I thought aloud, before suggesting, "I'd go with paper towels."

Dwight ran off to the kitchen and returned a moment later with a roll of paper towels. He tore a sheet off the roll and began scrubbing the cum out of the carpet. I, meanwhile, sat back down on the sofa and thought to myself, "...babysitting has got to be the best job ever..."

Several minutes passed before Dwight asked, "Did I get it all?"

After looking at the carpeted floor for about ten seconds I said, "Looks like it."

He took the dirty paper towels back to the kitchen, retuned empty handed, took the roil of paper towels back to the kitchen and returned again, before commenting, "Ben said you weren't wearing any underpants under your shorts when you babysat him and Joe," while standing in front of me.

"Yeah, so?" I asked.

"Well...why weren't you?" he asked.

I paused for a moment trying to remember that day; for whatever reason I couldn't remember why I had gone without underpants. Knowing that Dwight was expecting some sort of answer, I said, "I didn't have any clean one to put on that morning..." Even if it wasn't actually the case that particular morning, it had happened to me a few times, so as far as I was concerned it was truthful enough...

"Oh..." Dwight said. He paused for a second, and after taking a breath asked, "Is it any different not wearing underpants?"

"Never really thought about it," I commented, before offering, "I guess there's a little more room down there..."

A few seconds passed in silence before Dwight asked, "Could I try not wearing underpants to see what it's like?"

I was about to say `sure' when a thought occurred to me; so I ended up asking, "Do you usually wear underpants to bed?"

"Yup," he replied; then took a breath before asking, "Why?"

"Well," I began, "Your mom will expect you to be wearing underpants to bed..." I trailed off.

"Yeah, so?" he half asked, half commented.

"So..." I thought aloud, "I guess it would be okay if you went without underpants until you go to bed..."

"Really?" Dwight asked in an extremely hopeful tone.

"Yeah: really. But you have to put on a pair when you go to bed," I replied. He said the word "cool" under his breath and proceeded to yank both his shorts and underpants down to his ankles in one motion. Dwight then stepped out of both pieces of clothing, lifted the pair of tighty-whities he had been wearing out of his shorts and tossed them onto the arm of the sofa, before stepping back into his shorts and pulling them back up.

"So, does it feel any different?" I asked, wondering if it actually felt significantly different.

"Yup." Dwight shook his hips around before saying, "Lots more room...it feels real neat the way my dick and balls can swing around!"

I couldn't help but laugh a little at his comment before I replied, "yeah, I suppose that's true..."

For several minutes Dwight just stood there. It seemed like he was deep in thought. Then he surprised me by saying, "I think I might know a way to make white creamy stuff come out of my dick..."

"You're too young to be able to do that," I began to explain.

"No, I think it'll work. Can we try? Please, Please..." he began to beg.

I began to say, "If you really want to..."

"I do, I do. Please," he interrupted me.

"Well, okay I guess; but you're gonna have to clean up whatever comes out," I said.

"In the kitchen," Dwight said as he bounded off.

I was about to ask why he wanted to try to jerk off in the kitchen; but considering how tough it had been getting my cum out of the rug in the living room, it kinda made sense to do it over a tile floor. So, I hopped off the sofa and followed him to the kitchen.

Stepping into the kitchen, I wasn't all that surprised to see that Dwight had removed his shorts. What was quite surprising, however, was that he had torn a piece of plastic wrap off the roll and was wrapping it around his nine-year-old dick. Initially, I thought he was planning on using the plastic wrap as some sort of home-made condom; likely in hopes of containing anything that might come out of his dick. Then I noticed that he had simply wrapped it around the shaft of his dick, with the outer edge being a good inch or so beyond the very tip of his mostly hard nine-year-old dick.

"Ah Dwight..." I began, but was unable to find the right words to complete what I wanted to say.

"Yeah?" he asked.

"Uhm; what's your plan exactly?" I asked pointing at his plastic wrap enshrouded dick.

Smiling, he said, "Fill the rest of the plastic wrap with this," before handing me what looked like a giant salt shaker. I looked more closely at what Dwight had handed me. The words "ALL PURPOSE FLOUR" appeared on the side of the canister. I paused for a moment to think. "When you add flour to water it makes it white and kinda thick," he explained.

"So..." I began to question his logic before I figured out what he must have been thinking, "Oh...okay," I said as I began to pour some of the flour into the ring of plastic wrap around the head of his dick.

"That feels weird," Dwight commented.

I stopped pouring the flour and said, "If it hurts we shouldn't try it."

"It doesn't hurt, it just feels kinda weird," Dwight replied, before adding, "Fill it all the way up to the top of the plastic wrap."

Since he said he wasn't in pain, I figured `what the hell' and resumed pouring flour into the ring of plastic wrap around the head of Dwight's dick. I stopped when there was less than an eighth-inch of plastic wrap sticking up above the surface of the flour.

"Okay, so now what?" I asked, deciding to play dumb.

Dwight took a deep breath before saying "watch." He took another deep breath and, half a second after he began to exhale, some surprisingly thick, really pale yellow liquid shot up seven or so inches into the air, out of the center of the flour that was covering the tip of his dick. Dwight's face seemed to clench while he briefly stopped exhaling and the liquid stopped coming out. Then a bit more of the thick pale yellow liquid show up into the air. Again his face clenched and the liquid stopped...

Shot of thick pale yellow liquid, then nothing, shot of thick pale yellow liquid, then nothing... It went on like that for about three minutes.

Several seconds after the last shot of thick pale yellow liquid shot into the air I declared, "Holy shit: you did it!"

"Yeah," he replied before looking down at the floor, "That's a big mess..."

I looked down, "Yes, yes it is," I said seeing that a six inch wide by eighteen inch long oval shaped area of the floor was covered in a thick pale yellow glaze.

"Can't believe I peed on the kitchen floor after promising myself I wouldn't do it again..." Dwight commented in a down-trodden voice.

"Yea..." I began to say before his words fully sunk in. "Wait, you peed on the kitchen floor before?"

Hanging his head a bit, Dwight began, "Once a couple years ago I couldn't make it the bathroom... Promise not to tell anybody?"

"Well, yeah: sure, I promise. We all have accidents every now and then," I half lied trying to reassure him, "It's nothing to be ashamed of," that part was most definitely a lie in my opinion. Heck, the last time I had peed my pants I was only five; and I did everything in my power to make sure nobody found out.

Dwight lifted his head a bit as he squatted down and said, "But it was kinda cool too: most of the pee disappeared here," he pointed at a tiny crack where the bottom of the cabinet next to the dishwasher met the tile floor.

"Oh yeah?' I asked a bit fascinated by what I'd just been told.

"Yeah, so the next time I had to pee when I was the only one downstairs, I peed on the same spot and watched as it disappeared," he said.

"So you peed on the kitchen floor on purpose that time," I pondered.

"Unh-huh, but just so I could see it disappear; you know, `cause it looked so cool," Dwight explained before nervously asking, "You're not gonna tell anybody, right?"

"Naw, it'll be our secret," I said before asking, "How many times have you done that?"

"Uhm... Maybe twenty times," he said, "But I haven't since last summer."

"If the pee disappears and it looks so cool when it happens, why'd you stop?" I asked, wondering why I found it so interesting.

"Not all the pee disappears: I gotta wipe up the last bit with a paper towel. That's no big deal, but the last time, Mommy came downstairs before I could wipe up the last bit and she stepped in it..."

"Oh, that's bad," I said.

"No, the bad part is she wasn't wearing any shoes," Dwight explained with a grimace.

Cringing at the thought of putting my bare foot into pee, I said, "Oh yeah; that is bad."

"She yelled at me for like fifteen minutes about cleaning up when I spill water," he said.

"Your mom didn't know it was pee?" I asked.

"No," Dwight said, "If she had, I don't wanna even think about how long she'd have yelled at me."

"Wow..." I pondered, before offering, "I'll help you clean up the mess if..." I trailed off.

"If what?" he asked.

"If I can get to see what it looks like when the pee disappears there," I finished my thought.

"I just peed, and don't have to anymore," Dwight said.

"Yeah, I know. What if I peed on the floor?" I suggested.

"Okay...I guess," he replied.

I quickly pulled my shorts and boxers down, taking hold of my mostly soft dick I asked, "Where should I aim?"

Pointing at a spot on the floor about four inches from the cabinet, Dwight said, "Aim here, but squat down, so it doesn't splash too much when it hits the floor."

I squatted and pointed my dick at the general spot where Dwight had pointed before releasing my bladder. An instant later a steady stream of warm yellow urine was flowing out of the little hole at the tip of my thirteen-year-old dick; it arced outwards and down hitting the tile floor within a small fraction of an inch from the spot where the nine year old boy I was babysitting had pointed. The piss splashed up about one-half of an inch, before coming to land a little bit closer to the cabinet. A small yellow puddle began to form on the floor; strangely it seemed to spread no more than an inch to either side: however it was making 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. "Whoa! That does look cool," I commented as I continued peeing. Amazingly, the amount of pee on the floor seemed to stay exactly the same: the rest simply disappearing between the bottom of the cabinet and floor...

Sadly, I only had enough pee in me to be able to continue going for about forty seconds.

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

***

As Dwight's bedtime approached I sent him to change into his pj's and told him put his underpants back on. He grabbed his underpants off the arm of the sofa and headed upstairs.

Then, when Dwight returned to the living room, I asked, "You put your underpants back on, right?"

He surprised me a bit by pulling down the front of his pajama bottoms; revealing the front of a pair of tightie-whities, instead of simply saying yes as I had been expecting.

Moments later, as I was sending Dwight to bed he asked, "Kyle, are you gonna babysit me next time Mom goes on a date?"

"I certainly hope so," I honestly replied.

"Cool," Dwight replied, "Because the stuff we did was fun..." Mere seconds later he was heading to bed.

***

By the time Mz. Collins got home from her date it was 12:38 in the morning: over an hour later than when she had told my mother she'd have me home. I was still awake, but kinda tired when she walked in through the front door. Her hair was all messed up, her make-up was smudged, and her dress looked kinda crumpled, "Are you alright?" I asked; more than slightly surprised by the disheveled state she was in.

"Yeah, sure..." she replied, sounding as if she had no idea what she was actually saying. She looked at the clock and added, "Whoa...it's a lot later than I thought..." "Unh-huh: I was supposed to be home over an hour ago," I reminded her.

"Ough; I better call your mother," Mz. Collins said.

She looked decidedly un-steady as she walked over to the phone. She dialed, then spoke, "Sally, its Maggie Collins: sorry for not having gotten Kyle home, my date ran later than I expected..." There was a pause; clearly my mother was talking. Then, Mz. Collins spoke again, "Kyle could spend the night here..." Another pause, then Mz. Collins said, "Alright; thanks for understanding..." and hung up the phone.

Turning to me, Mz. Collins said, "Since it's so late you'll spend the night here," in a very definitive tone.

"Okay," I replied, slumping back into the sofa.

Sitting down on the sofa next to me, Mz. Collins kicked her shoes off and asked, "Dwight wasn't any trouble for you I hope?" "No: no trouble at all," I replied, "He's a good kid." "Glad to hear that; he's good at making messes and not cleaning them up," she said. I was surprised to hear her say that, since Dwight had done a great job cleaning up my cum from the carpeted floor of the living room,

as well as the piss and flour mixture on the kitchen floor.

Not wanting to accidentally reveal the naughty things Dwight and I had done, I changed the subject, "So how was your date?"

She pointed at herself and said, "How's it look like it went?"

Not entirely sure how to respond to her question; I replied, "Either very good, or very bad..."

Laughing, Mz. Collins said, "It started out really good," she put her hand on my arm and said, "He was even a good kisser..."

Her somewhat sexual comment piqued my interest, "Really..." I heard myself saying.

Squeezing my arm a little she quietly explained, "Oh; the way he sucked on my lips and tongue..." in an excited voice.

I knew this was something Mz. Collins was not supposed to be telling me. But...she was hot...and she was telling me something that involved her and sex... Needless to say I wanted to hear whatever she was willing to tell me and then some. "Oh yeah?" I asked.

Pulling on my arm; she moved my hand from my leg onto her thigh, just above her knee. Mz. Collins practically whispered, "See how far I can stick my tongue out," before sticking her tongue all the way out: its tip a good inch beyond her lower lip. Moving her tongue back into her mouth she continued telling me, "He could stick his tongue out maybe twice that far," an incredibly naughty grin on her face.

I stuck my tongue out and measured how far out I could get it with the finger and thumb on the free hand, before saying, "Wow. So he was a good kisser because he could..." I trialed off: the idea that a person would be a good kisser because he could stick his tongue out really far seemed odd to me.

Still grinning, Mz. Collins slowly nodded her head twice as she said, "His tongue touched places inside my mouth that have never been touched by a tongue before..." She trailed off, then promptly kissed me on the lips.

The fact that this hot thirty-some year old woman was telling me about how a guy she had been on a date with was a good kisser and then her kissing me; startled me enough that I found myself asking, "So what was the bad part of the date?"

She let go of my arm, wrapped her arms around me, and began quietly sobbing, "What he tried to do to me at Lovers Lounge," into my shoulder.

"What's `Lovers Lounge'?" I asked.

"It's this really real romantic bar over in Washington Township...they've got these little round two-person booths surround by curtains so couples can make-out while feeding each other chocolate covered strawberries and champagne," Mz. Collins explained.

"That sounds like a great place for a date," I commented, while trying to make a mental note of the place's name and location for any dates I might have in the future.

"It is," she sobbed into my shoulder.

"So, then, why are you crying?" I asked; not understanding what the problem could be.

"Well, it was going good: we were kissing," Mz. Collins sniffled, "Then he reached under my dress..." she sniffled again, "He was feeling my thighs; that was okay..." another sniffle, "He grabbed and started squeezing my breasts; that was okay too..." another sniffle, "But then, he grabbed and ripped my panties off..." At that point she began openly sobbing.

"And that you weren't okay with," I said; coming to the conclusion that her date had tried, and maybe even succeeded at sexually assaulting her. Despite how troubled, maybe even pissed off, I was by what she was telling me; my dick had stiffened to about half-hard in my shorts.

"..I mean I..." Mz. Collins continued to sob into my shoulder, "...I would have..."

Suddenly her words `ripped my panties off' hit me like a ton of bricks. With my left hand still on her thigh just above her right knee; the only things between my left pinky and her pussy were the hem of her dress and about eight inches of air! With that realization, my dick twitched and went completely hard in my shorts.

"Those were expensive panties..." Mz. Collins continued to sob on my shoulder. She sniffled again, "If he had asked me to..." yet another sniffle, "...to take them off, I would have..."

"You would have?" I asked in near disbelief.

"Unh-huh," she replied tilting her had back and away from my shoulder.

"If you would have taken them off, why are you so mad that he ripped them off?" I reasoned aloud.

"It was a two-hundred and sixty dollar pair of panties," she explained.

"Seriously!?" I commented, "What are they made from, gold?" finding it hard to believe someone would spend so much money on such a small and UNSEEN piece of clothing.

"Handmade lace from natural silk thread: two-sixty was a good price," Mz. Collins explained.

I sat there silently for a moment trying to imagine what a par of panties like that might look like...and got nowhere.

Still hugging me; she very seriously half asked, half said, "Promise me you'll never rip a woman's panties off her?"

"No... Err....ah, I mean; I'd never rip a piece of clothing off a woman," I said, "Unless it was like on fire or something..." I honestly added.

Smiling, Mz. Collins said, "Yeah...yeah you wouldn't do something like that: you're a good guy..." as she leaned back into my shoulder. Having no idea how to respond to her comment; I lifted the fingers of my left hand off her thigh and patted them back down with a barely audible slapping sound, slightly further up her on her leg, while saying, "Thanks..."

"You don't know how tough it is..." Mz Collins began quietly saying into my ear, "...a twenty-eight year old woman with a nine year old son who wets his pants every couple months..."

Now that was news to me: "Hunh?"

"Oh, I...I didn't tell you that," Ms Collins said. "It's tough, though: a kid and no husband, a job that doesn't pay all that well and a mortgage..."

"Yea..." I mumbled, still being distracted by wondering what a par of panties like that would look like. I shook my head to try to get the thought out of my mind.

"What's wrong?" she asked; again moving her head away from my shoulder.

"I'm sorry," I replied, "I just can help but wonder what a par of panties like that would look like..." I trailed off, embarrassed by my apparent lack of imagination.

Mz. Collins surprised me by chuckling as she said, "I've got two more pairs: if you wanna see what they look like..." The head in my shorts was clearly doing the thinking, because I immediately said, "Yes."

"They're in the dresser, so we'll have to go upstairs to be bedroom," Mz. Collins said as she let go of me and began to stand.

Bending forward to stand, I noticed the pair of red stilettos that Mz. Collins had kicked off only moments before sitting on the floor in front of the sofa. I simply reached down and grabbed them, before standing.

Mz. Collins was about four steps ahead of me when she turned and said, "Come on..." I needed no more encouragement than that, and practically ran to catch up with her.

When we reached the top of the stairs, she turned to me and quietly said, "We gotta be quiet so we won't wake Dwight." She then began tip-toeing down the hall. I followed walking as quietly as I could.

Closing the bedroom door behind us, Mz. Collins commented, "Sneaking you into my bedroom without waking Dwight: it reminds me of sneaking boys into my bedroom past my parents when I was a teenager..." with a little giggle.

Her comment caused me laugh in a nervous little giggle. Once I regained my composure, I asked, "Where do you want me to put your shoes?"

"You really are spoiling me Kyle," Mz. Collins commented. "Next to the door to the closet is fine," she instructed pointing to a door on the other side of the room.

I did as instructed; while she went to a dresser, opened a drawer and retrieved a small white item.

Seeing the panties I was a bit disappointed: they looked like someone had simply used lace doilies as the fabric to make a pair of decidedly conventional underpants out of... "They don't look all that special," I truthfully commented.

"They're made from natural silk; feel them," Mz. Collins said.

I didn't believe my ears: a hot twenty-eight year old woman was actually telling me to touch her panties! My dick twitched in my shorts as I very tentatively reached out and let the tips of my fingers gently glide across the pair of panties Mz. Collins was showing me. "They feel kinda...well, luxurious," I honestly commented. Before boldly lying, "I can't really picture how they'd look on a woman though..."

"You want me to model them for you?" Mz. Collins asked in a way that made me all but certain that she knew I was lying.

"Oh, no; that's not necessary," I stammered in an attempt to make sure I stayed on her good side.

Smiling, Mz. Collins looked at me for a moment, before saying, "I cried on your shoulder: you deserve something for that..." She took a breath before saying, "Turn around."

I turned to face the windows: my back towards Mz. Collins.

"Now don't turn back until I tell you to," she added

"Okay," I said. A millisecond later I noticed that I could see her reflection in the glass: it was like I was looking in a mirror...

I watched as Mz. Collins removed her dress. She had been completely NAKED under that dress...and my god did she have an INCREDIBLE body! I could actually feel drop of pre-cum oozing out of the little hole at the tip of my thirteen-year-old dick. Mz. Collins proceeded to open another drawer in the dresser; she took out then put on a surprisingly short, shiny black tank top over her bare breasts... A second later, she was ever so gently pulling the silk lace panties up her legs and over her hips.

"Okay, you can turn around now," she said. As I was turning, I happened to catch a glimpse of the time on the alarm clock: `2:31'. I continued turning until I was facing Mz. Collins.

I looked at Mz. Collins. Seeing the way the panties fit, I was actually a bit disappointed: there was quite a bit of material between the waistband and the top of the leg-holes, and the panties looked like they completely covered her butt-cheeks. The way they were shaped almost looked like a pair of boys' tightie-whities, except made from doylies.

"So, what do you think?" Mz. Collins asked.

Not wanting to say I was disappointed by her extremely expensive panties, I didn't respond.

"See how my skin is visible through the lace," Mz. Collins continued. I stared at her panties. "It's that way on the back too," she added before turning around so her back was towards me.

Being able to see the skin of her butt through her panties was kinda hot... "Wow," I commented.

When she turned back around I noticed that the crotch was lace as well: I could actually see more than half of her pussy! "So what do you think?" she asked again.

"That's pretty neat," I commented. Just then I yawned. "Sorry, it's not you; it's just pretty late..." I attempted to explain / apologize.

"I'm not offended. Tomorrow will be here soon, we should get some sleep," she said.

"Right," I said, "So, uhm, where am I sleeping?"

"The spare bedroom is full of crap my ex-husband still has to pick up..." she began.

"Sofa it is then," I offered.

"You're not sleeping on the sofa," Mz. Collins declared. She paused for a second before saying, "you can sleep in here with me."

Initial I assumed she meant on the floor, so I said, "The sofa's fine..."

"Nonsense," she cut me off, "The bed is more than big enough for two people."

"Ahhh..." I stammered, "Are..."

"Turn around, take off your shorts and sneaker," she instructed.

"Turn around, why?" I asked.

"I'm not sleeping in these panties," Mz. Collins explained.

"Oh, alright," I responded before turning towards the window again. I dropped then stepped out of my shorts, while watching Mz. Collins' reflection in the window as she removed the silk lace panties and put on a more conventional but somewhat smaller black pair. I then pulled my t-shirt over my head before bending down to remove my sneakers and socks.

"You can turn around whenever you want," Mz. Collins said.

After getting both socks off my feet I turned towards the bed, to see that Mz. Collins was giving me a strange look. "What?" I asked.

"No shirt..." she commented.

Just as I sat on the edge of the bed, I lied, "I never wear a shirt to bed;" since I was facing away from her as I spoke I figured she'd have a tougher time telling if I was telling the truth or not. And even if she did think I might be lying, I wanted to have as little between my body and her's once we got under those covers...

"Oh...okay," I heard her say as I was slipping my feet and legs under the covers.

A second later, as I layed back and my head hit the pillow, I found myself under the covers with Mz. Collins. I could hardly believe it: I mean I was actually in bed with a hot nearly naked twenty-eight year old woman... "Kyle, have you ever slept in the same bed with a woman before?" she asked.

"Unt-unh," was all I managed to reply.

"Two rules," she said, "Keep it in your pants and don't put your hands anywhere they shouldn't go." Before rolling onto her side facing me; she snuggled in close to me, put her head on my shoulder and closed her eyes. OH MY GOD: I could feel her right breast pressing against the left side of my chest; her extremely smooth hairless and quite shapely legs were rubbing against mine... My dick was probably harder than it had ever been.

"Okay," I said while pulling the covers up a bit. Then it hit me, "What places shouldn't my hands go?"

Mz. Collins took my right hand and put it on her arm, "Here's okay," she moved my hand to her waist, "Here too," she moved my hand to her hip, "Here as well," she moved my hand to the outside of her thigh, "Here's good also..."

Ah...uhm, okay," I stammered.

"Just don't put your hand here," she moved my hand to her butt, "Or here," she moved my hand to her crotch, "Or here," she moved my hand to her breasts. "Got it?" Mz. Collins asked.

"I think so," I said before moving my hand to her waist. "Good: get some sleep; it'll be morning soon..." If somebody had told me I was going to be in that situation and ask me how long it would take for me to fall asleep, I suspect I'd have said that "I wouldn't" and yet a few minutes later I was sound asleep.

***

"Mommy?" I heard Dwight ask, "Is Kyle gonna be my new daddy?" hearing those words I was suddenly wide awake. I don't think I could have imagined a worse way to wake up: I was laying on my left side, Mz. Collins was directly in front of me, her butt was pressed firmly against my lap / pubic region, our legs were intertwined, my dick was hard and felt wet, my left hand was under the pillow, and my right hand was on her right breast...

"No Dwight," Mz. Collins said as she attempted to sit up. She didn't have a lot of success considering where my right hand was. "It was late when Mommy got home from her date, so Kyle slept here," she managed to explain.

"Oh, okay Mommy," Dwight said.

"Go downstairs t the kitchen, and I'll be down in a minute to make you some breakfast," Mz. Collins told her nine year old son. A moment later Dwight was walking out of the bedroom...

Once Dwight had left the room, Mz. Collins began to pull herself away from me. My lap / pubic region was stuck to her butt. There was this quiet but decidedly audible tearing sound and a bit of pain when she managed to pull her butt away from me.

"Well, I'd say you enjoyed sleeping..." Mz. Collins said.

I almost didn't believe my eyes when she stood: there was a whitish stiff-looking stain on the back of her panties. OH MY GOD: had I...did I have a wet dream while in bed with Mz. Collins!? If I did: HOLY SHIT...should I have been embarrassed, or thrilled... Well either way, Mz. Collins didn't seem to mind.

I hopped out of bed and quickly got dressed while Mz. Collins put a decidedly un-sexy skirt and sleeve-less top on.

***

In short order all three of us had eaten breakfast and after Mz. Collins paid me, I was on my bicycle headed home.