Bible Camp Babysitter – Day 01

“Don’t worry, Susan,” I assured her as she turned again at the bottom of the steps. “I’ve done this before, remember?”

She smiled uncertainly. “I am so grateful, Tim. This means so much to me. I know…” she trailed off but I knew what she was going to say and gave her a warm smile back.

It had been six years since Catherine died. My wife, Catherine, who had been best friends with Susan since they’d met in grade school. Susan had been there our whole marriage, in and out of her own the first few years, she’d had her daughter Jessica three months after we’d had Mary.

Over the years Mary and Jessica had, not surprisingly, also become best friends. They’d remained so even after Susan moved deeper into the city for a job, though they couldn’t see each other as often. Likewise, deprived of their near-daily contact, Catherine and Susan had become more and more attached to their annual trip to a Women’s Bible Camp upstate. It became a tradition for me to take a week off, watch Mary and Jessica, and let them go together to the camp.

Susan was right. “Yes,” I finished for her smoothly. “This is what Catherine would have wanted.” It was always easier on her if I said it. We got along very well, and maintained an acquaintance through our daughters, but were both mindful of the loss we shared. She’d known her much longer, and I had married her.

“Believe me, I’m good,” I said. “I’ve got some movies, a bunch of fun meals planned, I’ll take them to the mall, we’ll go ice skating, the time will fly.”

“Thanks, Tim,” she smiled as though she didn’t fully believe me but was glad for me to give her the easy out.

“Have a good time, get refreshed,” I waved. She climbed into her car and backed out of the driveway. The truth was somewhere in the middle. I always seemed to have a good time bonding with the girls, but the time still managed to drag by, and sometimes I felt a little grumpy that I burned a whole week of vacation so someone else could go on vacation.

I turned and entered the already-boisterous house. “Kids just get louder each year,” I murmured. I imagined that I needed to lean into the blare of noise coming from my daughter’s room just to pass her half-open door. Jessica and Mary were sitting cross-legged on the bed, booting up Mary’s laptop, adjusting the volume (upward) on her stereo, and jabbering at the top of their voices. Jess’s duffel lay at the foot of the bed, already open as if the clothing and trinkets inside had burst out the moment she’d set it down.

“And it does seem the years come quickly,” I thought aloud, pausing at the door to let them see me. I waved from the hallway, somewhat unwilling to enter in case all the color, music, and cartoons of the room might alter my personality too much. They waved back absently and kept talking as Mary fiddled with the touchpad on her computer, loading something.

“Funny to see them going on like they’re still ten,” I smiled. “They look like young women now.”

I guess it struck me like any regular, annual event, how much had changed over the last years. How much of it was the past twelve months I couldn’t say, because sometimes it all seemed to blend together, but there was none of the tubular pre-teen look about them now. “They really are young women,” I sighed. “I don’t feel old enough to have a nineteen-year-old daughter.”

They were both graceful, had both filled out nicely with long, smooth legs, silky hair, and breasts that could no longer be called budding. Their clothing now snugged their hips, rather than being belted on in a utility fashion. They wore trendy shorts, attractive skirts, unusual tops, and the effect was no longer “adorable” but “alluring”. Their bare feet had lost that cute-as-a-button look and were now as beautiful as the rest of them. I shook my head at the flashy belts, fuzzy tops, and barely functional sleepwear that spilled onto the floor. — A few hours later, as I toweled my hands dry after washing up after dinner, I heard the patting of bare feet on the hardwood floor and some light giggling as they crossed the livingroom to the kitchen. “Daddy,” Mary called as they entered, just loud enough that it sounded as though she felt she still needed to compete with the noise of her room. “What’s on for tonight?”

I turned around nearly and dropped my towel. Mary and Jess stood in the archway to the livingroom in what I suppose they would call nightgowns but I would categorize firmly in the lingerie department. Light fabric, through which I could just see the girls’ nubile outlines, poked forward and clung in all the right places. Most of their supple legs were exposed. Their nipples stood out sharply.

“I…” I stammered a moment. Some of my surprise must have shown on my face, for they both giggled, but stood their ground.

“We always start the week with a movie together,” Jess pouted prettily. She could have no idea what that kind of pout did to a man, or could she? I thought I saw a mischievous glint in her eyes, but I was all too apt to be imagining it. I was a man of forty, almost forty-five. She was a girl of nineteen, about three months younger than my own daughter. I suppressed an angry thought about how teenage girls acted and projected themselves.

“Well, that’s true,” I gathered my wits as quickly as possible. “But we usually watched a kids movie and I wasn’t sure if you were still into the idea.”

“Very much!” Mary assured me with a grin.

“Only if it’s a hot-chocolate, pajama-party,” Jess said quickly. “I look forward to this for months!”

“It’s a little cold, don’t you think?” I suggested delicately.

“Oh, that’s okay,” Mary spun on the spot, her flimsy ‘nightgown’ flaring out. “I’ll go get the giant blanket while Jess picks out a movie.” She looked over her shoulder with a coyness that was supposed to remind me of when she was younger, with the imperiousness of a ten-year-old. “You make the hot chocolate daddy, then get into your pajama’s too. That’s the tradition.”

“Right,” I watched her go, suddenly worried how she could ever get through college without being trashed by some unwelcome sports squad. But I dutifully turned back around and got out a pot for my home-made hot chocolate.

I had just pulled out the milk, some breaker chocolate, and turned on the heat when I felt arms around me from behind. “Thanks, Mr. Schmidt,” Jessica said warmly, giving me a hug. “It’s so nice to come here every year. It’s…” but just what she was thinking I could only guess – if the faculty of thought had been left to me. Her voice trailed off, and she squeezed me affectionately.

I knew it was hard for her. Jessica’s parents had undergone an ugly divorce and still fought furiously, and Jess was frequently in the middle. Neither parent was particularly wealthy – Jess’s father drove trucks and was often on the road, and Susan was always searching for a job that would pay well – but usually ended up waiting tables or trying to keep up as an office assistant in a world of increasingly complex technology. I knew that my household was for Jess the same blissful, harmonious break from her tumultuous world that the bible camp – which we had covered for Susan while Catherine was alive, and I still gave to her as a gift – was for Susan.

All these thoughts were there, somewhere in the fuzzy cloud of my head, as Jessica’s hug lingered. She’d always been a hugger, at least in our household. I got the impression she hugged whoever she could because she got less affection than she should at home, and almost none from a disappointed father always on the long road. Try as I might, however, the sensation of her recently-filled-out breasts with their cold-hardened nipples dominated me. From the little girl I was used to had come this full-grown woman whose breasts pressed against me, further apart than I would have guessed, and far larger than I would have thought possible.

“You’re welcome, Jess,” I managed, and patted her arm. “It’s fun to have you over every year.”

Mercifully, she let go and walked slowly back into the living room. I stole a very long glance at her, unable to keep my thoughts in check. Her bottom looked perfect under her narrow waist, almost completely visible through the lingerie. I could see the outline of her panties, though clearly no bra. Rounded at the hips, with her tapering legs, I nearly gasped, but managed to turn back around and force my mind back onto hot chocolate. — Ninty minutes later I found myself huddled on the couch. Mugs emptied on the coffee table, long blanket bunched and swirled, I sat almost rigid, self-conscious in my pajamas – I rarely wore them. Mary had snuggled up under my left arm, curled against my body. Jess had snuggled up under my right arm, likewise curled, her breasts pressing heavily against my side, her right hand on my chest as she watched the movie.

So many quality kids-oriented movies had come out lately, with just enough grown-up humor and appeal, that there had been a wide selection of innocent entertainment to watch. I was glad they hadn’t chosen a “chick-flick” with lots of suggestive adult situations. I’m not sure I would have allowed us all to snuggle through it, and I admit I was enjoying the snuggle.

Over the next few minutes, the computer animated characters moved towards a sappy, happy conclusion after their adventures. I felt Mary nestle in closely, contact we were familiar with. Without Catherine, we’d had to get our hugs from each other, and we were modestly affectionate as a close father and daughter should be.

Jessica, however, seemed about ready to cry with the characters, and squeezed me as if for strength, her fingers caressing my chest as if she were the cute heroine character in the movie consoling with her fellow adventurers.

I was immensely thankful that our positions kept my raging, throbbing hard-on hidden beneath the blankets and just far enough away from arms, legs, elbows, and hands that direct contact was avoided. I certainly didn’t want to ruin the mood having an embarrassing moment, and as worked up as I was after an hour and a half snuggle with two achingly beautiful young girls, I was sure even the lightest touch would have had me ejaculating all over the inside of my pajamas.