Oral sex stories: The Handsome Man Next Door. Author: sunflowers. This story is including: Fiction, Male/Teen Female, Older Male / Female, Oral Sex, Written by women genres. Hannah gets herself a taste of her father’s best friend and decides she needs much, much more.
Oral sex stories: The Handsome Man Next Door
Author: sunflowers
A/N: I wrote this for women like me who are gettin’ kinda sick of all the cliche man stories on here featuring the older man/younger woman thing. It has a bit of a long start to it, but it’s a nice kind of build up, and hopefully it flows well and gets you off nice and easy. I’m thinking this will be a series but it took me a couple of months to put this together so it won’t be a quick updating piece, just when I’m ‘in the mood’, I guess.
Mum and dad had been friends with the Harris’ for five years before I had gotten myself into my little predicament. They had moved in next door when I was 12, just before I delved into the most awkward stage of puberty anyone could have fathomed. At the age of 17, I felt I had kind of levelled out, after five years of getting taller and wider and cinching at the waist, bursting out of my brand-new bras every few weeks. I honestly felt sorry for my mother – she could never keep up. My body was continually turning into that of a woman’s, and it was getting very obvious to the boys at school.
When I was younger, they used to make fun of me because my boobs were big for my age. They’d laugh and tell me I had ‘big jugs’, a term that made them laugh even more. By the time I was 15, however, they began to realise that their teasing had been a mistake, because I started blossoming into a pretty young lass. Not that I knew it at the time, considering I had the self-confidence of a teenage girl.
I never did sport or anything, but walking to and from school every day kept me nice and trim. I had a cute little belly, nice and soft, which melded into wide hips that made it possible to wear the slimming high-waisted shorts and jeans that were in fashion. Having a dedicated craving for crop-tops, I was pleased that I had the body to keep up to date with the current fashions. All through my early teens I was such a lame-o, wearing embarrassing slogan teeshirts and baggy jeans – hiding my body away in my school’s sports uniforms.
Being 17, however, seemed to change my life. I had lost my virginity at the start of the summer to a boy I thought I was in love with. Mum and dad had made me invite him over for dinner, and being casually relaxed parents, let him stay the night – so my lovely boyfriend and I rolled together between the sheets for the first time that night, fighting off the stickily hot Australian summer by ignoring it for our own source of heat. He dumped me two weeks later for a girl in the grade below us, and my heart was broken.
Now that I dressed like someone who fit-in, and had lost my virginity (the coolest thing to do at the time, because EVERYONE was talking about sex) I took it in mind to make the most of my summer before I started my final year of high school. My parents let me have a low-key birthday party with a few friends, and allowed us to drink our pre-mixes while they sat upstairs with some of their friends and watched over the party in the backyard. It really was just me and my girl friends getting drunk off fruity vodka drinks, but we had fun – singing along really loudly to our favourite bands and whispering about naughty stuff (like remember that time Rebecca Morton sucked Harlan Johansson’s dick in the boy’s bathroom? Gross, right?)
Anyway, I’m missing the entire point of my story! What I was getting at was, we had these neighbours – a married couple, around the same age as my mum and dad, who had basically become my second parents because they could never have kids of their own. They lived beside us in an old Queenslander, a funny old yellow house that wobbled on shitty concrete supports. They were really nice, especially the wife. Her name was Katelynn, Katie to everyone who mattered, and she was always so lovely to me – and when my dad took himself and mum away to the capital city for business, she kept an eye on me and the house for them.
Her husband was really nice too, and was always calling me sweetheart and made sure I was having a good time at school and everything. His name was Guy, and he was super polite and charming – and he and Dad got along really well. They both liked to talk about motorbikes and racecars, all that boring stuff that didn’t (and still doesn’t) appeal to me. He often came around on the weekends and had a few beers with dad to pass the time.
The night of my 17th birthday, at about 9 o’clock, I was absolutely trashed off my third drink. My girl friends and I were hanging out around the pool, too drunk to manage to put on our bathers, so we were just dipping our feet in in fear that skinny-dipping would rile up our mothers. The music was blaring from the darkness underneath the house, the adults upstairs listening to their own brand of party on the deck above.
I needed to pee really badly, so I had started to stumble into the downstairs area of my house – basically a second little unit for when relatives were staying. Kicking a toe on an abandoned patio chair, I cursed my way towards the stained-glass doors that were letting through a little bit of light. Rolling it across in its runner, I slipped inside and pulled the door shut – hearing the tail end of a splash and the flush of the toilet. Guy appeared in the doorway a moment later, pulling up his fly before stopping dead when he saw me.
“Sorry love,” He told me, picking up his beer that he had left on the counter. “Your aunt’s usin’ the loo upstairs, so I had to sneak down to use this one. Didn’t think you and your friends would like it much if I relieved myself in the backyard.”
“I think we’re all a bit too drunk to notice, really.” I smiled at him as I leant against the counter, feeling my head spin from the lightness that came with being absolutely smashed. “Are you having fun?”
“I am!” He grinned at me, caught in a stalemate in the kitchenette. “Are you?”
“I am!” I mirrored him, watching him head towards the door. “Thank you for coming tonight, I’m sorry I’m not socialising with everyone its just—friends are here and everything.”
“We understand.” He laughed at me, grinning when the pitch of my voice wavered and lowered with each excited syllable. “I didn’t wanna hang out much with the old people when I was seventeen… You’re on your last year of school now, aren’t ya sweetheart?”
“Yeah, grade twelve now.” My head lolled a little and he let out another laugh at my sloppiness, taking a step forward to catch me just in case I fell over. “Pretty exciting!”
“Sure is. I can’t believe how old you’re gettin’. Feels like you were only this big yesterday.” He held his hand to an offensive height and savoured the way I rolled my eyes at him. “You’re gettin’ to be a charming young lady, aren’t you?” He joked.
“I’ve always been lovely.” I told him, slumping forward and snorting at my clumsiness, and he stuck out an arm to pull me up. He clicked his tongue and tugged up my shirt, which had slipped to show the top of bra – finding a double-edged sword when it hiked up and showed too much of my belly. He tugged it down again, probably a little tipsy himself, and sighed.
“What is it with you young girls and wearin’ next to nothin’?” He asked, pulling it up again before he realised what he was doing.
“I’m doing alright, thank you, Mr Harris.” I teased him, his charming smile picking up at the edges at my little dig at his age. “At least you can’t see half my arse tonight.”
“That’s true. Though, I’m sure your mum would strangle you before she let you out of the house lookin’ like that.” Guy grinned again, taking a swig of his beer before glancing down at me. “You still got that boy followin’ you around? Whats-his-name?”
“Kieran? No.” I sighed, weighed down by sad-feelings and intoxication. “I figured dad would’ve told you about him by now.”
“Wait—he ain’t the one who—?”
“Yeah.”
“Ah, shit, Hannah. I’m sorry.” He smiled, nudging my bare shoulder with his beer. “Teenage boys can be cruel. I would know,” Guy continued, taking my other shoulder with his spare hand. “I’ve been one.”
“Like fifty years ago, I bet.” I jabbed and he scoffed, tugging me under his arm to ruffle my hair. I huffed, having spent half-an-hour taming the brown curls into semi-straightness, and reached up to pull away.
Hugging Guy always felt really nice because he was a lot like my dad. He was a lot taller than dad, but was stocky and strong. He had a bit of a beer gut, like most guys his age, but it didn’t take away from him at all – it made him seem more manlier, like he kept himself in good shape but still knew how to wind-down. I always kind of figured that I’d like a boyfriend like my dad or Guy, but most of the boys at school were into their cut-up singlets and neon-coloured shorts – like the idea of masculinity had been washed away over the years. I wanted a man like dad or Guy because they made me feel safe, and I knew that if I ever got in trouble I could count on them to look after me if something ever went wrong.
My fingers tickled the back of his neck and Guy rested his forearm on my lower back, saving his beer from spilling onto the concrete beneath our feet. I smiled up at him gently before beaming like a drunken lunatic, giving him a tight squeeze. “You’re not that old, Mr Harris. Pretty old, but not THAT old.” He seemed to like the way I giggled, and he gripped my forearm to keep me steady. “Thank you for coming to my party.”
“My pleasure, sweetheart.” He gave my arm a nice squeeze and I pulled myself in a little closer, looking up at him and searching his face for any kind of discomfort. I liked the way he held me when he gave me hugs. The last time he gave me a hug that tight was when I failed my math class in tenth grade, and mum was angry with me because I hadn’t tried hard enough. Dad was in hiding, because mum was really strict about grades, so I slipped into the neighbour’s yard to get away from her bad mood.
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