I got mad enough at myself to just call my father to come and get me. Mum worked nights with Katie at one of the RSLs for extra money, so dad was the controller of my social life. I told him that some boy was leering at me and I was uncomfortable, and he rushed in to pick me up in about ten minutes flat. I said goodbye to Ainslee and she was upset that I was going so early, but I had bigger plans for the night.
I thought about chat-sites, but that seemed a little old school. I thought about dating sites, but that was so much commitment. Then I thought about roulette sites, were you were strangers between webcams – where people mostly jerked off to each other. There was always a plethora of older men, and for some reason, teenage girls loved to frequent the sites just to get a kick out of it with their friends.
I was gonna do it, I realised as my father chatted to me about the band I saw that night. I was gonna get on a roulette site and watch an old guy jerk off to my pussy and tits. The thought excited me to no end, and even when I looked up at dad I got a weird thrill of arousal. He stared back down at me and scoffed. “You sure you haven’t been drinking, Hannah?” Dad asked, and I shook my head. I was just drunk on old dudes, dad, I couldn’t help myself.
Basically flying out of the car, I said goodnight to my dad, who shrugged at me and returned to his late night SBS documentaries, and I fled to my room where I began to pull at my clothes. I wanted to look at myself in the mirror, to make sure I was cute enough for my exciting new plans, and held up my arms and shaped my body into a sexy pose.
With my shirt ridden up over my boobs, I pulled the soft flesh out to hang over the cups of my bra. I pinched my pink nipples and liked how they matched my nail polish. I brushed my palm over my warm cunt and felt the goosbumps run down my legs, thinking about how cute I looked with my socks still on. They were just a precaution, to save me from the blisters caused by heeled boots, but I had a feeling that any old dude would enjoy the cute look that came with them. Pulling my curly hair into a loose bun on the top of my head, I looked over my face in the mirror.
Big blue eyes, freckles, and sweet, usually pink, lips that I had coated in a striking red for the gig – I looked quite nice. The road to womanhood had been a rough one, but I had come out looking pretty good, if I could say so myself. I subconsciously pinched a nipple, biting my lip, and ran my gaze over my face again. Surely I would have no trouble seducing a man online with what I was working with.
Then, I almost had a heart attack, my eyes catching the kitchen light from the Harris’ house that reflected in my bedroom mirror. I whipped around when I saw his silhouette, Guy standing there in his house jeans and bare torso – a mug in one hand and the other scratching the hair on his chest. He caught me, breasts hanging out with my skirt half unbuttoned, and he almost dropped his cup.
Pretending he didn’t see me, he continued to the kitchen bench and turned on the jug. I stood there and watched him, one hand full of tit and the other edging along the top of my skirt. Every so often he would look up and catch my stare, and he would lick his lips awkwardly and return to his task at hand. I swung my hands behind my back and unclipped my bra, making sure to unveil myself the next time he looked into my bedroom.
I began to unbutton the rest of my skirt, heart racing in my chest like I was going to fucking die, and let it fall and pool around my ankles. The steam began to rise from the jug, and I dug my hand into my underwear – finding the slick wetness that had started to soak through the cotton of my undies. I was almost vibrating with terror, worried that he’d call out and tell me to stop – or worried that he’d turn off the light and walk away.
But Guy was watching now, unable to look away, and although I could only see his torso and above, I knew he was interested. My fingers slipped around my clit and rubbed little circles, my spare hand sliding up and across my tummy to find a nipple – pinching and tweaking the little pink nub as I watched Guy watch me. Knowing that he was watching my little show made it hard for me to stay on my feet – my legs shuddering and my arms bursting with goosebumps. He was swallowing nothing, blank faced, still watching me as my mouth parted to let out a little sigh at the pleasure. My fingers kept working, swirling on my slippery clit, hips jutting against my hand as I worked myself for him.
Guy stared across the threshold at me, the steam from the kettle fogging up the glass between us, and his big hand wiped the window clean. We made eye contact once again and the thrill of his attention sent me over the edge. My knees pressed together and my eyes squeezed shut and I let out a breathy moan – my tiny palm clutching a tender and tingling breast. Through heavy-lidded eyes, I found him sloppily pouring his cup of tea, the rolls of pleasure still dripping down my legs – joined by the moisture that had begun to collect and run between my thighs.
He turned and left the kitchen, flicking the light off and I stood, alone, in my bedroom – trying to figure out whether I had just experienced the most exciting or embarrassing moment of my life. I knew he would never tell my parents, but I still felt a little naughty. I was standing on the line between experimenting and perverted, but I kind of wanted to mesh them together.
Walking like a newborn calf, I flopped onto my bed and touched myself some more – warmed by the thought of his eyes on mine the entire time.
From then on, for the next week or so, I would wait until I heard mum and Katie carpool to work together and sat watch for the kitchen light’s reflection in my bedroom window. Every time I would see Guy begin to make his cup of tea, I would appear, and give him the same show I did every time. Becoming more brash as the nights went on, I started to do things a little different – like remove my underwear real slow, giving him a nice, long look at the brown curls between my thighs. Sometimes I would pull over the chair I used to put on my make up, and would sit down – spreading my legs real gingerly, using my darkly painted nails to point out all the places I wanted him to touch.
And every night, he’d watch me all the same. Then when I would inevitably come, letting out little moans that sounded faintly like ‘Guy…’, he would finish making his cup of tea, turn off the light, and leave me heaving and shuddering in his wake – toes curled in the shaggy carpet beneath my feet. I just knew he was wandering off to touch himself; surely he was, because why else would he put up with my little shows? What man in his right mind would willingly watch something of that calibre without having to fix himself afterwards?
Now I was quite content to do that for the rest of the holidays, because I had found a happy medium that allowed me to indulge my sick pleasures and keep my distance from the married man. With glass, grass, fence, grass and some more glass between us, it didn’t seem so bad. I was beginning to play it off in my mind as something weird, like he was shortsighted and couldn’t actually see me – which was an excuse I was more than willing to use. Perhaps I wasn’t so sick, perhaps I was just curious, and getting rid of all my frightening teenage hormones by masturbating to my shortsighted neighbour was just a thing that kids did. I was full of shit though, I knew it, but I made any excuse to let myself keep doing what I was doing.
It wasn’t until the most cliché thing happened – like, of course it was going to. Me getting myself into such deep shit was almost inescapable, because I had basically set it up.
Because I had gotten into the routine of racing through the day to reach my peak at about 7:23pm, I had forgotten to consider the inevitable. Dad had a business trip to go to with mum in Brisbane. They invited me, but I declined, because my private parts had fully taken over my good senses.
If I stayed home alone, I would be able to be nice and loud with my masturbating. If I stayed home alone, maybe I could convince him to masturbate back. If I stayed home alone, maybe Guy would come over and fuck me.
The thought, which I had a million times every day before my parents left, often left me changing my underwear every few hours. I was a dripping mess, barely able to hold a conversation with my parents while they ran me through the rules of their being away.
No parties, of course – I didn’t need to. There was already a rager happening in my pants. No boys, without supervision – the only guy I wanted was actually called Guy and was already my supervision. And if I wanted to go anywhere, I had to ask permission of Katie AND Guy, as if they were my real parents – and I definitely wasn’t going anywhere.
And they left me on a Friday afternoon. “Be good, Hannah! We love you!” They said, before driving off down towards the highway, and the feeling that rushed over me almost bowled me over. I ran inside and kicked off my skirt, enjoying the swish of fresh air over my arse and upper thighs. Things felt good, but it was almost as if I was out of control – I could not contain the fantasies that were rippling through my very being.
Katie didn’t go to work that night though, much to my disgust. Instead, she invited me over for dinner – and we had a barbeque on their back veranda. She chatted to me about silly things, things I would have usually enjoyed talking about, but I was having so much trouble focusing on anything other than the dirty thoughts I was having about her husband. Guy was really good with his secret keeping though, because he chatted easily to me like nothing had ever happened. Even though I had fingered myself in front of him the night before, he still looked at me with that cheeky grin that he had always used. I was going fucking crazy.
Excusing myself an hour after dinner, finishing the glass of white wine that Katie had offered during tea, I explained to them that I had a headache and wanted to go to bed. Katelynn warded me off having any headache tablets, because I had been drinking, but told me to drink lots of water and blah blah blah, I really just needed to masturbate and cry a little or something. I lugged my sad self back into my house and threw off my dress, leaving it by the doorway so I could pull myself back to my bedroom. Collapsing on my bed and feeling like a big loser, because Guy had a wife and she was really nice, I ended up crying a little and passed out like a lame baby.
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