DEAR NIFTY READERS,
This is a story about the sexual awakening of a young woman. If you either; A) aren't into that, B) aren't old enough to be reading it, or C) can't read, you should really stop here. If you liked (or hated) this story, drop us a line at ybother1122@yahoo.com. Don't take anything you read here too seriously, I certainly didn't.
Heather fidgeted on the sofa, and wondered what Mrs. Lindeman could want. There was no need for her to babysit, with Danny away at camp for a whole week. She nervously twisted a strand of dark hair, tied it in a silky knot, let it fall on her shoulder, then untangled it.
"Would you like a soda?" Denise Lindeman called from the kitchen. Without waiting for an answer - she never waited for answers from anyone - the woman brought one glass of Diet Coke and one glass of Voignier into the living room, and sat next to the girl.
"I know it's early," she said, nodding at the chilled wine. "But it was a long drive to camp, and traffic was a nightmare for a Tuesday morning."
Heather's icy blue eyes darted around, and she tried not to look directly at Mrs. Lindeman.
"Don't mind the mess," Denise said, knowing full well that a few folded drop-cloths and a can of paint in the corner of the room was hardly a "mess" in her otherwise tidy home. "While Danny's away, I'm taking the week off to paint. I've felt like I need to do it myself, rather than hire a painter."
The girl twisted her hair again.
"There's no comfortable way to say this, so I'm just going to come out with it," Denise said. She reached into the pocket of her denim coverall shorts and pulled out the tiny white vibrator and laid it on the coffee table.
"What were you doing with that?" she asked the girl.
Heather felt her face flush red, and tiny beads of perspiration formed on her upper lip.
"I....I don't know. I was looking for aspirin. I know I shouldn't go into your bathroom, but I was looking for aspirin."
"Well, did you find any in there?"
Heather shook her head, and the girl's blank stare puzzled Denise. She DID play with it, didn't she? After all, the vibe worked Saturday morning, but that evening, after Steven had taken home the babysitter, it was dead. Denise found upon examination the batteries were backward. No one else - no friends, not the housekeeper, none of Danny's playmates - had been in the house over the weekend.
"Heather, dear. You do know what this is, don't you?"
The girl shook her head again, and looked at the white plastic tube with its three gold nubs on the end.
"It fell off the vanity. I didn't touch it or anything. It fell apart. I must have put it back together wrong. I ... I hope I didn't break anything." Her face grew hot, and she could feel her tears well in her wide eyes. She wondered why it was so important, and why Mrs. Lindeman, who is never uncomfortable with confronting anyone, called her here to ask about the thing. And now Mrs. Lindeman would probably never call her to babysit again.
She liked the Lindemans even if she was a little scared of the mistress of the house. They paid better than any of the other parents, and their house was by far the biggest. Mrs. Lindeman always made sure to have Heather's favorite snacks on hand, and gave her plenty of notice, and wasn't all that fussy about Danny's bed time. But mostly she liked them because they seemed so exciting.
It was obvious they were into each other, Heather thought. When they would come home from their dates at restaurants in the city, and parties at the homes of similarly well-off friends, they were always laughing and kissing and holding hands.
Sometimes the Lindemans would go to overnight parties, or would have too much to drink, and would ask Heather to spend the night rather than drive her home. She would sleep in the guest room they simply called "Heather's room." She could hear them talking and laughing in their bedroom. Sometimes she forced herself to stay awake so she could hear them. She would listen to Mrs. Lindeman moan. "Oh yes, Steven. Oh yes yes yes I'm so close mmmmmmm don't stop don't stop...."
She imagined before drifting off to sleep, that she lived there all the time. She wondered if she were older, would they ask her to come be their live-in nanny? She was going to start her senior year of high school in just a few weeks, and after graduation, she would need a job and a place to live, after all. Sometimes she even imagined they wanted to adopt her, and she would go to schools in their neighborhood, and live in their house, and talk late at night with Mrs. Lindeman, about things that only mothers and daughters share, and she would be a perfect girl.
Even though they were always polite, and Heather liked them, there was something about Mrs. Lindeman that made the girl want to cry. She was so confident, so sure of herself - everything Heather was not. She wondered if Mrs. Lindeman was ever plain. Had she grown up in a small house with a second-hand sofa? Had she ever felt out of place, or spent a weekend with nothing better to do than to babysit? Had she ever gone without? Heather doubted it, and she feared and loved her employer for it.
"Oh God, honey. You can't be serious," Denise said, picking up the vibe, and putting it into her pocket, suddenly aware she may have made a terrible mistake. Again, the blank stare. A wide grin formed on Denise's tanned face, and she let out a laugh. Heather was not sure she'd ever heard Mrs. Lindeman laugh like that, as if it came from deep inside her, the way she'd laugh even if no one was watching.
"I'm sorry to have called you over here." Denise rested a reassuring hand on the girl's knee. "You didn't do anything wrong." She leaned back on the sofa, and expelled a relieved breath. She sipped her wine.
"Well, Mrs. Lindeman?"
"Yes, Heather?"
"What is it?"
It had been years since she'd been dumbfounded, but Denise Lindeman had no idea what to say. Since the truth occasionally served her purposes, she calmly said, "It's my vibrator, Heather. Well, it's one of them anyway."
Heather's eyes widened, causing Denise to laugh again.
"You've seen one before, haven't you?"
Heather shook her head. No, she hadn't.
"It doesn't look like I thought it would," Heather admitted. "I thought it would look more like....well....never mind."
"Some do. Some don't. I can't believe you've never seen a vibrator. I thought for sure you must have used this one," Denise said.
The girl just stared at her employer. Part of her wanted to ask to look at it again, now that she knew what it was. She thought it would be bigger. Or would look more like the pictures she'd seen of naked men. She wasn't sure what made her so brave, but she blurted it out anyway.
"Well how does it work? And shouldn't it be bigger?"
She knew she should not be having this talk with the girl. She was sure the girl was a virgin. Good God, she thought. Isn't her 17th birthday coming up in about a week? She couldn't possibly be that inexperienced, could she?
On the other hand, no girl who's free every Saturday night could have a boyfriend. Or a girlfriend, for that matter. But Denise, who always liked being the expert, couldn't help but educate the girl, and she offered to show Heather her private toybox. She was surprised when she nodded and said, "Yes, please." So Mrs. Lindeman took Heather's hand, and led her up the stairs to the master bedroom.
Holding Mrs. Lindeman's hand reminded Heather of a time when she was little, maybe 11, and her mother reached for her hand as they headed into Wal-Mart to shop for her first bra. She could feel the heat rise from the asphalt, and her white sandals stuck once in a glob of tar which patched a crack in the lot. After they shopped, they stopped for a Coke and fries in the store cafeteria, and talked like school girls, and for the first and last time, Heather felt like her mother understood her.
"Have a seat," Denise said, pointing to the bed, and not to the chaise in the corner by the armoire. Heather hopped up onto the mattress and bounced twice, and crossed her long slender legs in front of her. Mrs. Lindeman pulled the hat box from inside the armoire, and placed it on the bed between them. She pulled off the top and the girl looked inside.
Denise felt uncomfortable, but just for a moment. It wasn't necessarily the girl's age that made her squirm. She'd been far more intimate with girls barely older than Heather. It was Heather's innocence and total lack of experience that made Denise doubt herself, but only for a moment.
She dumped the hatbox's contents onto the mattress, and Heather's eyes registered both shock and curiosity. She picked up a large, veiny flesh-colored dildo and turned it upside down, inspecting it.
"Are they all this big?"
"Well no, they come in all sizes," Denise said.
"No I mean are THEY all this big?"
"You mean cocks?" The girl nodded, still staring at the titanic dildo. "Oh God, Heather, I wish they were, but no. I've never seen one that big," Denise said, laughing.
Heather didn't get the joke.
"You've never seen one before? I mean a naked man?" Denise asked, and the words sounded hysterical to her as soon as she said them. The girl shook her head. No, she had not.
"Well, they're actually usually about this size," and she picked up a smaller, light blue vibrator. Heather took it in her hand and examined it, looking relieved, but still impressed. She rolled the toy between both hands and turned the black knob at the bottom, causing it to buzz and vibrate. She dropped it on the duvet.
"Why does it do that?"
"Well because it feels good when you touch yourself with it. You know how, when you touch yourself with your fingers, the faster you do it, the better it feels?" Heather shook her head. Another blank stare. Denise was momentarily speechless once again, but curiosity got the best of her.
"You don't touch yourself?" The girl blushed and shook her head. No, she did not.
"My mother says it's wrong. It's dirty," she said, and began to twist her hair.
That was the saddest thing Denise would hear all day, and she took the girl's hand. "No, it's not wrong. It's wonderful."
She picked up the buzzing blue vibe and touched Heather's hand with it. "See? Nothing wrong. It doesn't hurt." The girl looked at her employer's face, and saw a kindness which had either been absent or unnoticed before that moment. Denise brushed a curly lock of blond hair from her own forehead, and Heather noticed for the first time just how green the woman's eyes were.
The girl had always thought of Mrs. Lindeman as being much younger than her own mother, but when she looked at her face, tanned with fine lines around the eyes, she realized they could be the same age, which her mother always said was "somewhere between 18 and 40," and always added it was not polite to discuss a woman's age.
"It's not wrong," Mrs. Lindeman said again, and stroked the girl's pale pink cheek. "It's not dirty."
Without saying a word or asking permission, she moved the vibe to Heather's bare thigh, just below the frayed edges of her cut-off denim shorts. The girl didn't flinch or move away, so Denise pressed the vibrator in the cleft between her legs, and the girl jolted, but didn't move away. She just stared at Mrs. Lindeman's eyes, hoping she would find approval. She couldn't tell if it was there or not because the woman's gaze moved downward, toward the girl's white tank top, and the modest, now heaving breasts which moved the fabric steadily and rhythmically up and down.
"Let me show you it's OK," Denise said, and Heather nodded. Denise smiled, giving her the approval she was trying to find, and kissed the girls cheek. Her forehead. Her nose. Her lips. "Take off your shorts for me?"
Heather only hesitated for a minute, but obediently stood, unbuttoned her shorts and let them fall to the floor. Mrs. Lindeman motioned her back to the bed, and the girl sat on the edge until Denise grabbed her shoulder and pushed her back onto the neatly arranged pillows.
Purposefully, Denise sat between Heather's raised knees, and placed her hand on the girl's damp panties. Through the pale pink cotton fabric, she could feel Heather was warm and damp. She moved the vibe over her panties, and Heather let out a small gasp, half desire and half protest.
Not until the girl raised her hips up from the bed did Denise slide the vibe inside her panties. Suddenly self-conscious of the pleasure, Heather quickly pushed her knees together, but Denise gently pushed them apart, and tugged at her panties, pulling them down past her skinny thighs and knees, then tossing them off into the corner of the bedroom.
Heather almost felt like she would cry, and would have, except for the smile on Mrs. Lindeman's face. "It's OK, baby. It's just fine. I'll show you." Heather exhaled and waited for Mrs. Lindeman to touch her again.
Denise looked down for a moment at the girl's full, but soft, dark brown pubic hair. "So soft. So fresh," she thought, and stroked her softly, like she would a kitten. She tentatively stroked the girl's in-betweens with the vibrator, and with each pass, could see her swell and grew slicker.
Heather's flat abdomen was now heaving harder, faster, and her face was now glistening with a fine sheen of sweat.
Denise circled the girl's swollen clit with the vibrator, teasing her until she forced out a moan.
"That feels good?" she asked, and Heather nodded, without saying a word. "Tell me."
"Yes," she whispered. "It feels good."
"Tell me not to stop."
Heather recalled the way she heard Mrs. Lindeman talk to her husband late one night after they returned from a night out.
"Don't stop. Please don't stop. It feels so good."
"That's my girl," she said, and pushed the vibrator directly onto her clit. The girl gasped and began to grind against her new mentor's fingers and the vibe. She felt like she had to pee, and stopped, but Mrs. Lindeman told her it was OK, so she pushed harder.
She softly whimpered and began to shake. "Oh no," she said. "No, no, no." But Mrs. Lindeman held the vibrator still and pressed it harder against her until the girl pulled hard away from her, too sensitive to be touched any more.
"Such a good girl," Mrs. Lindeman whispered, lying down beside her, and stroking her shiny hair. "Such a good girl." Heather fought her tears and lost.
Steven was running late again, so he picked up dinner.
Over candlelight and spinach greens, Denise told him, "Heather was here today. She and I had a talk."
"How did that go?"
"Well I had to teach her something. She is a quick study." Steven stopped chewing. And put down his fork. He raised his eyebrows, questioning Denise.
"Steven, she's still pure and intact."
He rose from his chair, and walked toward his wife. "Lie down"
There, in the middle of the dining room, Denise lay flat on her back on the floor while Steven pushed her gauze skirt up over her waist. Just before his face landed between her thighs, he said, "Tell me more."
Contact me at ybother1122@yahoo.com
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