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EXPOSURE


NIU WHITE

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THE NIGHT I PICKED UP BONE-O


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I blog on the erotic, from prostitution to sacred sex, at: myexplicitheart@niuwhite.com


EXPOSURE is one of ten “… seriously dirty, seriously well written…” stories in


EROTICA TABOO EXPLICIT STORIES: 10 HOT READS





EXPOSURE



When I first started exposing myself I didn’t even know he was watching. All I thought I was doing was changing out of my school uniform into some shorts and a T-shirt one afternoon, by my bedroom window, like I do every afternoon.

His window’s only twenty feet away from mine, on the other side of the fence between our two houses, but his blinds were drawn like they were always drawn, so no one can say I was deliberately showing him anything.

I knew he was at home. He’s always at home. He never goes out. He’s always there in his room, across the fence, but there wasn’t the slightest indication that he was looking at me through his venetian blinds as I unbuttoned my shirt. I just suddenly felt looked at.

I’m pretty. I’ve got a nice body. I like to wear attractive clothes, but that doesn’t make me an exhibitionist does it? I’ve got a bit of a reputation around town for being wild. I’ve got a fit boyfriend, and I’m into fast cars. I like being driven around in my boyfriend, Ryan’s, Mustang, dressed in pretty clothes. Everyone knows that me and Ryan park up in the service road behind the industrial estate, but that doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with me.

No girl bothers to draw the curtains when she’s getting changed after school on a glaring hot afternoon, when the window opposite has got its venetian blinds all the way down and the slats closed. It’s a drag closing the curtains and opening them again when getting undressed only takes a few seconds, twenty seconds at the most.

As I said, I’ve got a reputation. I’m eighteen and still at school because I fell behind a year when I was fifteen, ‘cause I ran away from home and spent nine months in Denver. That’s why I’m still in my final year at school, even though I’m eighteen, and have to wear this ridiculous pinafore and pleated skirt like I’m in a freaking Victorian movie or something.

The headmaster says having a school uniform makes it fairer on the poor students who can’t afford nice clothes. My parents are poor, but I always look nice. Ours is the only school in the state that has a dress code.

So, like I said, I was getting undressed by the window, unbuttoning my white blouse, and thinking about Ryan and whether he was going to take me to see The Matrix tonight. I love that film. Ryan loves it too. I wasn’t thinking about the window opposite mine, even though it was only twenty feet away. Why would I? It was just there.

His window had always been there for as long as I could remember, the venetian blinds always down and the slats always closed. His window was just part of the scenery, like the garages and the broken fence and Dad’s shed. It was not a thing I needed to think about, not when I had Ryan and The Matrix to think about.

It was weird. Usually it only took me twenty seconds to change. I hated that white shirt and those blue pleats so much I was into my shorts and T-shirt in no time at all, but that afternoon something made me go slower, and stop at the third button down.

My skin felt hot as I reached into the front of my shirt and pulled out the chain with the heart on it Ryan gave me, and rubbed the heart between my thumb and forefinger to make the tiny diamonds hotter. They’re not real diamonds but it’s the thought that counts.

I mean, it was Ryan I was thinking about, not him in the window opposite. I guess, just then, I had a feeling he was there, behind those blinds, in his bedroom, twenty feet away. He always was. He literally lived in that bedroom, day and night.

I fully understood that he was a weirdo. I’d had it drummed into me since I was little, how freaky he was. How can you not be freaky, a grown man living with your parents, never going out, never having any visitors, stuck in your bedroom day and night?

I didn’t even know his name. I still don’t. No one does. I didn’t even know what he looked like. No one did. He never showed his face around town, he just lived alone in that bedroom.

The back yard of his house had this twenty foot concrete block wall around it, really badly cemented, where he maybe went out to get a bit of sun on his face and some exercise. Maybe. Maybe not. I didn’t know. No one knew. It was understandable that he should suffer from some sort of mental problem—everyone said so—something called agoraphobia, which is a phobia about going out in public.

People weren’t even sure about his age. Some swore blind that they’d seen him around when he was a kid and that he was in his early twenties, no older than twenty five. Other people put his age as high as forty, which is the same age as my father.

Anyway. When I’d got Ryan’s heart pendant nice and hot I dropped it on its chain back into my cleavage. The diamonds itched. They felt nice itching between my breasts, a bit hot.

I carried on unbuttoning, all the way down, slowly, not in a rush as per usual, so I guess I did really know he was watching. I unbuttoned the cuffs—long sleeves, in forty degree heat!—and dropped my shirt on the floor.

I was wearing a bra, like—dah—you gotta have a bra on, a sensible school one, to learn algebra and French and geography. You don’t want to go giving the boys ideas, do you? The boys have got ideas anyway.

I thought I might be getting a spot on my left boob. It was itchy, so I moved closer to the window, and had a look at it there, in the full sunlight. Maybe it was a love bite, and not a spot. Ryan can get real passionate sometimes.

I don’t know which direction our houses are built in, but sometimes the sun shines straight in through my window, and sometimes it shines full on his permanently closed venetian blinds. East/West, I suppose.

I wasn’t getting a spot after all. I grinned to myself. There was no sign of a love bite either. My boob was just a bit itchy, that was all, from being stuck in a school regulation bra all freaking day, although if I kept scratching a spot might develop.

Weirdly enough—and maybe this was when I absolutely knew I was being looked at—I didn’t unclip my bra, even though I was dying to get the thing off. I just dropped the shoulder straps round my elbows and peeled the cups away and let them dangle down my belly. It was nice feeling my breasts go full and firm again after all that stuffy constriction, and my nipples starting to breathe.

My heart was beating. I knew he was in there, in his bedroom. But I couldn’t tell how closely he was watching. It was none of my business. You can’t expose yourself to someone if you don’t even known whether they’re looking at you closely or not. I told myself I could have just as easily been cupping my breasts to the sun—that’s perfectly natural, isn’t it?— or to the garages, or to Dad’s shed, as to him, except, my heart was beating faster.

My nipples were erect, but that was just the relief of getting out of my uniform. I laughed out loud and told myself that the feeling of being looked at was all in my head.

So was the sensation of a man’s fingers digging into my breast, and squeezing. It was all in my mind. They weren’t Ryan’s fingers—I wasn’t even thinking about Ryan any more—they were just a man’s fingertips, digging in even harder and squeezing even harder, so that my nipple stood up even taller.

He, the man in my head, must have spat on his thumb and forefinger, because my nipple was wet where he was clamping it and twisting. There was, like, this slippery wetness all over my cute pink areola and on my tanned skin too, and I sure wasn’t lactating. I love Ryan, but I take full precautions.

Saliva was tickling my chin. I looked down and saw that it was my thumb and forefinger that were massaging my nipple in the hot glare of the sun. It was me who’d spat that glistening wetness onto my breast. The man was only in my mind. So that was OK then.

“Ouch!”

The two fingertips—the ones in my head—were kneading my nip so hard it was starting to hurt, but I didn’t stop. It was weird. I’ve got long nails and they’re quite sharp. No polish, of course. The headmaster doesn’t allow polish. But I keep my nails well filed, and as they pincered my nipple it really stung. The sharp pain was from my long, manicured fingernails, yet somehow it felt as if it was a man’s fingers that were doing it, and not me at all.

“OUCH!”

It stung so bad I decided to lick it better. My heart was still beating, but now it was a controlled steady thump thump because I suddenly felt calm and powerful, as well as very, very beautiful.

My pussy felt calm and powerful too. My pussy was moist, and I wasn’t even touching it. My labia felt as if they were melting inside my sensible school panties.

I’m supple. Getting my nipple in my mouth wasn’t a problem. I swooped my neck and lifted my boob and licked my nipple like it was a tiny pink ice cream out in the sun. It ticked and ached, so I squashed it flat into my areola with my tongue, and, glancing into the light, savored the springy softness of my gorgeous young body.

My lips were tingling as if I’d just sprinkled them with lemon sorbet powder. I gently clamped my nipple between my lips and lifted it higher. I wanted to laugh out loud, but I was moue-ing my nipple and I couldn’t. It was like I was on TV or something, doing an advertisement for Mister Whippy, and my nip was the chocolate stick. It tasted so yummy I wanted to eat it.

The kick in my butt quite shocked me. I was only looking to see if I had a spot on my breast, I wasn’t trying to get off or anything, but that was what was happening. The little kick was followed by a bigger one. Jesus Christ! My pussy was melting. My butt wouldn’t stop jerking. Waves of pleasure ran up my spine. I was coming in my panties.

Something gleamed and bent in the sunlight outside.

I looked up.

Twenty feet away, across the broken fence, a slat buckled in the venetian blind. I couldn’t see his eyes, but I knew that they were there.


The Matrix, man!” said Ryan. “What a great movie!”

“Sure is,” I said.

Actually, for the first time, I’d found the movie a bit boring. The performances are good, and the concept’s great, but— red pill, blue pill— once you know Trinity’s love is going to save Neo, it’s not so exciting. Mind you, the second half only dragged because I’ve seen it so many times.

“Maybe we’ll go again,” said Ryan.

“Yeah. Maybe.”

We were in Ryan’s Mustang in a queue at the McDonalds drive-thru.

A group of guys— they had some girls with them— were sitting on the swings in the playground, yelling comments at me and Ryan while we waited in the queue.

Ryan gunned the engine, let them hear that Mustang rumble. The Mustang’s bellow told the poor suckers loud and clear that Ryan had a car, a hotted up one, and all they had was a see-saw and a plastic slide. Ryan let them see that he had me too. I was hotter than any of their girls.

We drove out to the industrial estate and parked up in one of the service roads and finished our Big Macs.

That’s the greatest fucking ending ever…” Ryan was still going on about The Matrix. “… The way he just disappears…”

I didn’t say anything. Ryan can get uppity if I question his opinions. Shit, it was just an old movie—1999!—it wasn’t important.

What was important was the fact that Ryan’s got a body to die for. Ryan’s always been buff, working out at the gym and stuff, but since he quit school and started his job at the mill, buff is a totally inadequate word for Ryan. Ripped, hunky, spunky, is more like it. Once you’ve seen Ryan in a pair of low-cut jeans and a sleeveless T-shirt, you stop worrying about him having to always be right about everything.

“Yeah,” I said. “Keanu Reeves is brilliant.”

I was wearing my yellow shorts, so getting his hand up the leg was no problem. His hand was big—even his fingers feel muscly since he’s been working at the mill—and the shorts were tight, so I unzipped them while we kissed in case he tore the crotch. He stuffed his fingers between my labia.

“We’re nice and juicy tonight,” he said, referring to my pussy, but I think it was the Big Mac grease as much as me. However, it did feel nice, his fingers inside me, exploring me, one finger in particular, his middle finger it felt like, crooked behind my clit, wiggling around in the wet folds, searching for my G-spot.

Actually, I wasn’t sure if I believed in G-spots any more. I was convinced it was there when I first met Ryan and that he hit it every time, but that night I started to feel that maybe the G-spot is a myth. Mind you, it felt good, either way.

I arched my bum off the seat and wriggled his fingers a bit deeper, and the kiss turned savage, my top lip burning and stinging as it ground against his teeth.

Ryan was breathing heavily in and out as I unbuckled his jeans.

“I love you, babe.”

“I love you too, Ryan.”

We sounded like Neo and freaking Trinity, about to dissolve into the Matrix, but words are never adequate for what you feel in your heart, let alone what you feel in your body.

I wondered if maybe we should get married. I hated school, but I wasn’t looking forward to graduating either. Mum kept nagging me about taking an internship at Warburton’s. Dad was permanently down on me about my clothes. I was desperate to leave home. Ryan and I had been talking about him saving some money and the two of us hitting the road, heading South, getting married down in Mexico.

His cock tasted good. Ryan doesn’t wear shorts under his jeans when we go out, especially for me. I could taste the denim, a bit salty from the mill—he was on late, and hadn’t had time to change—and the wheat germ taste of his pre-cum. I sank the tip of his cock into the back of my throat and the little gurgling, gagging noises Ryan likes so much started up in my throat all by themselves.

Ryan grabbed me by my hair and started moving my head up and down on his cock, pushing his tip deeper and deeper, and the gurgling noises turned into a rhythmic sound like fucking.

Fuck knows how many fingers he had inside me. I was too wet to tell. He wasn’t searching for my G-spot any more, he was holding onto my pussy as it slithered around, like a man hanging from a dripping window ledge.

I said:

“Fuck me, Ryan. I want you to fuck me, baby.”

I kept thinking about Neo and Trinity, how when you get to know someone, really know, them, like in reality, not in the Matrix, it can get a bit—not boring—but repetitive, like you know everything about each other, even the size of his cock, and how wide my pussy can go, and there’s nothing more to know, unless you get a new concept, or write a new ending, fuck disappearing into thin air. That’s why me and Ryan were thinking about running away and getting married, and trying something new.

Ryan grinned.

“Want it up the ass, babe?”

That was one of our lovers’ jokes. Ryan doesn’t really like doing anal. It upsets something inside him. That’s why he keeps going on about it.

“No. I want you to come inside me. Now. Please. Quick.”

To tell you the truth, for no reason at all, I suddenly felt a bit scared.

Ryan’s cock’s big verging on huge. He was as urgent as I was. He didn’t hang around arguing the toss.

I got my shorts off. They were very tight. I had my ass up off the seat tugging and ripping. I wondered if maybe the cotton shrinks when it gets wet. I didn’t have any panties on.

My head banged against the wind-down handle of the window as I fell back along the seat and got one leg up over the back. My other foot, bare, its strapless sandal gone, was wandering about on the floor. Fuck, I love screwing in cars.

I could tell I was wide open, but there was still that delicious, blacking-out moment as the head of his cock forced its way in. It felt like he was stretching my bones, not just hot flesh. The window handled rattled as the first jolt thrust me backwards. Ryan fucks good. He doesn’t hang around. There’s no nervous hesitation or any sign of self doubt. It goes with him thinking he’s always right.

My leg had fallen off the back rest and was wrapped round his ass, my foot jammed in his bum bone pushing him in further. My fingernails raked his shoulder blades, up under his T-shirt.

“Yes. Oh yes. Fuck me. Fuck me harder.”

Ryan didn’t need a second invitation. He lost control. He pounded into me like a spooked stallion climbing into a horse box. The upholstery squeaked beneath my butt. It was wet with juice and perspiration.

I could feel Ryan beginning to come, quicker than usual, more urgent than he usually is. Mostly me and Ryan climax together. Not all the time, but mostly. Ryan likes it when it’s simultaneous, it makes him feel more potent.

Little kicks and twitches were running up his shaft from the base to the tip even as it pounded into me. Ryan groaned. The groan caught in his throat.

Waves of pleasure surged up my body from the melting sensation his cock was ramming into. I couldn’t stand it. I wasn’t going to last much longer either. My back arched. There was a sucking sound as my bottom lifted off the seat.

I don’t care whether it’s simultaneous or not, as much as Ryan does, I don’t mind finishing myself off with my fingers, but suddenly I was desperate to go over the brink with him. My pussy climbed up his shaft as it rammed in and out, rutting him, riding him, even more frantic than he was for us to explode together.

“FU-UUUUUCK!”

A wall of semen hit the wall of darkness inside me, hot cum, Ryan’s cum, Ryan’s spunk, filling me and compressing between my frantic lips and streaming down my bottom.

“OH FU-UUUUUCK!”

The waves of pleasure broke over me, except…

… I wasn’t with Ryan at all...

Ryan was nowhere to be seen. I was staring across twenty feet of space over a broken fence at the slat of a venetian blind buckling.


“I’ve arranged an interview for you with Mister Stanley at Warburton’s,” said Mum.

“MUM!”

Dad folded his arms and said:

“It’s a very good position, Kirsty. An internship at Warburton’s is highly sort after.”

I was standing at the kitchen table chopping up tomatoes.

Mum’s the boss of the house. She insists on running everything, which means the house is always a tip and the microwave’s ding tells you when dinner’s ready.

Tonight, however, was one of her rare pull-together-as-a-family nights, so I had to waste half an hour helping prepare the salad to go with the Sarah Lee fishburgers.

“You’ll be lucky to get a job anywhere, my girl,” said Dad. “The way you’re carrying on.”

“What way’s that, Dad?” I made sure he heard the sarcasm in my voice. My father spends more time in the Red Monkey than he does at work.

“No one’s going to hire you, Kirsty. The way you dress.”

I pointed the knife, showed them my white shirt and blue pleats.

“I’m in my school freaking uniform!” They hadn’t even let me get changed after school. “I’m eighteen! I can dress how I like!”

“Not while you’re living under my roof you can’t.”

Not for much longer, you old bastard. I thought to myself. I won’t be stuck under your bloody roof for very much longer. But I didn’t say anything, Dad’s down enough on Ryan as it is.

“It’s a wonderful opportunity,” said Mum. “You wouldn’t even be getting an interview if I didn’t know Mister Stanley.”

An internship at the factory where your mother works! What every young girl desires! An internship in the Overseas Labeling Department, with your mother on the production line watching your every move.

“There’s lots of respectable young men at Warburton’s,” said Dad. “You don’t have to end up with a waste of space like Ryan.”

“Leave him alone. I love Ryan.”

I wished they’d change the freaking record.

Dad was only jealous because Ryan’s so spunky, and he’s just a washed-up deadbeat who’s forgotten what it’s like to be a real man. If I was Dad I’d have been worrying about why Mum’s got so much pull with Mister Stanley at Warburton’s, not Ryan.

I stopped chopping and said:

“You know the people next door?”

“Yes,” says Dad. “What about them?”

“That guy who lives with them, in the side bedroom, is he their son?”

Dad looked at me.

“I think so. Why?”

For no reason at all my heart started racing.

“It’s just… you never see him around or anything…”

“Yeah. Well. He’s a weirdo.”

“So you know him?”

“Nobody knows him,” said Mum, terrified of being left out of a conversation for more than six seconds. “He never goes out of his room.”

I pushed the cut-up tomatoes into the bowl and picked out the biggest, driest looking one from the salad rack. It wasn’t such a drag, you didn’t get seeds and juice everywhere, when they were big and dry.

“What does he look like?”

“Don’t you listen to what anyone tells you? I don’t know. Your mother doesn’t know. No one knows. He’s a recluse.”

I chopped the tomato in half. It was so pale inside, it looked as if it had been grown in a test tube.

“How old is he?”

“I told you. No one knows. He’s a crazy man.”

It was hard even concentrating on cutting up the tomato. I’d been feeling weird ever since last night, sort of spaced out and trippy. It was disturbing me, how I’d thought about him while Ryan and I were fucking, not just thought about him either, I’d actually physically seen, like with my own eyes, his venetian blinds actually buckling as I climaxed. I felt hot between the legs. Something crazy was happening. Even thinking about it now, a day later, was turning me on.

“Don’t chop at them like that,” said Mum. “You’re getting seeds everywhere. Saw, don’t chop. With the bread knife. Gently.”


I closed my bedroom door behind me and locked it. I brushed at the hips of my school skirt with both hands. I could still smell tomato on my fingers. It was bright and sunny outside, but the glare wasn’t coming through my window like yesterday. It was later than yesterday. The dazzling light was glancing off his window, not mine.

His venetian blinds were a lighter shade of magnolia, lowered, closed, blind, except for where… about halfway up the glass… he must be standing up… two of the slats were buckled. He was waiting for me.

I turned my back on him, unbuttoning my shirt, and opened my wardrobe and stood looking at my face in the mirror inside the wardrobe door.

Such a beautiful face! And no one really saw it except him! Hazel brown eyes. Cute, retroussé nose. Cupid lips, but no one really saw it. Not the kids on the swings at MacDonalds. Not my classmates at school. Not even Ryan. Ryan went on about ‘babe, you’re buff’ ad nauseam, but Ryan was oblivious of how truly stunning I was. Even I couldn’t fully see how drop dead gorgeous I looked. Only the eyes drilling into my naked shoulder blades as my shirt dropped down my back and onto the floor could do that.

I kept my back turned to him as I unclipped my bra. The sun had moved a little bit and the light was equal on both windows now. I knew he could see me clearly, between the open doors of my wardrobe. I also knew that feasting his eyes on my shoulder blades as the straps of my bra dropped down and I held them dangling under my armpits turned him on even more than my naked breasts had done yesterday.

I arched my back. My shoulder blades flexed like gorgeous wings that Ryan never even paid attention to.

His eyes played over my beautifully tanned skin, the plaited ripple of my spine. Something special had happened between us. His desire had changed up a gear since yesterday.

I unzipped my skirt and let it gather round my ankles. My butt is one of my nicest features. It’s a pity I can only get to see it in the mirror, or from the way men’s heads jerk round on their necks when I walk past.

I cupped my cheeks in both hands, through my panties, and felt how perfectly rounded they were, though it wasn’t the same as looking directly. I could feel how badly he wanted me to take my panties off. I kept them on.

As I strolled back towards the window, I saw how the sun had changed position and the glare was falling directly between our two houses like a torrent of molten steel pouring into a twenty foot mold. His venetian blinds were slightly more buckled than before. The slats were bent back, one upwards, one downwards, a little wider. I could see the bridge of his nose as well as his eyes in the inch or so gap, where yesterday there’d only been darkness.

Now the darkness was all in his eyes. His eyes were all pupil, two black disks fixed unblinkingly on me, the bridge of his nose thick, with a few hairs curling between where his eyebrows must be, something sharp about it, perhaps his nose had been broken at some time, the skin a deep brown tan. Definitely a tan.

So much for the stories that he never came out of his room, that he was phobic about sunlight, scared of the great outdoors, about him having one of those rare genetic disorders where you develop cancers or go blind if you’re exposed to even a few seconds’ sunlight. I tell you, there were some stories going around about him in our town.

I could only see an inch or so of the skin between his eyes, but it was definitely tanned. Yet no one had ever seen him around. I was probably getting more of a look at him now, as I swayed towards the window with my nipples going taut, than anyone in town except his mother and father, the two crazies he lived with.

The walls around his back garden were extra tall. In fact they were so high they probably broke all sorts of building regulations. They certainly cast a lot of shade on our garden as well as being shoddily cemented. Even my Dad, who’s not what you’d call house proud, said they were an eyesore. Perhaps he sunbathed in his back garden. I wanted to know.

My tits dangled cutely, swaying but taut, as I pulled my desk up to the window. The sun was starting to come through on my side. It covered a few inches of the maple wood surface of the desk. A Maths textbook lay in a pool of light.

As I climbed onto the desk and turned to sit facing his house and spread my legs, I pictured him sunbathing in the privacy of his back yard. I pictured him sunbathing in the raw, those dark eyes staring up at the sun through a pair of shades.

I glanced at his window. It was hard to gauge exactly how tall he was, but the two houses are identical, part of the same housing estate, so I could assume that his window was the same height above the floor of his room as my window was above the floor of my room. The window ledge was about a meter, maybe even a little bit more, above the floor.

His eyes were high up the closed blind. I counted the slats… forty seven, forty eight, forty nine, fifty… till I came to the place where he was watching me. He was tall, over six foot, perhaps well over six foot, six three, six four. I pictured him sunbathing in his yard, on his back, on a lounger, in the raw, his cock swathed in a thicket of dense black hair and, even flaccid, giddyingly massive.

I’m petite, and supple. I had no trouble leaning backwards on one arm on the desk and lifting my knees and spreading my legs so wide my pussy felt like a superbly seamed suction cap straining at the deep hollows of my thighs beneath my panties. I always shave, so the suction cap was smooth and brown—I like to tan all over too—and lightly jeweled with sweat as I pulled my panties aside.

That was when I knew he didn’t mind about the panties, he was glad I’d kept them on— when I slowly pulled them to one side and showed him how easily my finger could find its way through the succulent whorls of my lips.

If my outer lips were succulent, half a fingernail in it was like a quagmire. The crease of my finger grazed my clit. My butt lifted off the desk and gave a tiny kick. Fuck. I’d never felt anything quite like this with Ryan.

He could see my dilemma. It was an impossible one—push my finger right in, find out how deep it could go, or draw it out and offer the very tip of it to my clit. Madly, insanely, I wanted to do both things at the same time, but I controlled myself. I chose my clit. With my hood spread back, it was easier for him to see.

For a moment I wondered if he was hypnotizing me. His eyes didn’t blink or flinch. The bridge of his nose kept completely still as I gazed and gazed and gazed at it. I didn’t want to see any more than that, just his eyes and the bridge of his nose. I don’t think I could have stood seeing the whole of his face as I climaxed.

For a second I scarcely knew that I’d come. It was just that my butt was spiraling above the desk. My bum bone was jerking hard like it was double jointed. Juice was running down my bottom— and I’d barely even touched myself! My fingertip was circling almost absentmindedly in a swamp of unbearable ecstasy.

I wasn’t even picturing him fucking me or anything, and it was better than any orgasm I’d ever had with Ryan. All I was picturing was him lying on his back in the sun with his huge, heavy thing lying asleep between his legs, soaking up the sun’s rays. I was seeing crazy pictures in my mind—a madman’s eyes under a pair of sunglasses. A madman’s grin on broad, sensuous lips.

He could see that I’d climaxed. A trickle of juice was running transparently down my bottom, the wet sticky feeling following the curve of my ass. He must surely be able to see from the way my butt was still jerking that I’d come, but I knew he wasn’t satisfied.

In fact, he was angry. His dark eyes blazed. He was pissed I’d climaxed so instantly, like it was a stupid schoolgirl’s climax, a teenage slag’s slutty cum, trying to bring him off too quick with my pert little bum wiggling at him and my stuck-up little pussy thinking it could satisfy a man like him.

My exhibition on the desk hadn’t even got him the slightest bit hard. His massive thing wasn’t even interested. He was using one hand to open the gap in the blind—I could see the tips of his fingers between the slats—and his other hand was holding twelve inches, more, of lifeless shaft, utterly disgusted.

I had to show him. I needed to come better this time.

Two fingers slithered down into my pussy. They were immediately deep inside. I was spread so wide a third finger went in no trouble. I started to pump. I scooped and gouged. I lifted myself in the air by my cunt, light-boned as a bird.

I could feel another orgasm gathering at the base of my spine. A bigger, more unbearable one—I could feel it coming—a more conscious one. I’d be properly awake this time, not away somewhere with the fairies.

I squeezed my first, middle and ring finger—with Ryan’s ring on it—into a wedge of nail and knuckle and rammed it in and out of my throbbing gash.

My Maths book fell on the floor.

My pussy was making squelching, gurgling noises I wished he could hear. The juice running down my bottom was turning from little spasms of transparent juice starting up out of sopping tissue into a rich, thick cream coating my bottom in slippery white he must surely be able to see.

Some pens skittered across the shiny maple wood. The bones in my bottom were unknitting with pleasure. Big waves of it, endless, unadulterated pleasure, uncoiled in my butt, undulating my whole body. My belly felt like chewing gum in a hot mouth.

“OH… OH… FU-UUUUUUUUCK!”

It came out so loud, in the kitchen my mother even stopped talking

I lay on my back on the desk, panting, racked by spasms of delicious after shock, my legs spread wide for him to see.

My shoulder blades were sumptuous against the smooth desk top. The back of my head rubbed against the lacquered wood. My hands opened and closed. Even my palms were orgasming. My arms stayed flung out. My knuckles crawled across the desk searching for more.

They found a pen. The pen was chunky, with a wide top. It felt like it was the marker pen they make us use in English to underline the earth shatteringly important lines in our boring books. It slipped into my pussy no trouble at all.

It was tiny compared to his massive thing, but at least the plastic was smooth and hard.

I pulled it out and held it up for him to see, coated in white cum, marking out the really earthshattering stuff.

I lifted my head. I had to crane my neck to see the gap in the venetian blinds above my splayed body. His eyes were gone. A mouth filled the gap.

He was even taller than I’d thought. It was the same gap but he had to be even more than six three, six four, he’d had to stoop his head to see out of the buckled hole.

Now he was standing up straight so I could see his mouth, his lips smiling at me—if you could call it a smile—broad, sensuous lips, unbearably sensuous in the narrow gap, a flash of perfectly white, perfectly formed teeth, as he grinned. He had beautiful teeth, regular and powerful looking. One of them was gold.


“What’s wrong with you?” said Ryan.

“Nothing. Why?”

It was a sunny Saturday. We were in Dunkin Donut, at a table by the window, in the full blaze of the sun, having a shake.

“You been moody all morning. Got the rags on or somethin’?”

“No.”

I wasn’t on my period. I couldn’t see what his problem was. Even when I’ve ‘got the rags on’ we do it. Nothing stops Ryan. I don’t mind seeing my blood on the end of his cock.

I glanced out at the pedestrians passing by on the sidewalk.

“You’re the one who’s moody,” I said. “Not me. Jesus Christ. You’re starting to sound like Dad.”

I thought Ryan liked me showing off what I’ve got. I thought he was proud to walk into Dunkin Donuts with the hottest girl in town. He’s big. He’s tough. He can handle himself if guys try to hit on me.

“I’m just sayin’…” he just said for just the hundredth just bloody time. “… It’s Saturday morning.”

“What’s Saturday morning got to do with it?”

Maybe he wanted me in a Sound Of Music dirndl skirt down around my freaking ankles or something.

“It’s eleven o’clock in the morning. It aint club night or nothin’.”

“So?”

“So… THAT…” He nodded at the outfit I’d just bought, a faux leather two-piece micro mini skirt and halter, with chains under the cups.

“What’s wrong with THAT?” The choker tugged at my throat. The cleavage strap jerked tight. I’d decided to wear the outfit hot from the shop. “… You got a problem?”

Ryan scowled.

“… I’m just sayin’. It’d look great on the dance floor, Kirsty. But not frigging shopping on a Saturday morning.”

A flush of heat went over me. It wasn’t the sun. Maybe he was right. Maybe I looked ridiculous.

“Sor—EEE!” I said. “Sorry if I embarrass you, Ryan!”

I knew he was right. I must have been crazy even thinking of wearing it straight from the shop. The look the assistant gave me!

The stiff cups heaved against my breasts. The chains grazed my ribs. I suddenly felt terrible. No wonder people were looking at me. A party of girls went by, gawping through the glass.

I squeezed his hand.

“I’m sorry. Some stuff…’s been getting on top of me.”

He smiled at me and squeezed my hand back, and I saw how hunky Ryan was, and how much those beautiful blue eyes cared for me.

“What stuff?”

I felt dreadful not being able to tell him the truth. I was suddenly scared—terrified of what was happening in my room, in front of the window— and I couldn’t confide in the person I loved.

I gazed out at the sidewalk, so I wouldn’t have to look at Ryan and let him see the trouble I was in. I stared out at the crowds of people, young dudes, teenage girls, Mums shepherding grandmothers through the throng, Dads relaxing with their mates, I stared into face after face, hoping for a smile, yearning for dark eyes, longing for the tanned bridge of a nose, hungry for a flash of white teeth and a gleam of gold.

I was going insane. I lived for the moments when I was alone with the eyes in next door’s window. Nothing else seemed real except the times my body arched in ecstasy for my hidden watcher.

Ryan was the only person who could help me and I’d been lying to him all morning as to why I was in a bad mood. I’d been keeping my orgies with the man in next door’s window a secret from Ryan for nearly a fortnight now.

I was losing it. Even now, sitting in Dunkin Donut in a fuck me outfit, I couldn’t stop thinking about the man who watched me. I was talking to Ryan but all the while my eyes searched the Saturday morning crowd for a face I didn’t even know. He was a recluse, a hermit. A weirdo. He never left his room. He never came out of his house, but I was looking for him in every face I saw.

“What stuff?”

“Oh. Nothing.”

I needed to stop what was happening. I had to tell Ryan everything. The toys I’d used. The love eggs and jiggle balls. The harnesses and vibrators. The lingerie I’d bought and modeled. The strip shows that went on for hours. The juice running out of my pussy for the eyes in the gap in the venetian blinds, and those eyes only, and the occasional reward of a gold-toothed smile. I knew I had to tell Ryan everything, but I couldn’t.

Ryan’s a stud. He’s the buffest dude in town, but I knew, better than anyone, that Ryan had a prudish side. He always had to be right about everything. Everything always had to be done Ryan’s way, even sex.

Don’t get me wrong. Ryan’s smoking hot, but he got easily offended if I took the lead. He didn’t like me making up new things for us to do when we fucked. It hurt his feelings. He got offended if I even touch my clit while he was screwing me, as if touching my clit was passing a comment on his masculinity. I loved Ryan, but I knew the things I was doing in my bedroom would be too much for him to handle.

He scowled.

“WHAT STUFF?!”

“Oh. Nothing,” I said. “It’s just my Mum. She’s hassling me to take this internship at Warburton’s. She won’t let up.”

“Ah.. right…” His face relaxed. “… Heavy…”

“She’s lining up this interview for me with Mister Stanley at Warburton’s.”

“Yeah. Warburton’s, man,” said Ryan. “It’s even worse than the mill.”

“You said it, babe. A total nightmare.” I looked at him. “Maybe we shouldn’t wait till I finish school.”

I suddenly felt desperate. I needed to make a clean break of it, get away from everything.

“Wait for what?”

“To head down to Mexico. Get married…”

It had only been an idea before, half fixed intention half daydream that Ryan and I had played around with when we felt close, but suddenly running away was real and solid. It was the only way out.

“…Yeah.. well…” said Ryan. “…There’s plenty of time for all that, babe…” He was still at the dreaming stage about our marriage.. “…I gotta save some money, Kirsty…you oughta stay at school too…you’ll get a job easier… after we’re married, like… if you’ve… you know, graduated…”

“I hate school! I want to get out of here!”

“Yeah, but…”

He was betraying me. I knew that he loved me, but he was letting me down. He could hear how desperate I was. He must surely realize that something bad was happening to me, but he was refusing to help me.

I sucked up the last of my shake and stuffed some donut in my mouth.

“Hey,” said Ryan. “Who’s that? Why’s that guy looking at you like that?”

I nearly jumped out of my skin.

“Do you know him?”

My heart hammered in my chest.

The sun was glaring so strongly on the glass, for a second it was hard to see out.

A fat old tramp—you could smell his clothes from here—with whiskers down his double chin and a shirt covered in stains, was standing close to the glass, ogling me in my halter and mini skirt.

His mouth gaped. A trickle of dribble picked its way down his bristles.

Ryan gave him the finger.

“Fuck off!” he yelled through the glass. “Ya dirty bastard!”

The tramp just stood there grinning. His mouth was empty. He had no teeth at all.


It was always hard finding somewhere private to park on a Saturday morning. We couldn’t go out to the industrial estate. It was half past twelve and the workers doing a half day’s overtime would be coming out of the workshops and factories.

We sometimes went down to the river, but that was out on a Saturday because of all the families down there swimming and fishing.

The Oval? There was an under fourteen soccer match about to kick off.

“Jesus Christ!” said Ryan. “This is ridiculous.”

I was sitting close to him. He was driving one-handed with his other hand on my knee. There was a hard lump in the front of his jeans, but I didn’t want to touch it, Ryan was wound up enough already. He got uppity if I came onto him too quick.

Going back to my place was out of the question. Mum and Dad would both be at home and Dad wouldn’t let Ryan in the house. We couldn’t go to Ryan’s house for the same reason. His parents loathed me. Driving out of town and finding somewhere in the bush wasn’t an option either. Ryan had a football match at two.

We ended up parked in a side street in a residential area on the West Side. I say residential, but the residences were mainly cinder block and corrugated iron and the front gardens even more unkempt than Dad’s.

Ryan unbuckled his belt and unzipped his jeans. His cock stuck out through the slit between the teeth of his zip. He was fully erect but I still didn’t touch him.

He looked at me.

“What’s wrong?”

I couldn’t tell him what was wrong.

I stared through the windscreen at the telephone poles and the shimmering bitumen.

“This neighborhood. It’s rough.”

That was a bit raw coming from my mouth. My house was in the absolute, most ultimate rough part of town.

“So?”

The East Side would have been better, where the lawns were mowed and the residents weren’t animals. I had visions of gangs of youths gathering round the car while me and Ryan were doing it, guys in singlets banging on the roof, beefy women rocking the Mustang on its springs.

“Nothing.”

I went to go down on him, but he grabbed my halter in both hands and stopped me.

The bodice wasn’t real leather, but it was stiff. The cups were like armor, to get that jiggly look when your tits overflow them. There was a seam of heavy stitching, dead center, where my nipples were. He squeezed and my nipples stiffened and grew taut.

“Fuck, you look hot, babe.”

“You just said I was embarrassing.”

“Yeah, but…”

Yeah, but now we were clubbing. We were out on the dance floor in the front seat of Ryan’s Mustang. We were getting it on under the strobes to that dub bass beat of magpies chortling in the telephone wires and a gang of youths tossing a football further up the road.

I went to unzip my skirt—I’d just bought it this morning, I didn’t want to get anything on it—but Ryan stopped me.

“Leave it on.”

“But it’s Saturday, Ryan!”

I shouldn’t have said it. We’d already kissed and made up. Keeping harping on about our argument was only going to make him upset again, but I couldn’t help myself.

“Leave it on!”

He grabbed me and flipped me over, face down along the seat.

“Hey!”

I don’t mind him being rough with me when we have sex. I like it. I just don’t like it when he’s upset and being rough at the same time.

“Lift your ass!”

I lifted it. The skirt was so short I could feel the faux leather halfway up my cheeks. It felt good, tight and slippery, wet-look leather. My pussy was even wetter.

Ryan pushed the skirt all the way up, till the hem was cutting into the small of my back. He knelt behind me on the seat, his hip knocking against the steering wheel. I waited for the delicious sensation of the tip of his cock nestling between my sopping labia, lining me up.

Something warm and wet landed on my ring. It frothed and trickled in the crack of my ass. It gave me a bit of a shock.

That’s one weird thing about Ryan, he doesn’t like anal. In fact, for some reason or other, he’s anti my back door. There’ve been times I’ve wondered if I smelled or something.

I know my ass is gorgeous—Ryan keeps saying it’s gorgeous— he just doesn’t want to fuck it. I don’t really mind. Why should I? He does things to my pussy that keep me one hundred percent happy, a hundred and ten percent till a couple of weeks ago.

It’s still weird, but. We don’t talk about it, but I get the feeling Ryan thinks fucking me in the ass is unmanly, like it means that he’s a bit gay or something. Which is ridiculous, a stud like Ryan. The few times we have tried anal, Ryan’s been so sniffy and uptight, I haven’t really felt much pleasure, let alone had an orgasm, which has added to his distaste, I think.

“Higher!”

I cocked my butt up higher. His spittle puddled in my ring.

“Yes, baby. Yes,” I said, to try and get him to relax a bit, but I wasn’t all that keen myself and the words didn’t come out right.

He spat again, but this time it sounded more like a spit of disgust than like dropping lube into your girlfriend’s crack. He must have missed, because a second later, I felt something warm and hot trickling off the bottom of my skirt onto the small of my back.

“Ouch!”

I couldn’t help it. The word just came out.

He’d thrust his finger into my ring way too quick. His fingertip felt thick and callused from the mill. His wide, spade-like fingernail stung. He pushed it in and wriggled it around.

My ring was untightening a bit but it still didn’t feel like what I would have called pleasure. I didn’t know whether to let him keep probing and digging or ask him to take his finger out.

At least I was loosening up a bit, but his cock was much thicker than his finger.

I wound my ass around, and he grabbed my choker and jerked my head back.

“Yes,” I said.

I was thinking about the gap in the venetian blinds, and how my ring was buckling like those venetian slats.

Suddenly I went rigid. I was scared stiff. I was rigid with dread. The things I’d been doing in front of the window were suicidal. When the guy next door came for me, he was going to hurt me.

I must have clenched my ass out of sheer terror, because when Ryan’s cock thrust into me it felt like he’d split me in two. My bottom burned. My tunnel bucked and kicked. It felt dry as sandpaper, but that only made Ryan pound faster and faster, deeper and deeper.

I couldn’t breathe. He was pulling my choker back hard against my adam’s apple.

“Yeah. Fuck. Yeah.” His voice came out in big panting sobs. “FUCK. YEAH. FUCK.”

I heard dread and desperation in his voice. I could feel dread and desperation in his cock too. It was rock-hard and angry, shafting me powerfully, but it felt frantic at the same time.

There was a molten sensation at the bottom of my spine. I felt as if my bones were sobbing. I felt as if a huge sob was melting my bum bones with tenderness for this big, beautiful boy who needed me so much. My whole body started snaking as the melting sensation uncoiled from my ass. My belly was snaking around in his hands—he’d let go of my choker, I could breathe—my beautiful taut belly was slithering under his fingers as the tenderness rose upwards and his trembling cock pounded deeper and deeper into me.

“I love you, Ryan.”

“Yeah. Fuck. Yeah.”

I wanted to kiss him while he fucked me. I desperately needed to find his lips with mine, but I couldn’t get my head round far enough, because shivering spasms were travelling up his thing and it was jetting a warm filled-up feeling into places I never knew I had inside me.

“Yeah! F-UUUUUCK!”

When he was finished he lay on top of me. He was heavy. My neck hurt where my face was crushed into the upholstery, but I didn’t mind. It was the first time we’d had anal and enjoyed it. I hadn’t climaxed, but I’d still enjoyed it and I didn’t reckon Ryan had noticed me not coming.

Finally he rolled off me into the back of the seat and I shifted towards the edge and snuggled my bottom into his crotch.

“That was nice,” I said.

“Mm.”

“We’ll have to try that again.”

Perhaps next time I’d orgasm.

“Mmmmmm.”

Shit. He was falling asleep. A car drove past outside.

“Ryan?”

“Yeah?”

“Let’s get married.”

“Yeah. OK.”

“I mean now. Let’s not wait. Let’s get married now.”

“Yeah… whatever…”

I stared at the polystyrene cups and plastic bottles under the glove compartment.

“We could start living together. Now.”

He put his hand on my belly and shifted me into a position that was more comfortable for him. If I breathed too much I’d fall onto the floor.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Your Dad’d never let you.”

“Fuck him. I’m an adult. I can do what I like.”

I didn’t want to go home anyway, whatever happened. I never wanted to set foot in my bedroom again.

“We could stay in a motel tonight.”

“What?!”

“Do it…” I rubbed my ass against his cock. “… again.”

He sighed.

“We discussed it already, Kirsty. Maybe next year.”

“Maybe…?”

It wasn’t the edge of the seat I was falling off, it was a precipice into a bottomless drop, and Ryan was pushing me.

Somewhere outside kids were yelling. A football scuffed asphalt.

“It’s nearly two, Ryan. You’re missing football.”

“SHIT!” He was awake in an instant, sitting bolt upright, fighting his way into his jeans. “FOOTBALL!”


It was dark when I got home, sometime after midnight. I’d deliberately stayed out late. I’d decided that this crazy thing that was going on with the guy next door had to stop and the best way of doing that was for me to stay out of my bedroom for as long as possible, and to jump straight into bed as soon as I got back.

I’d watched Ryan play football, sitting on the sideline chatting with his mates’ girlfriends, then Ryan and I had gone down to the river and had a walk. We’d eaten in a restaurant, and then crashed a party where we didn’t really know the hosts, but they turned out to be cool, and we danced and had a fair bit to drink. Ryan had so much to drink I was worried about him driving, but it turned out OK. He drove slow and didn’t hit anything.

Ryan hadn’t wanted to have sex at the party, or even after, which was a first for us. It was mainly because he was hammered, but I think it was also because doing anal so good had disturbed him a bit, even upset him, like things were changing between us and he felt like they were getting a bit heavy. Me going on about running away and getting married hadn’t helped either.

Dad was out somewhere when I got home, which was lucky because I smelt of Bacardi and the two-piece club outfit would have led to an argument. Mum would be in bed.

I glanced at the house, next door, as I let myself in, but there were no lights on anywhere, and no reflection of lights from the space down the side, between the two houses, either.

He must be asleep. He couldn’t stand at his window all day and night, twenty four seven, watching my window. He had to sleep some time or other. Anyway, it was over. If I saw any sign of life between his venetian blinds when I got in, I’d simply draw my curtains and call it a night.

It could have been the alcohol, but there was still a tingle in my butt, a pleasant ache where Ryan had reamed me earlier on in the day. My bum bones felt as if they’d grown lighter or something, a nice floaty feeling in my bottom which wasn’t just the white rum. I wondered if doing anal and doing it so good had carried me over some crisis I didn’t even know I was in, and now I was free of the crazy stuff I’d been doing on the desk in front of my window.

I crept into the living room and stole a shot of Dad’s Jim Beam to help me sleep. The living room smelt bad.

I realized how crazy it was feeling scared of a guy I didn’t know, had never spoken to, and hadn’t even really properly seen. Scared wasn’t the right word. I wasn’t frightened of him. I was just a bit jumpy because I’d been doing some crazy shit with him, but that didn’t mean that he knew what was going on in my head, or that I knew what was going on in his head. There was nothing to be afraid of, let alone ashamed.