I’m not a pedophile, and I never even looked at little kids sexually before, even when I was a little girl.
I’m Christian, and I was a good Christian. Not a born-again Christian, I never really sinned to come back to the church. Like some Amish girls returning from Rumspringe to finally decide on a life, back in the 1800s. I suppose, I don’t know any Amish, and they don’t really have any around here.
That was what I always thought before, when I heard testimonials in youth group, or later on at prayer meetings. We’re not Catholic, so we don’t have a Confessional, but you know the story by now.
They went to college, and got drunk enough at a party to wind up on a table, stripping. Or satisfied their bicuriousity, or maybe it was drugs, and getting desperate enough to have sex for drugs when they didn’t have the money. Then, they got cleaned up, and we had NA meetings in the basement.
I just shook my head, and tried not to judge them, but I’d never been tempted before, so I had no idea how irresistible temptation could be.
Then, we had our annual January picnic, in the middle of January. This year the second Saturday fell on the 15th, so almost exactly in the middle of January, but the men pulled down the tetherballs to put up the volleyball net, and it was too chilly for bikinis, but as they warmed up, the youth girl’s team had to take off their jackets.
They didn’t get down to their sports-bras, but I’ve never been tempted by the Succubis either, which is to say I never had an bi-curiosity to satisfy, but I noticed some of the boys watching with shameful attention.
All right, I could see what caught their attention. They were barefoot in the sand, but the boys weren’t looking a their ankles. Their skirts, and dresses weren’t immodestly short, but they still showed a lot of leg. Of course, most of them had enough busom to bounce, but I tried not to judge.
“Huh!” I know, I’m too judgemental, and they’re young. Boys will be boys, an these girls were old enough to start looking for young men, to eventually marry. I suppose there was a little envy in there as well, because I’m not married. Never been married, I’m divorced, and I’m starting to get to the age where my family isn’t asking me when I’ll get married.
They don’t have to, I know. I’m starting to ask myself the same question. I tried Christian Mingle, and other such aps. I’m not Amish, I know how to use a computer, and I’ve heard the word “Dowdy” more than enough times from those trolls that call each other Cucks, whatever that means.
So, I was a bit of a prude, and that interfered with any kind of lovelife. I tried dating, but I never got a second date. I hate to think that it’s because I never put out, and always turned to get kissed on the cheek, but it’s not worth it. I’m not going to give myself up, even if saving myself for my husband is a little old fashioned.
I’m not Amish.
Finally, I blew my whistle, and clapped. “Great game, ladies.” I checked my pendant watch, before tucking it back in with my whistle, “But it’s getting late.” They had already started clearing the tables, the grills were being rolled back to the trailer for feeding the homeless, and I had to get my keys out to unlock the locker for the athletic equipment.
The basketball was dribbled over on the toes of a young man, who kicked it up to his knee, then head to pass it too me. I just got out of the way for it to raddle around in there.
“Thanks, Pele’.” He unhooked the tetherballs from the bar, and carried them back, to roll up the volleyball net, while the girls hung around him. The single ones, flirting outrageously, and I shook my head.
“Thanks, Ms. Chalmers.” I almost corrected her, but it is Miss, not Missus. I shook my head, and took the volleyball.
And who can blame them? He’s tall, dark, handsome, and the star of the state Soccer team, so they can talk Soccer with him. Even the soccer Moms are. “Oh, let me help you with that. I love your muscles.”
I shook my head. “Talking to yourself again?”
WARP! I jumped when the sheet metal rang like a thundersheet, and patted my chest, over my heart. There was another thump, and bump, which made me go to investigate. I set the volleyball in the basket, and rolled it quietly away, but there was a vent on the side. A small one, the sort of thing you would expect to see in the floor of a mobile home, so I guessed it was some sort of air conditioning duct?
I never really payed attention, to why there might be a large metal bench, in the back of the storage locker, but then I thought there might be some sort of animal trapped in there, when I heard the distinctive sound of a belt buckle.
Squatting down to squint into the near darkness, I could hear young ladie’s voices. They appeared to be arguing over who had one, when I noticed the shadows splitting out of the corner of my eye.
The slots in the vent left horizontal shadows on pale flesh, but the strip got wider, and the belt buckle hit the floor of the boxy tube with a loud metallic sound. “Hhuhuh!” There was a boy in there, definitely a boy, and not a man, breathing raggedly like Beavis laughing? “HhuhihHIHnhuh!”
I stifled a laugh to a snort, but I couldn’t see his arm, on the other side. So, he was right handed, but I could hear the sound of one hand clapping. The youth fapping bent over in the ventilation duct.
“Think that’s it?”
I practically jumped to my feet, when Maurey came back, and handed my the rolled up volleyball net. If he wasn’t happily married, he’d be the most eligible batchelor, but I but my lip, and nodded. Blushing madly, but he probably didn’t think anything of it. Because he was used to exactly that kind of behavour from every other single lady (And quite a few who were married.)
He didn’t even ask me why I was squatting in the corner with the ball basket rolled out of the way, and I shook my head at myself. At the dirty little thrill I got just thinking that.
Ball basket, but I hadn’t forgotten the dirty little peeper, peering through the vent to the girl’s restroom. I even recalled seeing the vent on the other side, underneath the sinks, but never wondered where it might lead. I could see the pipes for the the sinks right on the wall next to me, and a pair of eyes peeking out the smaller vent in the side of the duct.
“Huh!” There were a few more warped metallic sounds, as the sheet crumpled under his weight, and he moved up to expose the pale bare flesh of his midriff.
“Oh,” I covered my mouth, realizing that the triangular patch of brown shadows must be his pubic hair, and the moving blob his fist, pumping back and forth through the slotted shadows.
I reached back blindly, and caught the edge of the door. Feeling up to the knob, I shut it, and it went dark. All except for a tiny dim light reflected down the shiny metal passage, and filtered through the slotted vent.
‘you little pervert.’
‘yeah, you like it, though. huh, Mrs. Chalmers?’
“It’s miss.” I patted my chest over my heart. “But you can call me Faith.”
“So, you don’t have a husband to cheat on, you like what you see?”
“Oh,” I felt out to the edges of the rectagonal vent cover, and touched the screws. “I can’t see anything.”
A light clicked on, pointing down. “How bout now?”
“Oh yes.” I could feel the slotted heads, and grateful that they were flat, instead of Phillips, I turned my thumbnails in them, hoping they were lose enough, then shaking my head. “Lefty losey, righty tighty.” I turned the one on the right the other way, so I could unscrew them.
“What’s that?”
“Don’t finish, you can hold it until I unscrew these, damned screws!”
“So you can screw around with me?”
“Ah hap!” I shook my head, then snorted. “Snerk. What a dirty mind you have, you dirty little pervert.”
“This look dirty to you?”
“Oh!” The grate finally fell away, with a loud crash in the dark. “Oh God, forgive me.”
I don’t know what you would call large. “Oomph! Smup oowlul! Huh!” Not more than a mouthful, at least what little stuck out, in that awkward position, but I found that if I turned my head to the side, I could lick the whole thing from the edge of the hairs to the tip. “Luh huh!” I licked my lips, and savored the saltiness of his sweat. “Snuh huh! Ooh. Oomp smup smup smup smup!”
“Uhn huhHhihn! NGH!” His knee must have hit the side of the duct, but I just closed my eyes, and honestly. That sound is such a turn-on now, for me.
“Snh?” Then, I could taste it. The seed of his young lust, splashing on my tongue, and rolling down between my teeth to pool in my cheek. “MH!” It was absolutely delicious. No wonder it was forbidden fruit! “Shuip!” I wipde my mouth, then the corner where it had drooled down when I turned my head up, threw it back with a shot, and gulped it down with satisfaction.
“Now who’s got a dirty mouth?” I heard his belt clink, and sat down on the filthy floor. He bumped back the way he came, past the T junction to the utility room, to the vent he’d removed from beneath the sinks in the boy’s room.
I jumped at the chance, to crawl over, and roll aside the other basket of balls. “Hm, balls.” Giggling like a school girl, I saw him holding the vent up, and chewing on his tongue, stuck in his cheek.
“Martin?”
He sucked it back in, and I rubbed my cheek, where the seed of his lust had pooled, only moments before. He grinned, but he held up his finger. “Sh, don’t tell anyone.”
What, that I sucked him off through a hole like some homosexual in a rest-stop men’s room?
“Of course not, but I’m going to have to see you in my office, after Sunday school tomorrow.”
“Yes maam!” He grinned, and finished screwing in the panel. Which reminded me to go back over to cover up, any evidence of my crime.
“Hm hm hm.” Humming to myself. “What I need is a good defense, because I’m feeling like a criminal. And I need to be redeemed for the one I’ve sinned against, because he’s all I ever known of a love.”
He’s young, probably far too young for me to marry him, right? I honestly don’t know, I had to get my phone out to look up. [Minimum age to get married.]
“Huh!” Well he might be 14. I don’t know, he could be a teenager, and just not interested in participating in that youth group. 12 with Parental consent, and he has to be older than 12, right? Rolling my now tangy drool around in my mouth. When do boys started ejaculating?
Back to Google. Honestly, I should have looked this up years ago, but I didn’t have any need. “Huh!” As young as 11? He can’t be that young, can he?
“It doesn’t matter, we can just have an affair until he’s old enough. I’ll just go to planned parenthood, and get some sort of birth control until then. Huh, or maybe an Abortion?”
What would my father think of me, if he heard me saying that?
I looked up in the dark. “Please forgive me.” I even crossed myself, just to be sure.
“Amen.”
;
Soundrack Notes: Fiona Apple – “Criminal” (Tidal)
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