Dirty Dere and the Nymph Next Door

Derek Matthews was standing at the counter of his local cafe, tapping his fingers impatiently and looking around at the room full of empty tables and chairs.

A young foreign guy appeared behind the counter. "Yeah, what can I get you?" said the foreigner in a strong Eastern European accent.

"About bloody time, an' all," Derek grumbled under his breath, then replied, "Bacon butty and a cup of coffee, please, lad."

"Coming right up."

Derek turned his head to scan the empty tables once more. "Bit dead in 'ere. Get much totty in?" he said in a northern accent.

"Yeah. Weekday mornings this place is full of pretty ladies. They swarm in after dropping their kiddies off at school. Very good for business, you know."

Nodding casually and turning his head back around, Derek leaned forward and rested his forearms on the counter. "Oh, aye, lad. I know what you mean. You can't beat a bit of MILF. Well, I prefer the young'uns myself – you know, a nice piece of veal – but you wouldn't catch me turning my nose up at a bit of offal."

Ignoring Derek, the foreigner leaned sideways and looked past him. "Hi girls," he exclaimed sprightly, waving a hand in a gesture of greeting. "Your usual, yeah?"

"Yes, please, Stellios," came a female voice in reply.

Derek's ears pricked up. "'Ay up." He turned around to see what was going on behind him.

Eyes gleaming with delight, a dirty grin slowly spread across his face when he saw two young women entering the cafe. Two student types, one was a skinny Chinese girl with perky little breasts, the other a short, chubby blonde with breasts like watermelons. Both scantily clad, their navels and thighs were fully exposed below thigh-length shorts and cropped tank tops.

His eyes were then drawn to their feet. They both wore flip-flops that slapped against the soles of their feet as they walked along the hard floor of the cafe. Derek's cock twitched and swelled in his pants at the sight of their exposed flesh.

"My, oh, my. Scantily clad college fillies," he drawled under his breath. "No older than twenty, I reckon." Then, raking his gaze over their bodies and leaning back casually on the counter, he said out the corner of his mouth, "Tell you what, mate. I'd look dead smart hanging out the back of those two."

The foreigner replied with an incredulous look.

This was the reason Derek had moved to the south of England. The girls were hornier and wore less clothing. The weather was warmer down south so it stood to reason.

He adored every part of the female body, especially tits and toes. The mere sight of a young female was enough to leave him hard and frustrated. What he wouldn't give to get his filthy paws on a fit, young hard-body, especially a college girl's. It was, and always had been, his life's ambition to sleep with a teenage girl.

Sitting down at a table near the window, the blonde girl rustled around in her handbag before pulling out a bottle of red nail varnish. "Come on, let's paint our toenails while we're waiting. Once I've finished mine, prop your feet up on my lap and I'll paint yours, too," she giggled.

Derek couldn't believe his luck. Talk about being in the right place at the right time. Eyes bulging and lips drawn down at the corners, he glared intently as the blonde girl kicked off her flip-flops and stooped forward before drawing a knee up to her chest.

Derek could clearly see the cleft of her ample cleavage as she nestled her knee into her armpit and perched her foot on the edge of her chair. Her breasts pushed up and bulged within the confines of her tank top, spilling over and revealing the top halves of her plump, cushiony mounds.

Derek sat down at a table in the far corner for a better look. He had the perfect view. Eyes darting between her tits and toes, his fingers tugged at the zipper of his trousers beneath the table. He felt the pressure ease as his hard-on sprang forth. Wrapping a hand around his stiff rod, he stroked it slowly, dragging his fist up and down the stubby shaft.

The young girl gazed down at her feet, wiggling and splaying her toes, and then began to paint her nails. One by one, she gently stroked the brush over her toenails, blowing for a few seconds on each to dry them faster. After she finished, she stretched her legs out in front of her, head tilted to one side, and looked at her outstretched feet in front of her. "I wish I had prettier feet," she said, wiggling her freshly painted toes.

Derek felt a bolt of sexual excitement surge through his body. His legs jerked involuntarily, his knees thudding loudly on the underside of the table.

Both girls gasped and stopped what they were doing.

Derek's breath caught in his throat as his heart lurched in his chest and his hand ceased its rhythmic pumping.

As they looked over at Derek to see what the noise was, they could quite clearly see his fisted cock beneath the table. They stared for a moment through eyes glazed with shock and amusement. Then after a short moment, to Derek's surprise and joy, the two girls hooted with laughter and carried on regardless.

Placing her feet back on to the floor, the blonde turned to face her Chinese friend. Patting her lap she said, "Come on, get those tootsies up here. Let's put some colour on them."

Derek's fist resumed pumping furiously under the table. He leered as the Asian girl placed a foot upon her friends lap. He couldn't believe this was actually happening right before his very eyes. This was the stuff dreams are made of.

The blonde girl fondled her friend's toes for a moment, squeezing them, stroking them. "Ahhh," she sighed, pinching her friend's toes one by one. "Your toes are gorgeous."

Derek gasped loudly. "That's right, sweetheart, fondle those little piggies. Just a couple more minutes and I'll be making a mess on the floor," he said under his breath in a raspy whisper.

Grasping her by the ankle, the blonde girl wiggled her fingertips over the sole of her friend's foot, tickling her relentlessly. The Asian girl's body jolted, and she squealed with laughter.

"Argh! Stop it!" she shrieked. "That tickles."

Derek's mouth gaped and his hand pumped faster.

"Fucking hell, that's kinky," he said in strained whisper. "I'm gonna blow my coco."

It was then that dotty old Mavis from the bakery pottered into the cafe.

"Cooee! Derek." she squawked nosily, waving a hand to try and catch his attention.

He tried to ignore her, but she called again, more insistent, and Derek was forced to stuff his cock back in his trousers. It strained against the fabric of his underpants, throbbing, aching to be freed from its confines and finished off. His face was red and sweaty, and his eyes looked like they were about to pop out of their sockets. The tumultuous beating of his heart thumped in his ears and his shoulders heaved as he fought to catch his breath.

Mavis shuffled quickly over to his table and stood right in front of him, completely blocking his view of the two frolicking girls.

"How are you?" cackled Mavis in an irritatingly high-pitched tone. "Oh, you look ever so red and flustered. Your face is all hot and sweaty, you know. I'd say you were running a temperature."

Derek was incensed that the old biddy had ruined his ogling and wanking session. He sighed deeply and rested his cheek against his palm. "Yep. Hello, Mavis," he said despondently.

Derek could hear the two young girls still frolicking in the background. "I love playing with your feet," he heard the blonde girl giggle. "Would you like to play with mine? Go on, give mine a tickle. Bet I'm not as ticklish as you."

"Go on then, prop 'em up on my lap," her friend replied.

Mavis continued, "You 'aven't caught a dose of that sickness bug, 'av ya. It's doing the rounds, you know. My friend Ethel had it last week. Awful it was. All kinds of things coming out of both ends of her, the poor thing."

Derek's eyes rolled upwards. Tapping his fingers irritably on the table, he stared at Mavis's haggard, wrinkly old face and felt a sudden urge to punch it. "Oh, that's nice," he said, sighing with indifference.

He heard the blonde girl shriek with laughter then say, "Ewww, gross. You just sucked my big toe. That's nasty."

Derek felt his cock throb mightily and then anger rise up in waves in his body.

Mavis placed her hands on the edge of Derek's table and stooped down closer, whispering, "She soiled the bed on a least three occasions, you know. Just couldn't make it to the toilet, you see. It was coming out of her like water."

"Oh, Jesus," Derek squeaked exasperatedly, grimacing at the unnecessary information.

Suddenly the blonde girl's shrill voice filled the room. "Be careful!" she screeched. "You just pulled my top down. I was on full display there for a sec. Lucky no one was watching."

Mavis yattered on, "Have you tried Imodium? I've heard that—"

Derek felt the anger rise up in his chest. "Would you please put a bloody sock in it, woman!" he snapped furiously.

Mavis's eyes and mouth widened in shock, and her expression turned to one of total dismay.

"Christ Almighty," Derek continued angrily, standing up abruptly off his chair. "I come in here for a bit o' grub and some relaxing peace and quite. And what do I get? Yady-yady-yada in me bloody ears holes. Ear hole abuse, that's what that is. Assault of the bloody ear drums."

Glancing over Mavis's shoulder, as she stood frozen to the spot in bewilderment, Derek cursed when he saw that the two girls had settled down to eat.

Stomping sulkily over to the counter he snapped his fingers at the foreigner preparing his food. "Hey, Stellios, bag mine up, lad. I'll take it to go." Then, pointing a finger in Mavis's direction, said, "She's given me bloody ear ache with her incessant yapping. She's driving your customers away, you know. You ought to bar her."

*

On arriving home, Derek's face was a picture of rage and despair. Incensed that a golden ogling opportunity had been ruined, he muttered obscenities under his breath as he traipsed miserably down his garden path. Frowning angrily, he opened the front door with a forceful swing, slamming it hard against the hallway wall.

Tears welling up in his eyes, bottom lip quivering uncontrollably, he stomped through the door and slammed it closed behind him. "Nothing good ever happens to me!" he cried out petulantly.

Entering the bathroom, he stood and studied himself in the cracked mirror. Derek, who had last week celebrated his fiftieth birthday by hurling an empty bottle of cider into the mirror to destroy the chubby, bald-headed man looking back at him, still had eyes sharp enough to ogle. But that wasn't enough anymore, ogling. What he needed was a good leg-over and with nothing less than a hard-bodied teenager. Not some ropey old prostitute. That's all he'd had since moving south: grotty prostitutes.

"Maybe that's why I've had so much bad luck lately," he blurted to his reflection. "I bet it's all down to me smashing this bastard mirror."

How depressing to come to the slowly dawning realisation that he was now fifty, not as physically desirable as he had been, and that some great ingredient of his life was missing. He took inventory of what he had: a nice house – thanks to an inheritance – where he lived alone, a flash car, charm and erudition. What else did he need in order to bag himself a young fuck? For the life of him he couldn't work out why teenage girls weren't attracted to him.

He'd been so full of expectation when he'd moved south, just over a year ago. He'd heard all the rumours about the loose woman with their big tits, fake tans and peroxide hair. He had been sure he'd have young girls on tap, fulfilling his every fantasy. But it never happened. Even the prostitutes had been a total let down. In fact, it was a bad experience with a prostitute that had led to him smashing the damn mirror in the first place.

Being his fiftieth birthday he'd been sure that for once the massage parlour would send him a little hotty with a killer body. He'd been quite specific on the phone as to what he desired. He'd demanded a young girl with perky tits and a stunning body, slender and lithe with an angelic face.

He had been indignant when he answered his door an hour later to find a forty-something-year-old hag with saggy tits, scabby legs, greasy hair, and a smack habit.

Derek grimaced and shuddered at the memory.

It's why he never called on prostitutes anymore. Well, that and the fact his mother's inheritance was dwindling fast. With that thought came the horrible realisation that he would soon have to find a job, otherwise he'd be penniless and seriously screwed. His stomach lurched and depression settled over him in a thick blanket.

He pushed the thought to the back of his mind and went back to focusing on the real matter at hand: getting his leg over.

He stood up straight, inhaled deeply through his nose, then, pointing to his reflection in the mirror, said, "Right, sunshine. You're gonna stop brooding and pull yourself together. Get yourself to the shops and buy some designer clothes and expensive aftershave."

*

When Derek sauntered up his garden path later that morning, his neighbour, Bernard, was setting off for Sunday morning mass. Bernard took a double take when he saw a large, green figure waddle past, carrying bags full of clothes and aftershave.

"Good grief. What on earth are you wearing?" said Bernard with incredulity when he saw it was Derek dressed in a bright green shell suit and white Adidas trainers.

"What?" replied Derek, a nonplus expression on his dopey face, "what this?" he added, pointing to his shell suit.

"Yes. That," Bernard replied, his face a picture of perplexity.

"This is me new get-up, this, you cheeky bugger. Cost me a fucking fortune, it did. All the youngsters are wearing 'em."

"Why are you wearing it then?"

Then Derek, studying Bernard disdainfully, saw what he was wearing and shook his head. What did the cunt think he looked like? Gel-slicked hair, white shirt – with a tie – and ironed trousers. Only women ironed their trousers. And the impudent little prick had the cheek to spurn his shell suit.

"So, where are you off to then, looking like a little choir boy?" Derek asked derisively.

"Church, if you must know."

"Oh, I see. Play on the Sunday morning God squad, do ya?" he replied with contempt, then, his smirking, contemptuous visage falling away, added, "I've got a great joke for ya, lad. You'll love this."

Bernard sighed with resignation.

Chortling childishly, Derek began, "What happened when the pope went to Mount Olive?"

Bernard grunted and shrugged with indifference.

"Popeye kicked the shit out of him!" Derek doubled over, laughing his wheezy laugh.

Bernard gave him a reproachful look, and then said, "Yes, very droll. Now, enough of the pleasantries, what I really want to speak to you about is the matter of certain undergarments going missing from my washing line."

Derek's brow wrinkled with confusion. "Under what?"

"Undergarments, Derek. Underwear. My eighteen-year-old daughter's underwear, to be more specific, has been going missing from my washing line," he said sternly. "I was wondering if you could enlighten me on the matter."

Derek gulped nervously and his chin began to quiver. His round face, radiating guilt, flushed red and purple, like a pomegranate. "No," he lied, his voice quavering, "don't be bloody daft. I didn't even know she wore underwear."

Bernard gave him a look of reproach.

"How is she, anyway? Your Lucy?" Derek enquired, nervousness stealing the vibrancy from his voice, leaving it little more than a squeaky whisper.

"Don't ask. She's the bane of my life, she really is."

"Oh, I see. Gotten herself pregnant, has she?"

"Certainly not!" squawked Bernard furiously, turning around abruptly and storming off toward his car.

*

Meanwhile, in the back garden next to Derek's, Bernard's daughter Lucy was sunbathing. Clad only in a two-piece bikini with a floral design, the exposed, tawny skin of her sleek body glistened with a slick of sweat. Fury surged through her and quiet curses sounded in her throat while her hands clamped into fists at her sides.

She was furious with her father. Who did the pedantic old codger think he was, telling her what to do?

"You're not cadging off me any more. Go get a job.

"No sex before marriage. If you end up pregnant, you're out the door, young lady," she muttered to herself, mimicking her father in a mock tone of voice.

She pounded her balled fists against the ground in anger, then decided, as an act of rebellion against her pedantic father's trivial rules, she would screw the next guy she laid eyes on.

She was a promiscuous young girl, Lucy; the mere thought of rough, spontaneous sex would send frissons of sexual excitement skittering across her body. At the age of eighteen she'd had more pricks than a second hand dartboard, and she'd loved every single one. The big, the small, the cute and the ugly – she had relished every one.

As an aspiring cock connoisseur she had recently begun keeping a journal in which she recorded her wide range of sampled penises. Subsequently rating them out of ten on five different factors – size, taste, rigidity, vigour, and appearance.

As she lay sprawled on her back she noticed the net curtains twitching in an upstairs bedroom window next door.

It was Derek's window – or 'that filthy pervert', as her father would refer to him – and she could quite clearly make out the silhouette of his dumpy figure as he shuffled about behind the curtain, ogling her bikini-clad body. He wasn't being very inconspicuous about it, either. She could even see the outline of the binoculars he was holding to his eyes with one hand. She didn't need any guesses as to where his other hand was, the dirty git.

She began to wonder what it was he did with all the underwear he'd been stealing from her washing line of late. Her pussy throbbed to life as she envisaged him masturbating on them, wrapping them around his cock and soiling them with semen. Then, snorting with laughter, her mind filled with images of Derek prancing around his house wearing kinky lingerie.

She thought about the pact she'd made with herself a minute ago and realised Derek would be her next fuck. Her mind began to wander and she realised she was envisaging herself in bed, naked, with Derek. She bit her lower lip, ashamed to be having such fantasies. Especially given his age. He was older enough to be her granddad. And he was fat and ugly – and sometimes smelly – but the thought made her pussy tingle nonetheless.

Lucy decided it was time to get the show started.

She sat up, reached behind her back, and untied her bikini top, revealing two perky little mounds of joy. In an instant, she heard a loud crash in the distance, subsequently followed by Derek's muffled voice exclaiming, "Fucking hell fire! She's only gone an' let the puppies out to play!"

A cool breeze puckered her nipples, drawing goose bumps on her skin. Shivering with delight as a wave of sexual desire washed over her, she peered up at Derek's bedroom window and saw the flash of a camera.

The dirty bastard wasn't content with just leering he was now snapping souvenirs with his Polaroid.

Lucy propped herself up on her elbows, gazed up at Derek's window, then crooked a finger in a come-here motion.

Within seconds Derek had appeared at his back door. He sauntered casually up to the garden fence, pinching the fabric at the front of his green shell suit, hoping Lucy would comment on his new designer gear.

"Y'all right, Lucy?" he drawled lazily, leaning down and resting his forearms on the garden fence. Playing it cool and nodding his head casually he added, "So, err...what's the word on the street, babe?"