Like I said. I'm not a very nice man at all. As you're about to find out.
Part 1
On the day in question - a lovely sunny Saturday, in late June - I was in an unusually positive state of mind. It could very easily have been different, but such is the life of a gambler. As usual, I'd ended up in the bookies the previous afternoon, losing most of my week's earnings. But then I'd dropped my last fiver on a triple acca, and all three horses had somehow come through for me. That meant I'd left with a nice fat roll of twenties in my pocket which totalled a cool two grand.
Two fucking grand. That had given me the shivers, just feeling it in my hand. Two grand bought some serious quality time with some proper top-notch hookers. But that just wasn't my style. Where's the thrill in paying for a guaranteed result? Where's the anticipation? The chase? The challenge? Much more fun to patrol the pubs and clubs in town, searching for a suitably attractive young inebriate who could be persuaded to accompany me home. It would be a long shot. It always was, these days. But I knew from experience that throwing a chunk of my winnings into the mix might just shorten those odds a lot. With two grand in my pocket, I was pretty sure I'd be getting lucky that night.
So, I'd showered and shaved, and was going to head out to the barbers before they shut. I hadn't been for a while and my thinning hair was approaching full-creepster length. It wasn't a good look, and I knew I'd be needing all the help I could get later on when I was trying my luck. Trusting in fortune and the cash in your pocket was one thing. Looking like you still lived with your parents at forty was another.
That left me getting dressed in my bedroom, thinking of what the night might bring, idly looking out through the blinds at my small, unkempt garden below. The window was cracked open and I could hear the sounds of youthful frivolity from outside. Female frivolity, by the sound of it.
I smiled. That would be Lauren Carter, the girl next door. Well, one of them, anyway. Her mother, Amy, had churned out five kids already, with another one on the way. At eighteen, Lauren was the eldest. As far as I knew, each of her siblings had a different father. The family had moved in a few months before, having been 're-housed' by the council. Rumours were that they'd been evicted from their previous place and got dumped on our estate because no-one else would rent to them. Based on the endless comings-and-goings, the parties and the constant noise at all hours of day and night, I suspected the rumours were true.
I peered through a gap in the blinds, craning my neck slightly to get a better view.
Two bikini-clad teens - Lauren and a friend - were playing some kind of cheapskate version of volleyball, batting an inflatable beach ball back and forth over a washing line. Unusually, Lauren's younger siblings weren't out there screaming and swearing and throwing things around. But then I'd seen her mother stuffing them all into a seven-seater minicab earlier that morning. Off to Pontins for the weekend, she'd said. Needed a break. Oh, and by the way, Lauren's having a pool party this evening so there might be some noise.
Right. Like every other fucking Saturday night, then.
I finished buttoning my shirt and focused all of my attention on the girls playing outside. The 'pool' was a crappy inflatable thing that was slowly being filled by a hose. The party clearly hadn't started yet, so I figured the girls were just bored and passing the time until the others arrived. I recognised the friend. She'd been around a few times and I knew her name was Shannon. Not because I was a proper stalker or anything, but simply because I'd heard Lauren yelling it at the top of her voice enough times.
My smile broadened as I watched. Neither girl could be called naturally beautiful, but in keeping with the local Essex tradition they made the best of what they had with copious amounts of make-up and artificially-induced tan. And whilst their bodies weren't glossy-magazine material, their curves were mostly in the right places.
Lauren was the larger of the two, in every aspect. I guessed she was around five-six in height. I didn't need to guess that she carried rather more weight on her than her smaller friend. Happily, a fair amount of that weight was on her chest, in the form of tits that were already captivating my attention as she threw the ball around. In my eyes, they were plenty enough to distract from her not-exactly-beach-ready tummy. I guess I've always been a sucker for a nice rack. Her hair, highlighted in a variety of blonde shades, was tied back in a loose plait. It was as fake as her tan, but it looked good on her. Hell, she looked good all round in the sun's late-afternoon glow; almost pretty, in fact, with her false lashes and heavy eyeliner managing to emphasise her femininity rather nicely. Not that I was looking at her face. Her bikini might have been surprisingly modest in its cut, but it was still showing off more than enough to hold my attention.
Shannon was shorter and skinnier, and had her back to me at that point. I spent a moment admiring her small, tight, firm-looking arse which I considered to at least partially make up for her having very little up top for her bright red bikini to restrain. Her hair was darker than Lauren's, cut with a tight fringe and just streaked with blonde highlights. She also had more visible ink on her, with a cheap-looking dragon tattoo spiralling all the way down her back and several other unidentifiable patterns on the backs of her legs. She laughed at something Lauren said, went and grabbed her phone, then posed for a selfie with the ball. Nobody'd ever call her pretty, with her sharp-looking features and perpetual scowl, but she clearly had some skill with her makeup brushes and scrubbed up well in a Cleopatra type of way. Still looked better from behind, though.
I chuckled to myself, as I cast my critical judgement on these two teenagers, like I was God's gift myself. Like I wouldn't fuck either one of them in a heartbeat, given half a chance. I smiled, posing a fantasy choice: Lauren or Shannon? Shannon or Lauren? The correct answer was, of course, both. But I figured if I absolutely had to choose, it would be Lauren every time.
It wasn't the first time I'd perved on her from a distance; far from it. Hell, she was eighteen, she lived next door and even when she wasn't sunbathing in a bikini, she had a liking for clothing that left very little to the imagination. I'd driven past her earlier in the week, tottering down the road in her heels, wearing a skimpy crop-top and a skirt so short I could actually see the curve of her buttocks peeking out from underneath.
Classy, she wasn't. Not that I gave a shit about that. I also didn't care that, as a person, she really wasn't very pleasant. It didn't matter that most of the interactions I'd observed her having with other people had been vulgar, aggressive and confrontational. Or that she'd been particularly rude to me when I'd called round early in their tenure next door, to ask for the music to be turned down. Or that, as far as I could tell, she seemed to spend most of her life either glued to her phone or shouting at someone, sometimes both at the same time. None of that mattered in the slightest. At least, not from where I was standing at that moment.
She was a teenage girl with a cracking pair of tits, in a bikini. I wasn't looking at her fucking
personality,
that was for sure.
I watched Lauren's chest bounce delightfully as she threw the ball up in the air. I swallowed hard, feeling movement in my pants. I was such a fucking pervert, standing there in my darkened bedroom spying on two young girls. But sometimes you just have to accept what you are. In truth, my rampant libido had always been a problem - I was always looking, fantasising, imagining, and occasionally getting to act out those fantasies when I got lucky enough. It simply never stopped. That probably had something to do with why my wife had taken the girls and moved to the other end of the country. It wasn't just the gambling.
I noted that Lauren's energetic movement had caused her bikini bottoms to slip down a little. They looked a little on the big side, despite her not being short of curves to hold them up. I watched, enraptured, as she unconsciously tugged them up a little, then smoothed the material over her buttocks as she waited for her friend to 'serve' the ball.
I unzipped my fly and manoeuvred my hardening cock out of my pants. Might as well get warmed up a little for the night ahead. Once you've accepted you're a pervert, it's actually quite liberating.
I stroked my length gently, encouraging the blood flow. I'm not gigantic in that department, but nobody's ever pointed at it and laughed, either. Maybe a little larger than average. Whatever, it still does the job. And, as it happens, genetics have blessed me with a party trick that never fails to introduce some alternative surprise and delight into bedroom proceedings. The surprise tends to be hers - whoever she is - whilst the delight is usually all mine. But I'll come to that later.
I started wanking properly, peering through the blinds as Shannon bounced up and down like a tennis player, waiting for Lauren to hit the slow-moving ball over the net. I had a perfect view of the smaller girl's rear, moving alluringly under the red material. She was lighter on her feet than Lauren and her bikini was a better fit, which sadly meant it had no trouble staying in position. That didn't stop my fantasy. I imagined what those tight, sunbed-tanned cheeks would look like if that slinky red material
did
