He Stared at All That I Showed

There are no underage characters in this story. All characters are over the age of 18-years-old.

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Exchanging money for sex and sex for money with my elderly neighbor.

Revised, rewritten, and continued from Chapter 04:

He looked at me as if he was trying to build up the courage to ask me something. It was the uncomfortable look that someone sometimes has when their constipated. Suddenly, as if he was diagnosed with a fatal illness and was about to ask the doctor how much longer he had to live, his face was filled with consternation and trepidation. As if he had seen a ghost, he looked at me with fright. As if I was his ghost he looked at me with fear mixed with fading sexual excitement.

"Something I don't usually ask of a woman and forgive me for asking you this but," he said pausing as if thinking better of asking his question or thinking of a better way to ask his question. "If I may be so bold, and I apologize in advance if I offended you by my question, but may I ask how old you are?"

There it is. He threw it out there. From teachers, to coworkers, to acquaintances, to strangers on the street, to bartenders, doormen, bouncers, and friends, he asked me the question that everyone has asked me all my life. I laughed more at his embarrassment than I did more at his question. As if he was the underage minor instead of him being a 72-year-old man, he looked so nervous. He looked so guilty that I was about to tell him what he hoped not to hear, that I was an underage minor and jail bait even though I wasn't.

"No offense taken," I said giving him a warm, sexy smile.

I looked at him, really looked at him. He wasn't a bad looking man for his age. He reminded me of Charlton Heston. He had that strong, manly look on his face that Kirk Douglas did when he was a famous movie star.

Clean shaven, he had grey hair and blue eyes and his skin wasn't as wrinkled as some of the other older men I befriended. With him not having a pot belly and with him having most of his hair, he looked slim, trim, and fitter than most men his age. Just as I looked younger, he looked younger too. Only, he had wrinkled hands. As if he was wearing gloves that were too big, the skin on his hands were loose. I wondered if my skin would look like that one day, old and wrinkled.

I couldn't help but notice that he had oversize ears and his nose was big too. I read once a long time ago that ears and noses continue to grow. I wondered if I'd have big ears and a big nose when I was his age. Obviously with my ears and nose much smaller than his, unless I lived to be 100-years-old, I'd never have ears and a nose as big as his.

While waiting for him to speak, in the way he was looking at me, I was looking at him. He remained silent while staring at me as if I was a slave at auction and he was about to make a bid to buy me. In the way he was staring, I couldn't help but feel invaded by his stare. Obviously, having seen this look many times before, especially from older, sexually frustrated men, he was undressing me with his eyes while, no doubt, imagining me in my bra and panties, topless, and/or even naked.

"Now that I see you in the bright light of my kitchen light, you look so very young," he said staring at me as if I was something or someone suddenly so forbidden. "You have such young-looking skin, your hair is so shiny, and you have beautiful, bright eyes," he said looking nervous complimenting me. Obviously, he feared that I was not of legal age. "You're really a very good looking woman and have the body to match your pretty face."

Appreciative of his compliments, I flashed him my sexiest smile again.

"Thank you for your compliments," I said. "So, tell me, how old do you think I am. Take a guess. Take a wild guess," I said turning one way before turning the other. "You tell me how old you think I am."

I turned one way before turning the other way again. Showing him the side of my big blouse and bra clad breasts, I flashed him the backside of my short, jean shorts. While sexually enticing him, I continued flashing him my sexiest poses while waiting for him to answer my question.

Continuing to sexually tease him, I even bent at the waist in front of him again to show him my sexy jean shorts, clad ass while wiggling my ass as if I was Rihanna twerking. Continuing again to sexually tease him and erotically entice him, I turned to lean in front of him to give him another down blouse view of my low-cut bra and my long, line of cleavage. As if he was hoping for a lap dance, he sat there with his mouth open staring at all that I was showing. As if I was a prostitute in a legal house of prostitution in Nevada that he was about to pick for an hour, he took the opportunity of guessing my age to stare at me longer and harder.

"To be honest, if I had just passed by you on the street, I'd think you were fifteen or sixteen-years-old and would be surprised if you told me you were eighteen or nineteen-years-old," he said with a nervous, little laugh. He paused while staring at me again.

Giving me mixed facial expressions, he appeared sad that I could be fifteen or sixteen. No doubt he was hoping that I was at least eighteen or nineteen. I laughed that he thought I was so young. No wonder why he was so nervous.

"Fifteen or sixteen? Seriously? You think that I'm fifteen or sixteen-years-old? I know I look young but I didn't realize that I look that young, even with me wearing makeup. Wow," I said sucking in my tummy to puff out my big chest.

Continuing to tease him with my sexy smile and naughty look, I allowed him to dangle on the rope he hung around his neck a bit longer.

"Did I guess correctly? With you of legal age to rent an apartment on your own, are you nineteen-years-old?" Returning his stare while remaining silent, I let him suffer before answering him. "You're nineteen-years-old, right? Tell me that you're of legal age," he said with more nervousness as if hoping that I was of legal age and not jail bait.

I laughed before giving him a sexy smile to alleviate his fears that I was, indeed, of legal age.

"No one guesses my age correctly, especially men and especially bartenders. I've always looked younger than I am. Even when I wear something sexy, I'm carded all the time," I said pausing to delay the suspense of telling him my age. I took a big breath that made my breasts look even bigger than they were. "I'm twenty-three-years-old and will be twenty-four in June, June 14th, Flag Day," I said while hoping he'd remember my birthday to buy me a gift.

He looked at me dumbfounded. In the way that most men do before asking me out for a date, he looked at me as if relieved that I wasn't jail bait. Suffice to say, obviously, he was happy that I was of legal age. No doubt, he was happy that he couldn't be charged with statutory rape should we progress that far in our neighborly, sexual relationship and have deep penetrating sex.

"Twenty-three? Seriously? You're twenty-three-years-old? Thank God, I mean, good God, you don't look your age."

While he was beaming a big smile at me, obviously relieved that I was of legal age, I nodded my head.

"Born June 14, 1993, I'm twenty-three," I said with a big smile.

As if I had just told him that I was fifteen-years-old, he looked at me stunned.

"I never would have guessed that you were twenty-three-years-old? Wow! You don't look twenty-three-years-old. If you told me you were sixteen-years-old, I would have believed you. You look so young. You look like a kid. You look like—" he said not finishing his sentence.

I finished his sentence for him.

"I know. I look like jail bait," I said with a big laugh. "Matter of fact, that's my e-mail address, ILookLikeJailBait," I said laughing.

Chapter 05:

He looked at me relieved that I was twenty-three-years-old and not sixteen-years-old.

"Being that you'll be too tired to unpack and cook, why don't you come over for dinner. I'll cook," said Ron. "Give me an hour to get everything ready."

'Here we go. This is the start of a beautiful, sexual relationship,' I thought. Money for sex and sex for money.

"Sure, okay. That would be nice," I said. "I'll shower and change while you're cooking. I think I saw the box where I packed my towels."

He smiled as if he was about to reward me with food.

"Do you like shrimp? I'll make you shrimp and spaghetti and we'll have a nice bottle of Italian Chianti wine with dinner.

With me not much of a cook, I couldn't remember when I had shrimp and spaghetti last. If I didn't have a microwave to heat up canned soups and TV dinners, I'd probably starve. Moreover, thank God for pizza delivery which serves more than one purpose. Not only do I get to have pizza delivered to me but also I get to flash the pizza delivery man my topless and/or naked body but dropping my towel.

'Oops, please don't look at my ass, my tits, and my pussy. I'm so embarrassed,' I imagined saying now as I've said so very many times in the past.

"Thank you that would be lovely," I said knowing full well that once he plied me with wine, he'd be making a pass at me.

### ILookLikeJailBait ###

Showered and changed, I wore my lowest cut blouse and my shortest skirt, the one that flaps open in the front when I sit. Ready to do sexual combat, I was wearing my preferred flashing outfit. Knowing full well that when I wasn't flashing him my cleavage and bra, I'd be flashing him my panties, I've made a lot of money wearing this outfit in front of older, horny, and sexually frustrated men.

We made light conversation during dinner about the neighborhood, the neighbors, and his car. He mentioned going parking again and I would for the right price. After dinner, with him leading the way, we sat in the living room sipping our wine. He sat in his recliner and I sat on the couch across from him. Sitting like a lady but with me sitting lower than he was, I knew I'd be flashing him my panties soon.

"Since Sharon died," he said hanging his head before looking up at me with sad, tear filled eyes, I've been alone for a very long time without a woman in my life," he said. "I've been so very lonely and sexually frustrated, horny actually," he said.

'Oh, oh, here it comes. Poor me. Would you mind giving me sex,' I thought while imagining what he was thinking.

Denying him a peek of my panties by sitting like a well-mannered lady from a boarding school, I rested my hand on my knees as if I was the late, Princess Diana or Michelle Obama. Then, as we drank and talked, my short skirt slowly climbed to mid-thigh. With my skirt flap wide open and my knees parted just enough to flash him what he was obviously hoping to see, I knew that I was exposing my bright, white panties to him. Giving him even more of a show by parting my knees a bit more and more, I leaned forward in my chair to touch his hand.

"Sorry, Ron," I said.

He looked at me as if I was his deceased wife, Sharon before looking at the view I was giving him in-between my shapely legs.

"Kim? Would you be kind enough to do me a favor?"

'Hmm, here we go. Here we go. Here it comes. I wondered what kind of favor? Knowing that it would be a sexual favor, I could only imagine what he wanted me to be kind enough to do for him.'

"It depends on the favor, Ron," I said figuring he wanted me to give him a hand job or possibly even a blowjob.

As if he was my lonely grandfather instead of my new, next door neighbor, he smiled a pathetic smile.

"I'm embarrassed to ask you this but," he said with a pause. "Would you kiss me? It's been so very long since a woman has kissed me."

Having not even known this man for even a day and he was already asking me to kiss him. Yet, what was a kiss between neighbors? It was just a kiss. No big deal.

"Kiss you? Sure," I said getting up off the couch while flashing him my panties. I walked to him and kissed him on the cheek. "There," I said returning to my seat on the couch. "How's that?"

He made a face as if he had just eaten something sour or as if I had just said something to insult him.

"Thanks, but I meant a real kiss," he said looking at me so pathetically.

Exposing my panties to him even more now this time when I got up from the couch, I stood up again. When I leaned forward and over him to kiss him on his lips, I knew I was giving him one Hell of a down blouse view of my cleavage and bra. With me wearing my loose flashing bra, possibly he was even seeing my areolas and nipples.

I kissed him in the lips. It was just a peck. Yet, having been down this road before, I knew what his next question was going to be.

"There," I said sitting back down on the couch but, this time, sitting like a man with my legs spread wide open and in readiness to get up again.

In the way that I wanted him to look, he stared at all that he was seeing in-between-my-legs. I was giving him a good in-between-my-legs view of my white, bikini panties. Having practiced this pose in my mirror before, I knew I was giving him a good view of not only my panties but also my pussy mound and my pussy slit.

It made me sexually excited to flash him my panties as much as it, no doubt, sexually excited him to see my panties. I was being so naughty. I was acting so sexy. God, I was such a dirty, little slut.

As if I was a stripper and he was a deep pocketed customer, he pulled out a wad of one-hundred-dollar bills. Not very trustful of banks and other financial institutions, old people always had a stash of money hidden around the house. He peeled off a hundred-dollars and handed it to me.

'Here we go. Here we go,' I thought. 'Spitting out one-hundred-dollar bills at a time, Ron was now my new, personal ATM machine.'

"I'll give you one-hundred-dollars for a kiss, a real kiss, a kiss with tongues, a French kiss," he said handing me a one-hundred-dollar bill.

I stared at him while staring at the money. Having seen this size of a wad before, he looked like he was holding about five-thousand-dollars in one-hundred-dollar bills.

"Gee, I don't know Ron," I said. "Having just moved in here, I really don't want to start something with my next-door neighbor," I said playing it as cool as I was playing it coy.

As if he was my Daddy, he flashed me a fatherly smile as if to assure me that it was okay to kiss him, French kiss him.

"Look, I know by what you moved out of that truck that you don't have much. I know that you could use a few dollars and I'm able to help you financially, that is if you help me sexually," he said looking at me with begging eyes while laying his cards on the table.

Obviously, with all my flashing, I had his focused interest in seeing more than just my bra and panties. Obviously, he was not only looking to kiss me, French kiss me, but also looking to touch me and feel me. Obviously, something that was always on the table as if it was a special dessert, he was hoping that I'd give him sex.

"Okay. No big deal," I said with a shrug. "What's a French kiss between neighbors?"

I move from the couch again, walked to him, leaned down to where he was sitting, and kissed him. With his right hand sliding down and along my short skirt covered ass and he immediately parted my lips with his tongue. Then, he did something weird and something I didn't like so much. While kissing him, he imbedded his fingertips through my skirt and through my panties in my ass crack. A weird feeling, as if I was being examined by a proctologist through my clothes, I suddenly felt as if I was being violated against my will.

'Eww,' I thought while brushing his hand away. 'If he wanted to feel my ass in such a way, he'd have to pay me more than a hundred-dollars for that pleasure.'

It was a long, wet desperate kiss. He kissed me as if he hadn't French kissed a woman in a very long while. It was kiss filled with his sexual lust for me. Then, when I went to sit down again, he made another sexually inappropriate proposition. Obviously, with his hand filled with money and his brain filled with sexual desire, he was my kind of man.

"I'll give you one-hundred dollars to allow me to feel you through your clothes while French kissing you," he said. "It's really nothing that you wouldn't ordinarily do after a date."

I imagined French kissing Charlton Heston. I imagined him touching me with his wrinkled hands. I imagined him coughing up hundred-dollar-bills as if he was a broken ATM machine.

"Okay," I said accepting another one-hundred-dollars from him.

He French kissed me while feeling my breasts through my blouse and bra and feeling my ass through my short skirt and panties. Then, when he tried to stick his hand up my skirt and in-between-my-legs, I pulled away. Having just met the man, I didn't want him to think that I was easy, even though I was. Besides, even though I was happy with the two-hundred-dollars he had already paid me, he'd have to pay me more to touch my pussy though my panties. With him not done yet with his sexy debauchery game of money for sex, he peeled off another one-hundred-dollar bill while I returned to my seat on his couch.

"I'll give you one-hundred-dollars if you show me what you look like in your panties and bra.

Teasing me with money in the way that I was teasing him with sex, he was making me dizzy with exhibitionism, voyeurism, and lustful, sexual desire.

'God we have so much in common,' I thought. 'In the way I love money, he loves sex.'

"Wait. Sorry," I said playing the virginal role. "I beg your pardon? Did I hear you correctly? You want me to remove my blouse and my skirt? Good gracious me," I said putting a hand to my collar as if I was a virgin, a nun, or a school librarian.

I fluffed down my skirt, straightened my blouse, and with my knees cemented together, I sat up on the couch as a lady would if she was in church instead of seated in the living room of a dirty, old man.

"Yes," he said again. "I'll give you one-hundred-dollars if you remove your blouse and your skirt. I'd like to see what you look like in your bra and panties," he said.

With obvious sexual excitement, he waved the money at me as if I was a stripper and he was waving a dollar-bill ready to shove in my G-string. Being that my foster care parents didn't raise no fool, I held out for more cash. This was my chance to make a bigger haul than just a few hundred-dollars.

"Well, Daddy," I said calling him Daddy for the first time. "Being that's two articles of clothing, for me to agree to remove my blouse and skirt, that will cost you two-hundred-dollars," I said.

As if he got the better of me, he smiled wildly.

"Daddy? I like it when you call me Daddy," he said he said with a big, shit eating grin. "Okay, two-hundred-dollars," he said peeling off a second hundred-dollar bill.

He handed me the money and now I had four-hundred-dollars of his wad of hundred-dollar bills.

"Thank you," I said accepting his money.

I stood and slowly unbuttoned my low-cut blouse, removed it, and exposed my white, low cut bra to him. He stared at my long line of cleavage and my ample breasts as if he had never seen a woman in her bra before. Then, I unbuttoned and unzipped my short skirt and, along with my morals and my modest, I allowed my skirt to slowly slide down my legs to my ankles. Taking my sweet time while bending, stooping, leaning, and stretching in front of him while in my bra and panties, I stepped out of my skirt and neatly folded it.

He stared at my white panties, my pussy mound, and my pussy slit as if he had never seen a woman in her panties before. As if he was admiring a work of art in a museum, he stared at me as if I was a painting or a statue. Now dressed in my low-cut bra and white, bikini panties, I posed in front of him. Turning one way before turning the other way, I sexually teased him with my sexy, shapely body and my bra and panty clad body.