My parents were in the habit of volunteering my to babysit for their friends, something I found annoying because I was often not paid and when I was my parents deducted what I got from my pocket money, which after I left school meant what they allowed me to keep out of my wages.
Carol was a case in point, she never paid, or if she paid my parents I never saw it. She was a single mother, rather a rarity where we lived, it meant nothing to me other than the fact my parents seemed to do a lot of gossiping about her, at some point though they must have befriended her because I was offered up to look after her kids about once a week. They were young kids and it was easy, she would put them to bed before I got there, she would leave and I rarely heard from them.
Carol sometimes did not come back until after midnight, in which case I was supposed to leave, locking the door behind me. I know that sounds odd in this day and age but that was the routine.
I was nosey and would always prowl the houses I was in. Carol's was something of an oddity in that it was a tip. She seemed incapable of putting clothes away, they were all over her bedroom, the bathroom and even the living room. I was accustomed to rooting in knicker drawers to handle the underwear of the woman of the house, taking a dark thrill from trying them on myself and lying on their bed, imagining I was them, and that I was having sex.
Sex was still a total mystery to me, my father had successfully kept me from virtually any contact with boys by confining me to a girls only school, and even after I left and started work at the local shop he only allowed it because he thought the guy who ran it was "A fucking Pouf." To my father the world was drowning in poufs, anyone who did not get their hands dirty as part of their work was a ponce, anyone who did not speak with a broad Yorkshire accent was a pouf, since Liam at the shop qualified on both counts he was promoted to a Fucking Pouf and therefore safe around his virginal daughter.
Sex for me was based on brief glimpses on TV before my father roared in rage and changed the channel and launched into a tirade about porn on the TV. Sex was huddled conjecture in the play ground with other equally clueless girls, sex was speculation and fear and dark longing.
In the bedroom of these other women, wearing their underwear and looking at my still thin and gangling form in the mirror I tried to imagine what they did, how much it hurt. From my inadequate education I thought sex was what men forced girls to do and they only did it because they wanted to please their man. Even though I had now turned 18 I made no attempt to defy my father, I wanted no man emotionally blackmailing me into letting him have sex with me.
So it was a puzzle as always why as looked at the lacy panties and bra clasped about me I felt the heat rising in me and I would lie back on the marriage bed trembling with my knees up and stroke myself through the panties and imagine the hand was not mine.
With Carol a new twist occurred to torment me. She was very untidy and worn clothing was always scattered about the bedroom. On this occasion I retrieved bra and panties from the floor and was startled to catch a scent rising from them. The bra was perfumed which puzzled me until I suddenly realised she must perfume her breasts. My gaze looked solemnly at me in the mirror as I digested the meaning of that, Carol could only do so because she anticipated a man getting close enough to her breasts to smell the perfume. I knew about perfume from my father, he called it tramp juice and it was only ever worn by women to trap men.
The panties I raised to my face, wondering if they too were perfumed, my mind a jumble at what that would indicate. But the scent I got was more subtle and strangely familiar. I pressed the gusset to my nose and breathed deep and my head swam and suddenly I recognised it, it was how my hand smelt after those illicit helpless stroking sessions.
In part trance I stripped and pulled on the worn underwear and the scent of her perfume rose up around me and I seemed to feel the dampness of her in the panties. I lay on the bed and whispered, "I am Carol, I have perfumed my breasts so they smell nice for you when you kiss them, and my pussy is wet and ready for you." My hand scrabbled between my legs but it was not enough, there was a terrible deep itch set in me, instinctively I grabbed a pillow and jammed it between my legs and clamped it tight with my legs, then turned on my front and ground my hips against it until that itch was being soothed by the bucking of bum, I moaned and took off the bra and pulled another pillow under me so my breasts rubbed against it and I had to bite it to stop from screaming as a tidal wave filled up my belly and then rushed to drown that itch in exquisite foaming hot water.
To my horror at that precise moment I heard the front door open and Carol speaking to someone. In blind panic I scrambled off and grabbed up my clothes, but as I hastily kicked off her panties, I heard high heels tapping quickly up the stairs. Nude I dived under the bed in blind panic.
