My wife was interstate for a few weeks, visiting her mother. The old dear wasn't well and wanted some company and Irene had bravely volunteered to go and visit. I did suggest that we make a family trip of it, driving up with the kids and spending my holidays there. She wouldn't have a bar of it. Said the kids would be too much for her poor mother. The real reason, I suspected, was that she thought her mother would be too much for the poor kids. Whatever the reason, the result was that she went north and I took my holidays at home, babysitting.
Not that I spent all my time babysitting. I did manage to inveigle my parents into looking after their grand-children for the odd day here and there. The first Saturday night I also hired a babysitter, giving me a night off.
My wife's standard babysitter is Muriel. A fat, pimply, teenager who is very good with small children. I rang her and asked if she was able to sit on the coming Saturday and she asked me to wait a moment and put me on hold. Not that they actually put me through to music or an answering machine. Rather, Muriel laid the phone on the table and bellowed for Becky. There followed a few moments of female bickering, mainly dominated by Muriel saying, "But you said."
Then all was quiet and Muriel picked up the phone again.
"I'm so sorry, Mr Sanders," she said, while I swallowed a curse. "I have measles and can't babysit but my sister can. She's has experience before and won't mind filling in for me for one night, if that's OK?"
"No, that will be fine, Muriel," I assured her, just happy to have someone available. Then I had second thoughts. "Ah, Muriel, how much younger is she than you? I'm sure you understand that I want someone who is reasonable grown-up and responsible, like you."
Thus suggesting that Muriel was a responsible adult so she wouldn't be insulted if I turned her sister down.
"Oh, no worries there, Mr Sanders," she assured me. "Becky is older than me and she doesn't have a date this Saturday."
Without being rude to the unknown Becky, if she resembled her sister her lack of a date didn't really surprise me. Anyway, we agreed to times and wages and I rang off, happy to wait until Saturday rolled around and I could go out for a while.
So here I was on a Saturday evening, waiting for a fast, pimply, babysitter's older sister to come around, and the doorbell rang. I answered the door and knew immediately that the young lady there had come to the wrong address. She was a little jewel, a blue-eyed blonde of about twenty, with pouting red lips and a body that undoubtedly caused accidents when she strolled down the street.
She was dressed in a provocative little skirt that seemed a shade on the tight side and had a blouse that must have shrunk in the wash. Surely she wouldn't have bought one that stretched the buttons on the front to breaking point. Mind you, those buttons must have had double thread holding them on, because there was quite a lot of woman trying to bust loose.
"Hi," she said happily. "I'm Becky. I assume that you're Mr Sanders?"
"I am," I assured her, wondering how on hell a girl like that didn't have a date waiting on a Saturday night. "Come on in. You're right on time."
She came in and I saw why her skirt was so short. It was so tight (already noted with great interest) that if it had been any longer she wouldn't have been able to walk. As it was she had to take small steps, with the skirt riding up as she did so. She was, I noticed, quite practiced at pushing it back down into place.
"Thank you for agreeing to fill in," I said. "I'm surprised you didn't have a date already."
"I did," she said airily, "but I've also got a black-mailing little sister. No problems. He'll keep."
I bet he would. Just as long as he didn't come knocking on my door while I was gone. Becky must have guessed what I was thinking because she gave a little giggle.
"Don't worry. He won't be coming visiting while I'm on a job. I know better than to invite a boy over while I'm sitting. They could get all sorts of crazy ideas."
They'd get ideas, all right, but I wouldn't call them crazy. Natural and lustful, possibly, but not crazy.
I introduced Becky to the kids and then we had a cup of coffee and a chat while I just cautiously sounded her out. If necessary I'd cancel my night out and send her on her way. She sounded sensible enough. A little scatter-brained, possibly, but knowing what to do where kids and emergencies were concerned. I also found that I'd over-estimated her age. She'd only recently turned eighteen. I'd guessed twenty and had suspected that I was underestimating. Amazing how some women can look years older than they actually are when most women are trying for the reverse.
I finally went on my way, quietly confident that Becky would handle any problems that arose. She had my number in case of emergency, but I figured she'd be able to handle things. I left.
I returned, but this was a number of hours later. Somewhere between eleven and midnight. One point I'd like to make - I was not sloshed, drunk, tipsy, or in any way incapacitated by drink. I'd only had a couple of beers, enough to help me loosen up. Not by choice, I'll admit, but I was driving.
I came into the house, making enough noise to let Becky know I was home. Sneaking in and scaring the shit out of her might be fun, but not nice. She was doing me a favour, giving up her Saturday night to sit for me.
She was in the kitchen when I got in.
"I've put the kettle on if you want some coffee," she said.
I agreed that a cup of coffee wouldn't go amiss and she told me to go and watch TV in the front room and she'd bring it in when it was ready. Having no objection to having a pretty young thing wait on me I went and tuned in the late night news and proceeded to explain to the newsman why politicians were idiots.
After a few minutes Beck came in, taking her little mincing steps while her skirt slowly edged upwards. She bent over to put the coffee mugs on the coffee table and in doing so flashed some lacy red panties at me. A young blonde, well stacked, with tight clothes, bending over while her skirt is riding high, revealing lacy red panties. Instant erection time. No wonder she thought boys got crazy ideas around her. Being a modest man, and not wanting to embarrass her (do other things to her maybe), I slipped my hand down my waist and rearranged the family jewels, hopefully to a less noticeable position, while she was bending over the table.
She settled on the couch next to me and we drank our coffee and chatted. She told me how well the kids behaved. I pointed out that they had been on their best behaviour with a strange babysitter. If she ever sat them again it might be a different story. She laughed and agreed.
One of her buttons, I observed, had given up the fight and popped free, giving a nice display of what was the beginning of what was probably quite impressive cleavage. I have to admit that that little bit of cleavage did nothing to lessen my erection.
I'm not sure exactly when Becky realised that I had an erection, but at some stage she noticed. I couldn't understand why she suddenly was blushing slightly, but catching her eyes flicking down and then away I twigged. Well, there was nothing I could do about it, so I ignored it. I did find however, that knowing she knew I had an erection made it seem to get harder than ever. I was starting to suspect that I'd have to wave her goodbye seated on the couch.
If Becky had just ignored the fact that I had this little boner all would have been well. Trouble was she didn't ignore it. Every so often she'd flick a glance downward and then away, giving a little blush each time she observed that the erection was still in place. It was starting to irritate me. Still, there was no real excuse for what I did next.
Her eyes dropped and flicked away and I gave a little sigh.
"Instead of trying to guess, why don't you take a proper look," I said, at the same time unzipping and springing the beast from its hiding place.
Boy. What colour is red? Her face flamed like a stop-light and I thought she was going to bolt. Instead of that she just sat there, frozen.
"Oh, how could you?" she finally managed to gasp. "Put it away."
"You seemed curious," I pointed out. "I'm just helping you out. Haven't you seen one before? Your reaction seems to indicate that this is a new experience."
From the way she looked and dressed and several off-hand remarks she'd made I had assumed that her virginity was long lost. I was changing my mind. No non-virgin would blush like that at seeing an erection.
"It's quite harmless, you know. Why don't you touch it and see what it feels like. Broaden your experience slightly for when you're with a boyfriend who will expect you to know what to do when he shows you his pet."
"Touch it? You're kidding," she gasped. "I don't even want to look at it."
Maybe not, but she was doing so. I'd never thought of a cock as being an eye-magnet, but that's what mine was proving to be. She couldn't seem to tear her gaze away.
"Let me help you," I murmured. That's me, always willing to lend a helping hand. In this case the hand was hers and I helped it to reach over and close around me. No resistance encountered, I might add.
Her hot little hand clamped firmly around my cock, but that's all it did. She didn't try to move it at all, neither to explore, nor withdraw. The expression on her face was a sort of horrified amazement, stunned to find herself sitting there holding my cock.
I let it go for a few moments, watching her face clear as realisation of what was happening got through to her. She took a big breath and I guessed she was about to snatch her hand away.
"You are allowed to run your hand over it," I suggested. "Get some idea of what a man's erection is like. How does it feel?"
"Um, what? Oh. Ah, hot. Hard. I don't know," she mumbled.
